12. Price to Pay

Chapter 12

Price to Pay

I sit perched on the edge of my bed, anxiously fiddling with a fraying thread on my white linen dress. I stare at the light grey door that leads straight into the second circle of hell.

Don't be such a baby. Just go! Rip the damn band-aid.

Closing my eyes, the faces of all the great women that came before me and fell victim to lust in the midst of a power struggle pop into my head.

Cleopatra wouldn't lock herself in her room after an embarrassing encounter with Caesar. No. She would march out, head held high, and grab a fucking cup of coffee from the kitchen.

Helen of Troy wouldn't be humiliated after grinding against Paris in a Trojan nightclub. No. She would play it off as if it were a part of her strategy, a part of her plan.

I wince, remembering that both of these women died horrible deaths; on second thought, perhaps they're not the best role models.

Damn it.

It's almost 12 p.m., I've been awake since 8 a.m. I'm hungry. I'm thirsty. And I'm in desperate need of a fucking ibuprofen. There's a dull ache pulsing against my temporal lobe, my mouth is dry, my throat is sore, and my stomach is grumbling.

Just go. Move your dumb ass and deal with the consequences of your stupid actions. You want to act like a horny teenager? Well, this is the price you have to pay.

I want to blame the cocaine for my recklessness last night, but I can't.

It was me. All me.

I let out a groan, sucking in a deep breath and straightening out my shoulders. Confident. Just act confident. Act like last night didn't happen. Nothing happened. I just won't bring it up. It's just a regular Sunday.

I grab my Kindle off the nightstand and unlock it, pretending to read as I twist open the door handle and saunter down the hallway toward the main living area of the suite. The faint smell of espresso beans permeates the air.

So close.

In my peripheral, Milo and Marchello sit around the dining room table, engrossed in what appears to be a serious conversation. Good. He's distracted. Just don't look up. Keep walking, the heavenly nectar is almost in reach.

" Buongiorno , Kiara," Marchello calls out in a casual tone just as I'm two seconds away from the kitchen. Damnit. " Did you sleep well?"

I force a smile, swallowing my pride as I turn to face the two Italians who are huddled in front of a computer. I can't gauge from Marchello's facial expressions if Milo told him about my behavior last night. He's hard to read, and that irks me.

"Good morning." I keep my gaze on Marchello and Marchello only. I fear that if I take one glance at Milo I'll spontaneously combust. "I slept great, thank you."

"Really? The cocaina didn't keep you up?" Marchello perks up a salt and pepper brow.

Shit. He knows. But...how much does he know?

I blink. "Nope. I guess it wasn't that potent."

Milo scoffs, drawing my attention, his full lips twisted up in a dubious scowl. "Not potent? I would beg to differ."

Channel Cleo. We are channeling Cleo- fucking -Patra.

"Beg all you want, Mr. Di Vaio," I say, tilting my head. "But that doesn't change the fact that I slept like a baby." Courtesy of my fingers and a very vivid imagination but he doesn't need to know that. "How was the rest of your night with Manuel?"

"Useless," he states curtly. "I left shortly after you did. There was no reason for me to stay behind without my translator."

I cross my arms. "You're the one who forced me to leave. I wanted to stay if I recall correctly."

His lip twitches. "You were not in the right state of mind to be of any use if I recall correctly."

"Maybe you shouldn't have given me so much coke then. Your fault."

"My fault?" He lets out an incredulous scoff. "Your non-existent tolerance for drugs is my fault?"

"Yes, your fault. You were the one who gave it to me."

"Because you asked for it. Twice, might I add."

"And you could've said no. Twice ."

"Fine." His eyes harden as he wets his lips. "I'll remember that the next time you want something from me."

I stifle a whimper. I am digging myself into a hole right now. I am literally telling him to say no to me more often .

"Fantastic. You do that. I'm going to get some coffee now. It was nice chatting with you two."

"Not so fast."

Shit.

I gaze heavenward before spinning back around. I just want some coffee.

"What?"

Milo nods toward the laptop, a devious grin capturing his face. "Since you decided to get high instead of doing your job last night, I had to resort to... alternative measures."

"Alternative measures?" As much as I hate to admit it, he has somewhat of a valid point. In my efforts to not look like Milo's little... dog , I did sort of mess up the purpose of my being there. "What did you do?" I glare at him. "Did you kill him?"

Marchello and Milo exchange an amused look before they both start laughing. Like really laughing, as if the idea is preposterous, which it's not.

"No, Kiara," Milo says between chuckles, "I did not kill Manuel. How absurd."

I roll my eyes. I am not caffeinated enough to deal with this man. "So, what did you do?"

Milo casts me a sly smile. "I planted a listening device in Manuel's pocket."

"A listening device?" I glance at the laptop. Oh, God.

"Yes. I had it embedded into a lighter." He turns the computer toward me, an audio file pulled up on the screen. "This will be your task today." He pauses as Marchello suppresses a knowing grin. "Manuel enjoys a good time. He was awake until 6 a.m."

My jaw drops. "You want me to listen to six hours of audio? Seriously?"

"Yes." He shrugs, unbothered. "Perhaps this will teach you to refrain from indulging in narcotics while working."

I grind my teeth together. "And you just happened to have a listening device ready to go? How convenient."

"I brought it to him after you left," Marchello explains as he stands up, polishing off his tiny cup of espresso. He's taunting me. "I will take my leave now." He faces Milo, whispering something to him under his breath. " Si ?"

Milo nods. " Be careful. "

" I am always careful ." Marchello grins, knocking twice on the wooden table. "Goodbye, Kiara. See you tomorrow."

I toss him a lazy wave as he exits the suite. "Why does he need to be careful? Russians?"

He shakes his head, not answering my question as he points to the computer. "You should get started soon, Kiara. You have lots of audio to comb through." He expels a low laugh. "I hope you don't mind porn. Manuel...he is how you say... a lady's man."

I blink rapidly. "Sex? I'm going to have to listen to him have sex?! Can't I just skip that part? How is that relevant?"

Milo smirks, pushing himself off the tan Parsons chair. "A man is very boastful when he wants to fuck , Kiara," he says, stalking toward me with determination. "Even more so when he is fucking." He stops in front of me and pushes a strand of hair behind my ear, his dark eyes glimmering with insinuation. "And when he's done fucking—" He clicks his tongue. "That is when all the secrets come pouring out."

My back presses up against the kitchen island. "Does that apply to all men? You included?"

"Why don't you fuck me and find out?" He raises a challenging brow. "Maybe I'll tell you everything you want to know." He draws nearer, his scruffy stubble brushing against my cheek as his lips wisp across the tip of my ear. "Every deep , dark secret . "

"Is that all it takes to break down the Berlin wall?" I breathe, my breasts rising, pushing against his chest as he grips the counter behind me, caging me between his arms. "A little pussy power?"

He grins. "What can I say? I am merely a mortal man, Kiara. Some things are universal."

I place my hand on his chest and bite my lip. "You know what else is universal, Mr. Di Vaio?"

"What?"

I cock my head to the side. "Liars."

"You think I'm bluffing? I can assure you I am a very honest man."

" Please! " I snort, releasing a melodic laugh. "You're the head of Santi Oscuri . If you were an honest man, you'd be dead by now." I cover my mouth at the ridiculousness of his statement, my eyes watering from the humor of it all. "An honest man? God, you're funny."

Milo crosses his arm, peering down at me with irritation. "Are you done?"

"Mhmm." I wipe a tiny tear from under my left eye and take a stabilizing breath. "I'm done."

"Good," he states flatly. "Get to work. I expect you to be finished with the recording by the time I return. Do not skip anything."

"Where are you going?"

He smirks. "I would tell you, Kiara, but I would probably be lying, right?"

I roll my eyes when he's not looking. "Most likely."

"There are headphones on the coffee table," he informs me as he grabs his jacket. "Have fun, Kiara." He pauses. "Try to not get too turned on, okay?"

"I'm sure that won't be an issue."

Okay. It's an issue.

I'm currently on hour five of Manuel's Marvelous Night Out and things...they're heating up. Really heating up.

Over the course of the day, I have learned three facts about this man.

1. He talks about himself. A lot. The cars he drives, the number of properties he owns, his obsession with David Villa, and his damn dog.

2. He does far too much cocaine. The number of times I've winced from the screeching sound of him snorting a line, it's insane. I was under the assumption you're not supposed to get high off your own supply. Evidently, he doesn't follow that rule.

And lastly,

3. Manuel has a wife. A wife that he uh—shares other women with. A wife that likes to fuck his girlfriends. Plural. He has two girlfriends and a wife.

An orgy. They are having a fucking cocaine-infused orgy.

I sip on my wine as I listen to the audio, my cheeks burning up from Manuel's dirty ass kinks. I could turn it off. I could just fast forward. Yet...I don't.

I listen.

With my goddamn eyes closed.

" Lick her pussy, Maria ," Manuel grunts. Moans blare into my headphones. " Yes, just like that. Faster, Maria. Make her come, make her our little whore. Yeah, that's right baby. "

" Harder, Manny ," Rosa begs. Rosa is very vocal, I've learned. " Please, fuck me. Don't stop. Oh god. Yes! Yes! "

" Come inside her, my love ," Maria coos. His wife. Freaky woman. " Fill her pussy with your cum . Do it for me. Fuck her until she can't walk . Fuck her! "

More moans. Panting. Screaming. The slapping of flesh against flesh. Wanton mewls from his girlfriends, his dominating wife.

I bite my lip, squirming on the couch, my panties, despite my best efforts, soaked. The pressure in my core is building up, begging to be touched, dying to be released.

"Enjoying yourself?"

My eyes spring open, the stem of the wine glass in my hand nearly snapping in half.

Fuck.

Milo stands on the opposite end of the coffee table, arms crossed, the setting sun reflecting off his aviators. "You look—" He slides his sunglasses to the tip of his nose. "Uncomfortable."

Setting the wine on the table, I pause the audio. Remain calm. He knows nothing. "I'm fine. Just uh—doing my job."

"Oh?" Milo smirks, circling the table toward me. Oh no. Oh god, what is he doing? "Anything to report?"

I shake my head and cross my legs, moisture spreading between my thighs. "Nope. Nothing to report. He hasn't mentioned the Russians at all."

"Interesting…" Milo lowers himself onto the couch beside to me, nodding toward the screen. "Let's listen to the rest together, yes?"

My heart rate accelerates. Together? He wants us to listen to that ...together? No way. Not happening. I'll die. I will literally drop dead.

"I'm almost finished." I tilt my body away from Milo but he sidles closer to me, the gritty texture of his jeans rubbing against my bare thigh. "It's not a two-person job. I got it. You—" I clear my throat. "I don't need you. "

Milo expels a dark knowing chuckle. "It was not a request, Kiara." He unplugs the headphones, his index fingers hovering over the spacebar. He licks his lips. "What's wrong, Bella? You look nervous."

"Me?" I take a giant gulp of red wine. "Nope. Not at all. I'm fine."

"Good." He holds my gaze as he slowly, so fucking slowly, presses play on the recording.

Instantly, needy panting mixed with Spanish pleas fills our ears.

We sit there for several excruciating minutes before Milo opens his mouth.

"What is she saying?" Milo asks in a husky tone. "Translate for me, Kiara."

This conniving little bastard.

"Use your imagination."

"I'm afraid I'm not a very imaginative person," he says, a cunning smile on his face, "tell me what she's saying, Kiara." He pauses. " Verbatim ."

I press my lips into a thin line. "I can't…" My entire body burns up from the erotic noises booming from the speaker. Corrosive sexual magnitude radiates off Milo's body, fueling my desperate desire to be touched. "I?—"

"This is your job, Kiara." He grazes my cheek with the back of his hand. "This is why you are not dead yet. Tell me what she is saying."

Why do they talk so much during sex? Why can't they be those silent couples that barely say a word? Fucking chatty Europeans.

"Translate, Kiara. Now ."

I close my eyes. I hate him. I fucking hate him.

"Fuck me," I whisper in a monotone voice. "Harder. Yes, oh God, yes. "

"Keep going, Kiara. More."

"It's so big. Your cock is so big. Yes. Fill me, Manuel ? — "

"Stop." The audio disappears. I open my eyes to find Milo leering at me, his chest rising, jaw clenched. "That's enough."

I frown. Why did he— Realization dawns on me. Oh... He didn't really think that one through, did he?

"What's wrong, Mr. Di Vaio?" I ask innocently. "Did I do something wrong?"

He slams the laptop screen shut. "You are finished."

I blink. "Don't you want to hear the end? I think that Manuel was just about to?—"

He grabs my chin between his fingers, his eyes opaque with fury. "Do not finish that sentence, Kiara."

"Whatever you say, sir ." I smack his hand away and stand up. "I'm going to go take a shower. If you'll excuse me."

"We are leaving tomorrow," Milo calls out as I push past him. "Be ready on time, yes?"

I crane my neck over my shoulder and lock my scheming gaze on Milo. "Yes!" I exclaim in a wanton tone, pouting, contorting my face for the ultimate effect. "Yes! Oh my God, yes! Yes, Milo! Fuck! Yes!"

Milo jolts up from his seat, clenching his fists. "Kiara..."

I bat my eyelashes. "Mr. Di Vaio."

He sucks in a sharp breath. If looks could kill. "You are?—"

"Perhaps you need a shower as well."

"Is that an offer?"

"No. Just an observation. Have a good evening, sir."

And I walk away.

There is not enough soap in the world to clean off the filth I've had to endure today.

And a part of me, a small part, doesn't want to.