10. In the Details

Chapter 10

In the Details

For the first thirty minutes of the drive from the airport to Hotel Di Vaio Madrid, I'm so entranced by the beauty of this foreign city that I forget I'm in a Rolls Royce, sitting next to a man with questionable ethics and a murky moral compass.

Madrid is mesmerizing, with the combination of renaissance architecture and flares of tasteful modernization, it's not surprising this city was a muse to so many great poets and artists.

"Over there is Casa Botín ," Milo hums, drawing my attention. He gestures toward a building in the distance with a wooden caramel exterior. "It is the oldest restaurant in the world. Ernest Hemingway?—"

"Wrote about it in his novel The Sun Also Rises ," I interject his factoid with a smug smile. "Yes, I'm aware."

"Are you also aware that it is quite rude to interrupt someone when they are speaking?" He scowls at me as he pulls out his cellphone from his pants pocket and types out a message. "Did your parents not teach you any manners?"

My cocky smile contorts into a pained frown, my jaw tightening. "They taught me as much as they could in the short time that they had."

He peers up from his phone, wincing apologetically as if realizing the tactlessness of his question.

"Forgive me. I forgot that they passed away when you were young."

"It's fine. I don't expect you to remember every minute detail of our conversations."

"That is hardly a minute detail, Kiara." Milo takes a deep breath as he gazes out of his window. "I should have remembered." He pauses, adding, "It is not easy to lose a loved one."

His mournful tone pricks at my heart. He's speaking from experience. Recent experience.

A pang of empathy stirs in my stomach. "No, it's not."

He clears his throat, his discomfort on the subject palpable as he faces me.

"You mentioned earlier that you would like to go shopping, correct?" he asks, changing the topic. "You will have several hours before we are expected at Aria. Gio and Mateo will escort you wherever you'd like to go."

"Aria?" I ask, grateful that I'll finally have some time to myself. Well, that is if my guards don't breathe down my neck the entire outing. I might have to set some parameters with them. "What's Aria?"

"A club I own. We'll be meeting several of my business partners there later tonight." He gives me a quick once-over. "You will need to dress appropriately . I can recommend a few boutiques if you would like."

"Thanks, but I think I can handle shopping on my own." I cross my arms, still not entirely sure of what my role is. "What do you expect me to do tonight? Other than eavesdrop on your Spanish friends. I need context, Mr. Di Vaio, if I'm to report anything of actual value."

With a resigned sigh, Milo offers, "You are an intelligent and intuitive woman, Kiara. You will know if something is of value or not."

I roll my eyes at his compliment even though it fills me with an odd sense of accomplishment.

"I need details. Why are we meeting with these people? Who are they? What kind of business do they do for you? Does it have anything to do with the Russians? Do they?—"

Milo raises his hand and I stop talking, hoping he'll answer my questions.

"Oh," he smirks. "Perhaps you are obedient."

"Only when I want something. So? Tell me what I want to know."

Milo licks his lips, scanning me with guarded eyes before finally revealing, "What happened in Hawthorne, at the bank, has not been made public, and I intend to keep it that way. My associates here cannot know that we are at odds with the Russians. It would be bad for business. We are here to ensure that their confidence in my... organization has not wavered, understand?"

"Yes," I hum. "Basically, we're here because you're worried that they know you were kidnapped which makes you look weak, and you don't want that. Right?"

His twitching right eye indicates that he's not entirely impressed with my interpretation. "In layman's terms, yes. That is why we are here."

I shoot my shot. "So why were you kidnapped? I mean, you're constantly surrounded by guards – how did that even happen? And why do you bank under an alias? And why Hawthorne and not Manchester?"

"You ask too many questions." Milo closes his eyes, letting out an exasperated sigh. "There are things you do not need to know. Just focus on the task at hand."

"Why are you so hesitant to tell me? What do you think I'm going to do? Tweet about it?" I ask, getting irked by his lack of cooperation. "Just give me something. Anything. A little crumb will do."

I've already established that he traffics drugs and funnels the funds through his hotels. I assume his international associates are dealers? Maybe distributors? But the Russians? I'm lost.

He mulls it over for a few seconds before sighing in defeat.

"We use smaller banks because the staff is easier to control. I was in Manchester visiting an old friend when the Russians found me. Only a few members of my team knew where I was going. I was alone for only two minutes. They caught me off guard which rarely occurs."

That kind of precise knowledge takes insider information.

"Seems like you have a rodent problem. Might need to set a little mouse trap back in Genoa."

He casts me a devious smirk. " Had a rodent problem. It has been taken care of, believe me."

I suck in a sharp breath, shocked by how unaffected I am by his comment. "You killed him?"

"He killed himself. He was foolish to think he could betray my family and live to grow old and grey."

"You're not very forgiving, are you?"

"There is no room for forgiveness in my world, Kiara," he says, pressing me to heed his warning. "It is best that you remember that."

"I'm not a fool, Mr. Di Vaio. I would never?— "

The screeching of tires cuts me off, the car swerving back and forth, our bodies swaying side-to-side.

With a vice-like grip, I latch my fingers around Milo's forearm as my heart drops to my stomach, an all too familiar fear overpowering my senses, blurring my vision.

The car levels out in seconds, but I'm still frozen with trepidation. Our driver rolls down the window and screams profanities into the symphony of honking cars.

"Kiara." Milo's soft voice fills my ears as I stare into nothingness. "Kiara, are you alright?"

"Uh-huh," I murmur between ragged breaths, unable to fill my lungs with enough oxygen.

His warm palm covers my hand, squeezing it gently. "Close your eyes," he whispers. My eyelids flutter shut. "Take a deep breath, Kiara—" And I do. "Good, now hold it for seven seconds. Six, five, four, three, two—" I exhale. "Now inhale for four seconds."

I repeat this process for what feels like hours until the panic fades away, until I can move my limbs, until my mind is clear.

With his large hand still enveloping mine, Milo asks, "Better?"

I swallow, embarrassment washing over me. "Yeah," I mutter. "Thank you. I don't know what happened, I haven't—" I expel a shaky breath. "How did you know what to do? How did you?—"

"My older sister." His fingertips tickle my palm as he slowly drags his hand away from mine. "She is a psychologist, she's g—" He pauses. "She specializes in panic and anxiety disorders; she sends me a lot of articles."

"Sister? You have a sister?" I frown. "And she's a... psychologist ?"

This is the first I'm hearing of her. There are not a lot of portraits of women hanging on the walls of his villa. Granted, I haven't memorized all their faces, but I didn't see women who resembled Milo. Perhaps she was excommunicated. Are mafia women even allowed to have jobs? Maybe that's why there are empty spaces on the walls.

No. Enough. I need more information before I jump to conclusions.

"Yes, I have a sister. She lives in Monaco with her husband and my mother."

"Your mother doesn't live in Italy?" This doesn't make sense. Aren't these types of families supposed to stick together? Or has TV ruined my perception of the real world? "Why?"

"She moved in with Julia after my father passed away." His body stiffens. "It was too painful for her to be in that house. Too many memories."

"Oh, that makes sense. And your sister, Julia? When did she move to Monaco?"

Milo lets out a cynical scoff. "As soon as she could."

"And that was allowed? Aren't there...rules or something?"

Milo cocks his head to the side. "Of course, she was allowed. She was not a prisoner ."

"And she's a psychologist? Why did she go into psych?"

Milo grunts something inaudible in Italian as he closes his eyes, evidently tired of my onslaught of questions. "You can ask her yourself when we go to Monaco in a few days."

We're going to Monaco next? When was he planning on telling me?

I purse my lips. "You know, I wouldn't have so many questions if you just told me things from the get-go."

"Do you know the saying; curiosity killed the cat? It might be an overused adage, but it holds some merit, don't you think?"

I roll my eyes as the car rounds a corner and pulls into a driveway surrounded by lush greenery and spurting fountains.

"Holy shit…" I peer out of the window, my gaze traveling up the length of the stone-arched white Hotel; mystique and grandeur captured in all the fine details of the design. An attendant opens the door for me and I step out, the warm autumn sun soaking into my skin. "You own this?"

"Yes," Milo says with a casual shrug. "Come."

I twist my head toward the other SUVs. Marchello hops out of the car and immediately lights up a cigarette. He really shouldn't smoke at his age. I'm sure Luisa wouldn't want to lose her father prematurely.

"Kiara, come." Milo taps his foot impatiently. "They will join us later."

I follow Milo through the glass doors, gripping my purse as employees greet us with polite smiles; their respect and admiration for Milo evident in their body language, the way they bow their heads as he passes like he's a king, a god.

"Don't we have to check-in?" I ask as we pause in front of the elevators.

He lets out a small chuckle, Gio and Mateo joining in. "No, we do not." He pulls out a keycard from his wallet. "The top floor is always reserved."

"Right…"

It's his palace, after all.

We ride the elevator to the thirty-first floor, my ears popping from the elevation and speed. The door opens into a lavish suite; sophisticated furniture sprawled around the room, avant-garde design in the fine details of the decor, floor-to-ceiling windows that overlook the city center, French doors that lead to a rooftop patio with a sunken pool in the center, a hot tub just off to the side.

Wow.

"Your room is over there." Milo gestures down the ash-grey hallway before handing me a key card. "You have five hours to explore. I expect you to be ready at eight."

"Thanks." I slip the keycard into my wallet next to the visa card as I glance over to Mateo. "I need a few minutes to freshen up and then we can go, okay?"

"Sì," he says, keeping his expression neutral. " I will get the car. "

"No, I want to walk. It's a nice day."

Mateo's eyes drift to Milo for approval.

"Whatever she wants." Milo checks his phone, frowning. "I must go now."

"Is something wrong?" I ask, pulling items out of my purse to make it lighter.

"No." He looks at me, expression softening. "Everything is fine. Enjoy your afternoon."

I wave his visa card in the air. "Oh, I will."

Taking two strides toward me, Milo leans down and pushes my chestnut brown hair off my shoulder. His intoxicating cologne permeates the small space between us as he whispers in my ear, "Wear something red."

"Red?"

"Yes," he smirks. "It would please me."

I toss him a sweet smile. "Of course, Mr. Di Vaio. I aim to please."

I'm wearing fucking black.