Milo, p.28
MILO, page 28
"To you too, Kiara," he says with a warm smile that doesn't reach his eyes. "It is nice that we are all together."
"Yes, the whole family under one roof, it doesn't happen very often," Luisa notes with a sly smirk. "And maybe today we will celebrate more than just Christmas? Hmm, Kiara?"
I shrug, casting her a knowing smile. "Maybe."
She beams. "Really?!"
"Luisa," Marchello says, keeping his tone level as he tugs on his daughter's arm. "You can talk later; we should go see Milo. You can give him your gift."
Luisa subtly rolls her eyes. "Of course, papà."
"I'll see you in a minute," I say, choosing not to be affected by Marchello's lack of enthusiasm.
"How many presents did you guys get her?" I scan the once visible hardwood floor which is now covered with shredded wrapping paper, bows, and toys. "Don't you think you're spoiling her a bit?"
Milo chuckles, kissing my temple. "Are you jealous, tesoro? Do you wish to be spoiled?"
"Yeah, I'm jealous of a three-year-old," I jeer, giving him a slight shove. "But seriously, it's been like two hours and she's still opening gifts? Seems a bit over the top."
"Perhaps." Milo shrugs, gazing at Julia and Paolo who are on the floor trying to help Natalia put together a toy. "But look how happy she is."
I roll my eyes. "I'm just saying, our children would get like a maximum of ten presents. Anything more than that is just absurd."
Milo whips his head toward me, a grin on his face. "Our children?"
Shit. I clear my throat. "It's a figure of speech."
"A very telling figure of speech.” Milo smirks as he stands up. "I think it is time for your present, tesoro. Come with me."
"What?" I flap my arms. "I thought we weren't doing gifts! Milo..." Great. Fuck sakes. I knew I should've gotten him something.
Ignoring my frazzled expression, he looks around the room, nodding at his underboss. "We will be back shortly."
Marchello smiles, pulling out his phone. "Lunch will be served soon, do not be long."
Without another word, Milo grabs my hand and drags me down the hallway. "Close your eyes, Kiara.” I frown, pursing my lips. "Please?"
I grumble, begrudgingly following his instructions. "Fine."
"Are you not a fan of surprises?" he laughs, guiding me down the hall.
"Not really."
"I think you will like this one.” He leads me through a creaking door and positions me in the center of the mystery room. "Do not peek."
"Where are we?" I open my right eye just a crack. "It's really dark in here."
Milo clicks his tongue. "You are peeking."
"No, I'm not," I lie. "I'm just very intuitive."
Milo snorts, letting go of my hand. "You can open your eyes in twenty seconds, yes?" I nod. "I will be right back."
"Wait! What? Where are you going?"
"Trust me." His voice is faint as he walks away from me. "Start counting."
I let out a sharp breath, crossing my arms as I count down from twenty out loud, a faint electrical buzz sounding from afar.
What the fuck is going on?
"Alright," Milo says, appearing by my side. "Open."
As soon as my eyelids flutter open, my heart stops, and I let out a loud gasp. Nana. "Oh my God." At the front of the dark room, dressed in her iconic baby blue pleated skirt and cloche hat, is my grandmother. She's pixelated, but she's there. Nana Anne. And she's smiling at me. She's looking at me. Holy shit. "Milo, what did you do?"
"Merry Christmas, sweetheart," Nana says, her comforting, angelic voice immediately forcing my eyes to well up with tears. I grip my chest, my knees weak as I'm flooded with emotions. She looks so real. So fucking real. Her voice. Her hair. Her mannerisms. It's her. It's Nana. Oh my God. "I miss you so much, Kiara, every day." She tilts her head, her soft green eyes piercing my soul as tears roll down my face. Milo laces his fingers through mine as I stare in awe at the hologram. "My wish this Christmas is for you to never stop dreaming. Do not limit yourself to the familiar, Kiara, instead embrace the unknown. All God's children were given wings. Use yours, sweetheart. Fly. Fly like a bluebird."
"She's said this to me before," I mumble under my breath, my heart beating in my chest, my grip tightening around Milo's hand. "This is from—"
"Whenever you are feeling sad, Kiara, simply remember that—" Nana pauses, taking a deep breath as familiar instrumental music flows from the hidden speakers. How did he do this? How did he—Nana opens her mouth and starts singing Over the Rainbow.
"Oh my God. How did you do this? Milo—" I gasp for breath. "Oh my God."
Milo stays silent as my grandmother sings me a song from my favorite movie. When I was little, I wanted so badly to be Dorothy. I wanted to escape my life, the pain of losing my parents, the darkness of reality.
I wanted magic, adventure, color.
Nana claps her hands, grinning at me. "You're a bluebird, Kiara. Just spread your wings and don't be afraid to fly." She takes a small breath. "I love you sweetheart, Merry Christmas."
And she vanishes.
"Holy shit," I hum as soft lights turn on and I realize we're in the theater.
He glides his thumb across my wet cheek. "Please tell me those are happy tears, tesoro."
"How did you do that?" I ask, glancing back to the front of the room. "She looked so real, she sounded so real. What she said I— It was her."
"I had some of my men visit your home in Hawthorne, they collected old VHS footage of your grandmother and a few cards she's written to you over the years," he explains, cupping my face. "I wanted to give you something authentic."
That was authentic all right.
"You broke into my house?" I ask, hiccupping. "That's very illegal."
"Are you upset with me?" Milo asks, a small frown marring his brows.
"No,” I fan myself as a wide smile spreads on my face. "I'm not upset. This was—" I shake my head. "This was the best gift I've ever received. I can't believe you did this."
"Your grandmother meant a lot to you.” He caresses my hand, his honest gaze flickering around my face. "And you mean a lot to me. Kiara—" He sinks down on one knee and produces a velvet box from his pocket. My heart hammers in my chest as he opens the baby blue box, a teardrop diamond ring glistening in the center. "From the moment I saw you, I knew I would fall in love with you. You are a remarkable woman, Kiara, and I want to spend the rest of my life by your side. Will you please do me the honor of becoming my wife?"
"I think I knew too.” I kneel down in front of him, resolution coursing through my veins like liquid gold. "Milo—" Caressing his cheek, I scan his beautifully vulnerable face. I'm not scared anymore. I'm not frightened. This is right. This is fate. "Milo, I lo—"
"Emilio!" The door swings open and Gio barges inside, his eyes wide with shock. "You need to come with me right now!"
Milo's jaw clenches as he shoots daggers at Gio. "We are in the middle of something, can you not see? Fucking idiot!"
"Milo, now," Gio says unapologetically.
Milo's posture harden as we stand up. "What is happening? Tell me."
"Come," Gio says, his body language tense as Milo grabs my hand and we follow him down the hallway.
"This better be important," Milo grunts. "Fucking unbelievable."
"Yeah—" I pause, frowning as Gio opens the front door for us. "Where are we going?"
He doesn't reply.
A sick feeling creeps into the pit of my stomach as we walk down to the front of the estate. What is going on?! The nausea intensifies as I scan all the family members huddled around the brass gates. Julia looks at me, her expression more distraught than Gio's.
"What is happening?" Milo asks as we approach the hordes of white faces.
"Milo," Julia whispers, casting me a sympathetic look as everyone clears the way for us. Once the path is empty, all the color washes out of Milo's face and he drops my hand, staggering backward. "Milo, breathe, please."
I whip my head around, following his sightline. On the dampened ground, wrapped in a tattered fur jacket is a red-headed woman. She snaps her head up, her hazel eyes locked on Milo.
"No," Milo breathes, covering his mouth. "This cannot be."
"Who is sh—"
The redheaded woman scrambles toward Milo, her painted lips teetering between a frown and a smile. She throws herself into his arms.
Oh God, is that—
"Amore mio!"
My love? Oh, no.
No. No. No. No. No.
This isn't happening. How is this happening?
Milo's hands hover above her back for ten agonizing seconds until he slowly, so fucking slowly lowers them. No. Please no. As he tightens his arms around her waist, it's like he's choking me, killing me, drowning me.
I was mistaken. I was so fucking wrong.
There's always a tidal wave.
Always.
Chapter 35
On the Surface
Until the water subsides, and the debris is cleared, it is difficult to see the damage caused by a tidal wave. Nana taught me to never make assumptions, she taught me to be logical, rational, calm. It's easier said than done. But I'm trying, I really am.
Although their embrace lasted for only a second before Milo pulled away and ordered everyone inside, I still can't gauge the extent of the damage. He won't look at me. Or her. Or anyone. But I don't need to see his face to know that he's conflicted. It’s in his body language, it's in his footsteps, it's in his clenched knuckles. He's struggling, and frankly, I don't blame him. I know exactly how he's feeling. He's relieved. He's angry. He's confused. That's how I felt when I found Andre. Milo blamed himself for her death. But she's here. In the flesh.
Vittoria is alive.
But how? And why? It doesn't make sense. Curiosity is outweighing dread. Faith is outweighing doubt. And my love for Milo is outweighing all the fear thrumming through my veins.
I made my decision and it'll take more than the return of a dead ex-girlfriend to make me leave. I won't let her drown me. Us. Not after everything we've been through. This is just another hurdle. It's taller, longer, wider than the rest but this time, we're stronger, faster, and more capable of making the jump. At least, I hope. I have to believe that. I have to believe that we will survive. There's no other option. None.
The living room is silent as Milo paces back and forth in front of Vittoria who is seated in the center of the couch, a hot cup of tea in her hands. I glance at Marchello, Julia, and Luisa who are scattered around the room. No one dares to make a sound. We're flies on the wall, observing, studying, holding our breaths.
"Milo," Vittoria whispers in a timid tone. "Say something."
Milo's jaw clenches as he stops in front of her. "I thought you were dead. We received a rose, Vittoria, it had your name on it. I thought Pravda took you. I thought—"
"They did." Vittoria looks down, tucking a piece of hair behind her ear. "I was at the beach when they took me."
"And yet you are alive," Milo says, the tiniest glimmer of hope in his voice. "Is Sergio alive as well? Is he—"
"No." Vittoria swallows, unable to look at him. "He is dead."
Milo swallows back reality. "And why are you not dead, Vittoria? Hmm? What did you do? What did you tell them?"
Vittoria snaps her head up, her lips curled into an offended frown. "You think I betrayed you? You think I sold you out?" She lets out a low scoff. "How? What would I tell them, Milo? Your favorite flavor of gelato? Where you buy your shoes?! I know nothing of value."
Milo runs a frustrated hand through his hair. "Then how is it that you are here? What happened, Vittoria? Explain it to me because I have never heard of anyone surviving Pravda."
"They were—" She clears her throat, lowering her head. "They were going to kill me but then—" She sniffles. "Igor changed his mind. He said that I was too beautiful to die, so he—" She glances up at Milo, tearing up. "He made me his mistress."
"He what?" Milo spits.
Vittoria dabs the corner of her eye with a napkin. "He brought me to his brothel. He made me do things, Milo.”
Earth-shattering guilt flashes across Milo's face. "What kind of things?"
Vittoria lets out a small shaky breath as she goes into further detail. The story slipping out of her mouth is devastating, disgusting, demoralizing. And I feel ill. Nauseous. But the unease stirring in my stomach is not from her words, no, it's from the disconnect between her words and her face.
The frown between her eyebrows is over-exaggerated, the trembling of her lips is theatrical, and her eyes lack any emotion; they're empty, blank, disconnected.
The pain in Milo's voice breaks my heart as he asks, "Why did he let you go, Vittoria?"
"I don't know." She shrugs, taking a sip of tea. "Maybe his wife found out about me? Maybe she wanted to kill me?" She clears her throat. "Igor, he uh—he said he loved me. He fell in love with me. The last thing I remember is going to my room and the next moment, I woke up outside your house. I don't remember how I got here."
On the surface, she looks like she's been through hell; ripped black nylons, smeared mascara, wild unkempt hair, a few streaks of dirt smudged on her face and hands. Yet, examining her with a critical eye, I notice that her manicured nails are spotless, that the rings on her fingers are glistening under the yellow light of the chandelier, that her fur coat is mink. Nana loved mink.
I've spent my whole life studying emotions in order to be able to read people, in order to be one step ahead of liars and cheaters, in order to shield myself from pain and hurt. I've learned that the surface is easy to fake. I've done it. I still do it. But there are some things that cannot be hidden. That cannot be faked. And Vittoria, she's a shiny counterfeit bill.
She's lying. She's fucking lying. But unfortunately, based on Milo's aghast expression, he doesn't see it.
"He is a sick man, Vittoria." Milo's face contorts with disgust. "I am so sorry you had to go through that, I really am."
"But now it is all okay," she says, reaching out to grab Milo's hand. "Now I am home. I am with you."
"Vittoria," Milo whispers, taking a step back and pinching the bridge of his nose. "I—"
The French doors to the living room swing open as Paolo walks inside. "Milo, we checked the security footage," he says, glancing at Marchello. "It was an unmarked black van, no plates. Nothing. They pushed her out and drove off. We cannot track them."
"Try," Milo says through his teeth. "Tap into the city lines, I do not give a shit. If Pravda is in Genova, I need to know."
"Right away," Paolo says, giving Julia's hand a squeeze before exiting the room.
"Luisa," Milo says, his expression weary. "Please take Vittoria upstairs."
"No, don't leave me," Vittoria whines, pouting. Breathe. Stay calm. I am staying calm. "Do not leave. I don't want to be alone. Milo, please."
"I cannot do that," Milo says, his tone low. "You are free to stay here for as long as you need but—"
"Milo," Marchello says, taking a step forward. "Take the poor woman upstairs. Look at her, she is scared."
I inwardly roll my eyes, immediately feeling like a piece of shit. I have no evidence that she's lying. I can't prove anything. For all I know, maybe she's telling the truth. And if she is, then I'm a horrible, awful person.
"You can take her," I say, speaking for the first time in what feels like hours. "It's fine, Milo."
Vittoria whips her head toward me, frowning. "Who are you? You are new."
"That is Kiara," Milo says, taking a breath. "She is my—"
"Friend," Marchello cuts him off, shooting me a hardened look. "She is a friend."
Respect.
"Actually," I say, meeting Milo's gaze. This is not the right time or the right place, but I don't care. I refuse to be a casualty in her destructive wake. "I'm his fiancée."
Marchello's lip twitches but he doesn't say anything.
"What?!" Vittoria grabs her chest, letting out a loud gasp as she looks at Milo. "Your fiancée? Milo, how could you? Did I mean nothing to you?"
Milo's body tenses. "I think it is time for you to go upstairs, Vittoria. Get some rest."
"Maybe call your sister?" I suggest in a gentle tone. "I know she misses you."
Vittoria's eyes light up with genuine excitement. "My sister? You have spoken to her? When? Where? Is she okay?"
I frown at her. Odd reaction. "In Milan, a few weeks ago. She will be very pleased to hear that you are alive."
Marchello clears his throat. "Perhaps Milo is correct, it is time to rest, Vittoria."
She blinks, averting his gaze. "Fine. I will go."
"I will be in my office," Milo says, pulling out his phone. "If you need me." He looks over his shoulder. "Kiara? Come with me."
I cast Julia a nervous side-eye as I follow Milo out of the living room. Instead of going to his office, Milo leads us into the kitchen. He darts to the liquor cabinet, pouring himself a glass of scotch and downing it. He hangs his head, gripping the edge of the granite counter, letting out a deep sigh.
"Hey…” I come up behind him and rest my cheek on his back, wrapping my arms around his torso. "Are you okay?"
"No," he admits, spinning around. "All this time, she was alive. She was suffering all this time." His jaw tightens. "He was hurting her, he was—"
"It's not your fault, Milo.” I caress his cheek, my heart hurting for him. "It's not your fault."
"I should have looked for her, Kiara. I should've done something.” He takes my left hand and grazes his thumb over my fingers. He looks up at me, his eyes hooded, drowning in pain. "Are you saying yes to my proposal because of Vittoria?"
"No," I breathe, tightening my grip around his hand. "I'm saying yes because I love you, Milo." I tilt my head. "I love you."
Milo swallows. "I do not deserve your love, Kiara. I don't deserve anything."
"Stop that. This wasn't your fault, Milo. What happened to Vittoria wasn't your fault. You thought she was dead. How could you have known?"
