25. Lifting the Fog

Chapter 25

Lifting the Fog

It's a simple question.

Three letters. Two consonants. One syllable.

Zero chances of getting a simple answer.

The room falls silent as I ask, "Why?"

His skin pales as he stares at me like he's seen a phantom. Blue flames glow in his hooded eyes, the icy heat burning and freezing my skin at the same goddamn time.

"Take it off, Kiara," he says through his teeth. " Now ."

"Why?" I whisper again, rolling the ruby heart stone between my thumb and index finger. "Because it's your mom's? It's just a necklace, Milo."

It's more than that. I know. It must be.

A gift from his father? An heirloom? A family jewel? If it were important to Antonia, she would have taken it with her, right? An uneasy knot forms in my stomach. Yes. She would've taken it.

"I do not know how you came to possess that necklace, but it is not my mother's."

Milo sucks in a stabilizing breath, his jaw tensing. Control. He's trying so hard not to explode. He's trying to remain calm in the midst of inner chaos. He's trying to not yell at me. He's trying so fucking hard.

For me.

"Take it off," he repeats himself, desperation trembling his hoarse voice. " Please ."

A glass shatters in the distance.

I don't look. I don't care. All I want is for Milo to stop staring at me like I'm causing him physical pain. Agony. It's hurting me to see him like this. It's pricking my fucking heart.

And I hate that.

"Okay." Worry ripples down my throat as I wind my arms behind my neck and unclip the gold chain. Not his mother's . Dangling the necklace above Milo's palm, I ask, holding my breath, "Whose is it?"

Let me in. Please. Prove me wrong. I want to be wrong. Destroy my preconceived notions. Pummel my expectations. Wash away my prejudice, my fears, my worries.

Please.

Let me the fuck in.

Milo winces, snapping his fingers shut as I drop the chain in his hand. His fist vibrates like it hurts to hold, to touch, to remember.

He hesitates for a second, his gaze flitting across my pleading face before revealing, in a raw, coarse tone, "It belonged to someone who is no longer in my life."

"Oh," I hum, blinking at the dreary man in front of me as my stomach churns. He had a someone . A woman. A woman who has clearly left her mark. A dark, lingering stain on his guarded heart. "Okay."

But it's not okay. Not one bit.

Milo flicks his fingers in the air as he calls out, "Gio." His soldier appears by his side in an instant. Milo hands him the necklace. "Get rid of it. I don't want to see this ever again."

A giant stain.

Gio nods, fisting the chain. "Right away."

When my guard steps away, I tilt my head. "Are you alright?" I rest my hand on his rising chest, his heart beating into my open palm, fast, unsteady, frantic. "I'm sorry?—"

Marchello clears his throat, drawing our attention. "We should head downstairs now," he states, stepping over broken glass. "People are expecting us."

"Yes." Milo casts me a weary glance and slowly reaches for my hand as we head out of the suite. "We should go."

He adjusts his grip, tightening his fingers around mine like he's afraid I'll fly away, disappear, turn into a ghost.

"I'm not going anywhere," I whisper under my breath, keeping my gaze on the tiled floor as we step into the elevator. "I promise."

Milo doesn't respond as he watches the numbers descend on the digital monitor. Maybe he didn't hear me. Maybe he doesn't care. Maybe the owner of the necklace has tarnished something I didn't know I wanted. Maybe this is it. This is all he can give me. A fragment. A sliver. A tainted shard of his broken heart.

Maybe it's enough.

It has to be.

When the elevator doors ping open, we make our way into the Royal Ballroom situated on the fifth floor. Muted laughter, soulful jazz, and the scent of roses overpower my dull senses as we enter the extravagant ballroom. Red florals decorate every table, thematic silk drapes converge at the center of the ceiling, dim atmospheric burgundy beams of light reflect off the faces of every guest .

"What now?" I ask Milo as he leads us through the hordes of people.

"Now we mingle," Milo murmurs lifelessly, expelling a labored sigh as he lets go of my hand. "We make our presence known."

When I was a little girl, I always dreamed of going to a ball. I dreamed of wearing a beautiful gown. I dreamed of dancing with a prince. But dreams are simply that, dreams. This isn't that sort of ball. Milo isn't that kind of prince. And this isn't a fairytale.

This is business.

Hours pass by as Milo drags me from table to table, introducing me to politicians, legislators, diplomats, the elite. I'm his friend. Just a friend. A friend that he refuses to touch or look at for more than two seconds. It's like I'm his accessory for the night. Like a luxury watch. A couture cufflink. Merely there for show, for status, for decoration.

"If you'll excuse us," Milo says, smiling politely at the uppity couple we've been chatting with for the last ten minutes. "Enjoy the rest of your evening." For the first time in three hours, Milo dares to put his hand on the small of my back as he leads us out onto the terrace. "Is everything alright, Kiara?"

"Everything is great," I mutter, a gust of wind nipping my skin as we step out on the stone balcony. "Just great."

"You are cold." Milo frowns, pulling out a sleek black cigarette case from his pocket. "Here." He pops a Marlboro between his lips as he shrugs off his tuxedo jacket and drapes it over my shoulders. We side-step the entrance, settling in the corner of the patio near the ashtray. "Is that better?"

"Mhmm…" I lean against the glass windows as he lights his cigarette, the combination of his sweet cologne and the as hy cloud of chemicals filling my lungs. It shouldn't be comforting, but it is. "All better."

"I take it you are not having a good time," Milo astutely observes, blowing the smoke away from me.

I cross my arms. "Seeing as this is the longest conversation we've had all night, no, I am not having a good time." I tilt my head. "Are you ?"

Milo closes his eyes, the crackling of the cherry burning filling the silence. "No, I am not."

"Well, at least we're on the same page." I let out a deep sigh. "Listen, you've been acting weird all night. Is it because of the necklace? I'm sorry for putting it on but I didn't know?—"

"I know," he whispers, clenching his teeth. "You did nothing wrong, tesoro. I just—" He freezes as a gorgeous server with caramel-colored hair and a scowl on her face approaches us, a tray of champagne flutes in hand. "Cazzo."

" Mr. Di Vaio ," she slews in Italian, her judgmental gaze darting between the two of us. Her eyes linger on the jacket wrapped around my shoulders for a second too long before she continues. " It's been a while. How are you? "

" Catarina ," Milo says, the muscles in his neck tensing. " I was not aware you would be working tonight ."

" This evening is full of surprises ," she says, glancing at me, disgust written all over her face. " Who is your friend? "

" This is Kiara ," Milo replies in Italian. " She's from America ."

I smile, swallowing away the bitter taste in my mouth. The show must go on.

Catarina lets out a curt scoff. " So soon? Have you already forgotten the last one? "

Who the fuck is this woman?

" Be very careful with your words, Catarina." Milo takes a purposeful step forward, towering over the petite brunette. " Remember who you are talking to. "

Her jaw clenches. " I know exactly who you are, Milo. You are the angel of death. I am reminded of that fact every time I pass my sister's empty room. "

" You should leave ," Milo states, his expression darkening. " Before you say something you might regret ."

Catarina takes a step back, turning her head toward me. "If you value your life," she says in English, "you will run. Fast. And never look back."

"Catarina!" Milo fumes. "Do not?—"

"Have a good night," she cuts him off, turning on her heel and disappearing through the balcony doors.

I blink, taking in her ominous warning. "Who was that?"

Is that the owner of the necklace? An ex-girlfriend? She mentioned a sister? What sister? What happened? I'm so lost.

"Milo?"

Sixty excruciating seconds of silence hang in the air as Milo stays muted, staring out into the glowing cityscape. I chew on my bottom lip, trepidation bubbling inside my esophagus, making me ill, nauseous, scared.

"She is right," Milo finally whispers, running a hand through his hair as he turns away from me. "You should run. I will make sure you are protected wherever you go."

"Is that what you want?" My heart drops into a deep pit of panic. "You want me to leave?"

"Yes."

"Liar." I bite the inside of my cheek, my eyes glossing over. "You don't mean that."

With his back turned to me, he states, "I no longer require your services. Leave, Kiara. It is the smart thing to do. "

"Who was she?" I don't budge, planting my heels firm on the ground. "Talk to me."

"A reminder that nothing good ever lasts," Milo whispers, still refusing to look at me. "Go. You are free now."

"No."

"Kiara, pleas?—"

Pop!

Milo spins around, slamming my back against the window, shielding my body as a loud snap sounds from afar.

"Woah…" I press my palms against his heaving chest. His ragged, uneven breath fans against my forehead. "It's okay. Relax. It was just champagne."

"I thought it was—" he falters, wrapping his arms around my shoulders. He pulls me flush against his trembling body and presses his warm lips against my forehead. "Kiara…"

He thought it was a gunshot. He?—

"You want me to leave yet you're willing to throw yourself in front of a bullet for me?" I grip his shirt with all my strength. Don't fly away. "What do you want from me, Milo? You need to decide."

I just did.

I don't want to leave. I want to be here. Not because I'm scared. Not because I'm in danger. Not because I have no choice. I want to be here because of him. Because of Milo. Because for the first time in weeks, I'm lucid. I'm here . And I don't want to be anywhere else.

"What do you want?" I ask again. "What do you want, Milo?"

"I—I cannot lose you," he whispers across my forehead. "I can't."

"You won't." I tilt my head back, caressing his stubbled cheek with my hand as I state in a breathy tone, "I'm right here. "

He swallows, leaning into my palm, his eyes fluttering shut. "If you stay with me, people will try to hurt you. They will kill you?—"

"I trust you to keep me safe." I meet his solemn gaze. "You'll protect me."

Milo shakes his head, the sharp edge of his jaw clenching. "I might not always be able to protect you, tesoro."

"I know that." I push myself up on my tippy toes and snake my arms around his neck, my fingers raking through his hair. "But it's a risk I'm willing to take."

"You are not a gambler," he breathes against my parted lips. "And I am a big risk."

"I like the odds." A low, building current courses through my body, not too overpowering, not too dull, just right. "I like them a lot."

"What happened to my pessimist?"

I manage a small smile. "She found something to believe in."

Conflict flashes across Milo's face for a millisecond as he cups my cheek, his thumb grazing my jawline. "What is it you want, Kiara? From me?"

"I want you," I reply honestly. And I mean every single word. "All of you."

"I am not a good person, tesoro, you said so yourself," Milo whispers, his soft touch making me dizzy. "I will hurt you one way or another."

"Maybe I like the pain." I press my body closer to him, my brain no longer filtering the words spilling out of my mouth. "It's better to feel something than nothing at all."

He drags his thumb along my lips, his gaze darkening as he scans my face like he's trying to read ancient Sanskrit, like he's struggling to understand me. "And what is it that you feel, tesoro? "

My chest rises with aching need as I writhe under his touch, heat collecting in my stomach. "I feel like we should go upstairs."

He hesitates for a moment before whispering, with absolute resolution, "Whatever you want, Kiara. It is yours."

You need to decide what you want from him. And once you do, take it.

And so, I do.