Page 69 of Milo

That's the silver lining of bagging your first kill; you get clout.

You get left alone.

And just as I think I'm going to make it to day seven in peace, Luisa knocks on my door, a garment bag in hand. A golden clip holds back her ink black hair, a small smile on her slender face.

"Are you going swimming?" She gives me a quick once-over. I cross my arms over the sheer white cover-up that's draped over my body, my black bikini visible through the thin fabric.

"Yes.” I grab a navy blue towel off my bed. "Did you need something?"

It's past 10 p.m. which means the indoor pool should be vacant and I can do a few laps undisturbed. I figure if I tire out my body, my brain will follow, and maybe I can finally get some sleep. That has been challenging this week.

A lie.

It's been impossible.

"I was told to bring you this.” She unzips the matte black garment bag and reveals a red chiffon floor-length gown.

I roll my eyes. Someone's got a little color fetish.

I run my hand down the delicate material. "What's this for?"

"There is a gala being held in Milano on Friday.” She strides over to my closet and hangs up the dress. "You are to attend the event with Milo and my father."

I expel an annoyed sigh. "Why? We're in Italy. He doesn't need a translator."

"I am just the messenger, Kiara.” She shrugs, her tone kind, careful. "But I believe there will be many international guests in attendance, perhaps that is why Milo requires your presence."

I purse my lips. "What's the gala for?"

"It's an annual fundraiser for the Italian Blood Service," she explains. "Our family is one of their biggest sponsors."

I stifle a snort. The irony is not lost on me.

"If it's just a fundraiser, I don't see why I'm needed."

Luisa tilts her head. "That is something you may discuss with Milo. I am only here to bring you the dress."

Fuck. My volatile emotions are not her responsibility. She didn't do anything wrong. I shouldn't be so short with her.

"Okay.” I clench my teeth and force a smile. "Well, thank you."

Luisa smiles, sucking in a small breath before hesitantly noting, "You have not joined us for dinner all week." She pauses, her discomfort palpable. "You are more than welcome at our table, Kiara."

Julia has tried to rope me into dining with the family, but I can't bring myself to do it. I can't break bread and drink wine with these people.

I can't laugh with them as if I'm not crying inside. As if I'm not broken.

Shattered.

"You eat very late," I reply. "Otherwise, I would."

"This is true." A weak laugh tumbles from her lips. "But if you ever change your mind, there is a seat for you."

I've earned a spot at the table.

I'm one of them.

How nauseating.

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