Page 8 of Milo

"A pessimist, I see." He lets out an amused hum. "You are far too young to be so cynical, Kiara."

I scoff. "And you're far too optimistic for a man who just had a bomb strapped to his chest, fake or not. If you can't guarantee your own safety, I doubt you can guarantee mine."

His jaw clenches. I've hit a nerve. "You would prefer to die than take my offer then?"

"Of course not.” I frown, taken aback by his confusion. "All I'm saying is that you shouldn't make promises you can't keep. I will happily accept your protection, but I don't anticipate a long and prosperous life. You can promise me that you'll try your best but I'm not an idiot. I know how this ends."

"You are a cynic.” He licks his lips. "We will fix that."

"I'm a realist, Mr. Di Vaio," I explain, unbothered by my outlook. "There's a difference."

He smirks, shifting his body toward me. "You may call me Milo.” His rapidly changing demeanor is giving me a headache.

"You said only those that are close to you call you Milo. We just met."

His large, battered hand finds its way to my thigh, his fingers coiling around it slowly, applying minimal pressure. He leans into my ear and whispers, "It seems as though we are very close right now."

I control my breathing, ignoring the fragrant oaky musk of his cologne. Gently placing my hand on top of his, I push it away. "We both know you weren't talking about proximity, Milo.”

"I enjoy the way you say my name.” His lips curl up into a satisfied grin. "It is like you are scared of me. I will not bite you, Kiara." He pauses. "Not yet."

My eyes harden, irritated that he can read me so well already. "If you want something to bite, perhaps you can get a chew toy."

Milo expels a low laugh, his gaze flickering to Marchello who's pretending not to listen. "She is funny, no?"

"Yes," Marchello agrees in Italian, like the puppet he is. "Very funny."

I roll my eyes.

"Allora,” Milo holds out his hand, inviting me to seal my fate, “do you accept my offer, Kiara?"

I gaze heavenward, shaking my head, incredulity bouncing between neurons. I can't believe I'm doing this. He killed two men in front of me today and now I'm supposed to work for him? Yes, they were bad men, horrible probably, but does that make it okay? Is a life less important if it's corrupt?

If I were a good person, I'd hold steady in my principles; I'd choose death over selling my soul to the devil. But evidently, I'm not a good person. I choose life. Even if that life kills me; perhaps not physically, but morally, which might be even more terrifying.

With a heavy sigh, I extend my arm forward, his hand encircling mine slowly, a ghost of a smile on his face.

"I accept.” The heat from his palm radiates through my body like he's filling me with the flames of hell.

"Excellent.” He smiles, knowing that he's marked me, that he's chained me to a new life, that my very existence rests in his hands. "We will go over further details at my estate."

"And where is your estate?" I rub my hands together, trying to scrub away the invisible filth. "Manchester?"

"In Genova.” He types out a message on his cellphone. "We are going to the airport right now."

I blink. "Right now? We're going there right now? B-But I don't have anything with me! I don't have my wallet, phone, laptop, Kindle, clothes." I pause, panic setting in. Oh shit. "My locket. I need my Nana's locket; I can't leave without it." I tap the driver on the shoulder. "Excuse me, you need to turn around?—"

"Please relax," Milo sighs, as he types out another text. "My men have already collected your belongings from the bank?—"

"But I need to go home!" I insist, my voice rising. "I need to get?—"

He peers up at me from his phone, eyes dark and stern. "Shh.” I begrudgingly snap my mouth shut. "I already have people going to your home to retrieve your requested items. Where is your passport located?"

"In the nightstand by my bed.” I attempt to keep my tone even, relaxed. "My locket is there too. It's a silver sphere." I pause, frowning. "Wait, how do you know where I live?"

"Your wallet.”

"You went through my wallet?" I cross my arms. "Such an invasion of privacy."

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