16. Twist of Fate

Chapter 16

Twist of Fate

"You played well," Milo notes as we stroll through the casino toward the front doors. "How much did you win?"

"I don't know." I shrug, stifling a yawn. Maybe I should order an espresso at the lounge. I'm starting to see why these men do so much coke. They'd be zombies if it weren't for the illegal pick-me-up. "I didn't count it. It's your money, not mine. I was just playing for fun."

"You can think of your winnings as a bonus on top of your salary." Milo opens the front door and the star-speckled sky greets us. It's fucking late. I can't believe the night isn't over yet.

"I have a salary? Really?" I cross my arms to retain body heat, the wind nipping at my skin as we walk to Sezza. "And I didn't even get a chance to negotiate it."

"Your salary is the gift of life, Kiara." He gives me a lopsided smile. "You should be pleased."

I roll my eyes as we cross the street toward the waterfront. "Julia said you've never hurt a woman before. I'm starting to think you wouldn't have actually shot me. "

"Julia knows only what I want her to know." Milo places his palm on the small of my back as we round a corner. It takes all my willpower not to lean back, further and further into his warm touch. "This way."

"So, you have?" I raise an eyebrow. "Shot a woman?"

Milo cocks his head to the side, humor flickering across his strong features. "A gentleman never tells."

I give him a scowl. "I think that applies to kissing not shooting."

He smirks. "Both acts can be quite life changing depending on the source. Should I show you?"

I bite my lip as we approach the bar and lounge. "You want to shoot me, Mr. Di Vaio? Still? I thought we were past that."

"Kiara," he rasps, his vicious gaze landing on my mouth. "We both know I was not talking about shooting."

Before I can reply, Marchello sidles up next to Milo. "We need to talk numbers with Henri before he's too fucked to stand." He cranes his head toward me. "Andre will keep you company." I frown which makes him add, "Gio and Mateo will also be there."

"Great . "

I let out a weary exhale as we enter the upscale lounge. The hostess ushers us to the backroom. The lurid red lighting creates an atmosphere of depravity that starkly conflicts with the overall elegant aesthetic of the bar.

The Frenchmen are already scattered among the glass top tables. Several gorgeous women circle the room, their eyes full of dollar signs as they scope out the pool of potential targets.

Milo nods at his business partner at the far end of the room. Henri stands up and struts toward us, the sway in his gait indicating he's had one too many cocktails .

"I won't be long," Milo says to me as I take a seat on the white leather bench. His gaze snaps to Gio, Mateo, and Andre who are conversing two tables over. "Have a drink, Kiara. Enjoy yourself." He pauses and adds in a whisper, "Try not to speak any French."

"Yeah, yeah." I place my clutch on the table. The heaviness of the Ruger in my purse sends vibrations rippling through the glass. Whoops.

"Don't wander." Milo shoots me a glare before he, Marchello, Antoine and Henri saunter away from the inebriated group of men toward a private room to discuss business.

A server approaches me and quickly takes my order, not bothering to make eye contact. I recline into the built-in booth, taking in the chaos that ensues before me.

Drugs, drinks, debauchery.

This seems to be my new normal. I feel like an anthropologist, studying the mating behaviors of Europe's most deadly elite. If I were a bystander, I wouldn't think these men were capable of any harm; they all just look like intoxicated businessmen who got quarterly bonuses and decided to spend their money on hookers and blow.

My gaze lands on Andre who tosses me a grin. I smile back.

A mistake.

Taking my friendly smile as an invitation, Andre strides in my direction, his bowtie loosened, his pupils the size of saucers as he slumps down beside me, spreading his legs and angling his body toward me.

"You look lonely, Kiara," he muses, taking a sip from his frothy amber ale.

"Just because I'm alone doesn't mean I'm lonely." I shift my body away from his perched-up knee which is almost grazing my thigh.

So much for personal space.

The server returns with one out of the two drinks I ordered. She hands me the double espresso. "And the martini?" I ask politely, placing the liquid cocaine on the table.

"It's coming," the server murmurs, her attention focused on all the men in the room and the cash sprawled across the tables. "It won't be long."

"Thank you," I say but she's already moved on to the next table. Girl's hungry, who am I to judge? I pick up the espresso by the tiny handle and bring it to my lips, taking a sip.

"So, Kiara…" Andre's speech edges on slurred, his Eastern European accent more evident, "How long have you known Milo ?"

Clearing my throat, I wipe the crema off the corner of my lip as I set the espresso on the table. "A few weeks."

Andre hums, nodding his head. "And what is your relationship to the Don ? Are you his girlfriend?"

Shit. Milo didn't give me instructions this time around.

"My relationship with Don Milo is none of your business." I emphasize his title, hoping Andre takes a hint. His mouth opens. Oh God, he's going to pry. I quickly add, "How long have you worked for Henri?"

Andre purses his lips. "Under a year. But don't think that makes me any less important to our organization."

"Oh, I would never think that. You're clearly a very valuable member of the team."

"I am." He puffs out his chest like a fucking peacock. "I'm glad it shows."

"Yes, of course. That's why Henri left you out here to stand guard while he and Antoine discuss business with Milo. He clearly trusts you the most."

"Exactly." He grins at me, greasy and proud. His demeanour makes me uneasy. "Where did Milo find someone like you?"

I blink. "What?"

"Well—" Andre slides closer to me on the bench. "You are beautiful, intelligent, and charming. A hard combination to find in our line of work."

A shiver courses down my spine, an instinctual warning that he's getting too close for comfort. "Maybe you're not looking hard enough."

"Or maybe I don't have time to look." He lets out a chuckle, exposing his yellowing teeth. "But sometimes...things just fall into your lap."

Ew.

"My martini is taking too long." I grab my clutch off the table and down the espresso. "I'll get it myself. If you'll excuse me."

Turning on my heel, I head to the closest bar at the back of the lounge. Wow. That man has some serious bravado. I'm all for confidence in a man, the more the better, but Andre's confidence lacks any substance.

"Hi," I greet the bartender. "May I please get a vodka martini, onion instead of an olive."

" Oui ."

I wish I brought my Kindle. Without Milo to entertain me, I'm ready for this night to end.

In my peripheral, I see Andre stumbling toward me. Good God. There's nothing worse than misplaced confidence and drunken courage. He's determined, I'll give him that .

Andre stops beside me, resting his elbow on the edge of the bar, a grimy grin on his face.

"Let me buy you a drink, Kiara," he says, reaching for his wallet.

"No." This time my tone is stern, serious. I'm done playing polite. He's starting to irritate me. "I can buy my own drink, thank you though."

He feigns a frown. "Nonsense, I insist."

I scoff, cocking my head to the side. "Maybe I wasn't clear. I'm going to buy my own drink with my own money so put that away." I smile. "Plus, seeing as you lost almost two hundred thousand euros tonight, perhaps I should be buying you a drink. Another beer?"

His beady blue eyes harden, his posture stiffening. "When a man offers to buy a woman a drink, Kiara, she should graciously accept it."

I blink, expelling an incredulous laugh. "Is that so? Well, when a woman is clearly turning down a man, he should accept it." I pause, shooting him a blatant glare. " Graciously ."

Andre steps toward me, his features cold and deadly as he grabs my arm. "Listen to me you little whore ." His fingers coil around my wrist like a boa constrictor. Pain shoots up my arm and my heart races. Shit . "If only you knew who I was, you wouldn't be running your?—"

"Say that again."

Like a fallen angel, Milo appears out of the shadows, slamming Andre into the side of the wooden bar, his menacingly frigid gaze burrowing into Andre's pathetic little eyes. Milo bends his right arm ninety-degrees, the recessed lighting on the ceiling reflecting off the silver blade pressed into Andre's stomach. "What did you call her?"

"Oh my God!" I gasp. "Milo stop! What're you doing? "

He ignores me, leaning closer to Andre who's grinding his teeth. "If you ever look at Kiara again, I will cut out your kidney, understand?"

"Milo! Stop!" I plead as he pushes the tip of the switchblade further into Andre's side. His dress shirt dips from the force, blood seeping into his white button-up. "Milo!"

Nothing. No acknowledgment of my presence. Fuck this. He can do whatever the fuck he wants.

I whip my body around and march toward the emergency exit at the back of the lounge. My blood thrums with irritation as I swing open the doors that lead to the loading bay.

That's his solution for everything? Violence? Is there no in-between? Yes, Andre deserved to be put in his place but a knife?! Is he crazy?

"Kiara!" Milo's voice calls out from behind me a few seconds later. I pick up my pace, storming through the cars parked in the dimly lit lot. I need fresh air, distance from the insanity. "Where are you going?"

"Home!" I pick up the bottom of my dress that's trailing on the dirty ground as I look around. How the fuck do I get out of here?!

"Kiara, stop!" Milo demands, catching up with me. He grabs my forearm, and spins me around, his chest heaving from adrenaline. "Why are you so upset?"

My jaw drops. "Are you seriously asking me that question?"

"He called you a whore." His jaw tightens. "That is unacceptable."

I flap my arms. "So, your solution to him acting like a little boy and calling me a mean name is to harvest his fucking organs?! Don't you think that's a little excessive?"

"Andre disrespected you," he snaps, running a hand through his hair. "If he disrespects you then he disrespects me ."

"So that was for your benefit then?" Frustration courses through my body. "Nothing to do with me?"

"That's not what—" The sharp edge of his stubbled jaw twitches. "Just come back inside, Kiara."

"No!" I yank my arm out of his hand. "I'm leaving! It's late, I'm tired, and you clearly don't need me anymore. I'm going back to Julia's."

"Kiara!" Milo follows me further into the parking lot, the streetlights fading away. "You cannot walk around by yourself. It's late."

"I have an excellent sense of direction." I let out an annoyed sigh. "I just need to find the exit first then?—"

"Emilio!" A deep voice calls from several yards away and my head snaps toward the emerging silhouette.

Oh, for fuck's sake!

"Leave." Milo meets Andre's icy glare. "Now."

"Fuck you." Andre's nose wrinkles, his top lip curling up into a scowl as disgust flashes in his eyes.

Oh, shit.

"Milo," I whisper, trepidation creeping up my spine as I examine Andre's expression more intently.

He's not just angry, he's livid, a deep-seeded contempt clipping his mouth, oozing from his pores.

"Get the fuck out of here." Milo takes a step forward, asserting his dominance but Andre doesn't flinch, instead, superiority flashes across his face.

No ...

His hand slowly snakes around his body like he's reaching for a?—

"Milo!" My heart drops to my stomach, legs trembling. "Gun! "

It happens so fast.

Milo whips out his Beretta that's tucked into the back of his pants.

But he's too slow.

Just a second too slow.

By the time Milo's pointing his pistol, Andre's already fired a silent shot. The bullet grazes Milo's right shoulder. He falls backward, slamming against the cement. The Beretta flies out of his hand and skids under a parked car.

"Milo!" I scream, my heart racing, my hands shaking as Andre strides toward us, his maniacal laugh filling my ears, weakening my knees.

Milo's six feet away from me, gripping his shoulder, groaning in pain.

"Kiara, go!" he demands, keeping his gaze on Andre. "Go!"

"She stays." Andre stops a few yards away from Milo. He tilts his head as an evil grin spreads on his face. "I don't know why everyone is so scared of the great Don Emilio. You are not as indestructible as some chose to believe. You are made of the same flesh and blood as everyone else. Look at you—" He lets out a scoff. "Pathetic, just like your brother."

"Do not talk about my brother like you knew him," Milo spits, attempting to get up.

"Stay down." Andre points the gun at him, clicking his tongue. "I'm not sure how such a weak man managed to cause my boss so many problems." This accent gets thicker, less controlled. "I wasn't supposed to kill you tonight but—" He shrugs. "Plans change."

"Who are you?" Milo asks, his voice deep, even. No hint of fear. Nothing. "What do you want?"

"We want our guns back." His gaze jumps to my frozen face. "But since you've been so unwilling to cooperate. I'll gladly take your life instead."

"You work for Igor," Milo deduces.

No. This isn't happening. He's going to kill him. He's going to shoot him. I knew something was off. I knew it. I felt it. German? He's not fucking German.

"Say hello to Sergio for me." Andre smiles, regripping his pistol. "Any last words, Emilio?"

My brain buzzes with fear as I glance down at Milo, my heart clenching as his face morphs into Natalia's, into Julia's, into Paolo's, into his mother's, into Marchello's.

Into mine .

No. Please. No.

Fighting back tears, terror fills my body as I grip my purse. My hands clutch onto the outline of the Ruger.

My breath catches in my throat.

"Well?" Andre takes a step closer to Milo, his gun pointed directly at his heart. His heart. He has a heart. It's still beating. He's alive. He's human. He's just a man. A person. "Anything to say?"

Milo was right.

There is innocence of the eyes.

I've seen death. Lots of death. Like a ghost, it's followed me my whole life. Its claws have been dug into my flesh since I was thirteen. It's become a part of me.

I've only seen death.

Until now.

"Andre!" I grip the pistol tightly in my hand, my finger on the trigger. "…I'm sorry."

And then there's innocence of the soul.

The good. The pure. The holy.

The human.

And as the lead bullet leaves the chamber and travels through the air, the soul that I've tried so hard to preserve, to nurture, to hold sacred—it vanishes, disappears, fades away.

Then the innocence is gone.

And only darkness surrounds me, fills me, devours me.

Renders me immobile.