36. Hidden in Plain Sight

Chapter 36

Hidden in Plain Sight

The ability to control your emotions is an invaluable skill, one that comes in pretty fucking handy when a redheaded bitch is essentially accusing you of being a spy. But since she hasn't said it point-blank, I'll go ahead and pretend as if I'm not rattled by her not-so-subtle insinuation.

"A mole? Here?" I ask, my tone even, calm. "Really?"

"Yes," Vittoria says, fiddling with her fingers. "That's what I heard."

"What exactly did you hear?" Milo asks, running a hand through his hair as he paces in front of the couch. "Word for word, Vittoria."

"My memory is still a bit foggy from being drugged," she says in a broken tone as she looks up at my fiancé. "But he was thanking whoever was on the phone. He said that they were much more competent than—" She clears her throat, looking between Milo, Paolo, and Marchello. "Than Enzo."

Milo's jaw locks.

I blink, unfamiliar with the name. "Who's Enzo?"

"The rat from Manchester," Marchello spits, disdain in his voice. "Fucking rat. He deserved more than a bullet in the brain."

I frown at Vittoria. She's lying yet she knows about Enzo? It doesn't make sense. How would she know? Unless she's telling half-truths. Or reading a script.

"That is all you heard?" Milo asks. "No name?"

"No." Vittoria shakes her head, keeping her gaze on the floor. "No name."

"If this mole is Enzo's replacement," Paolo muses, his brows pinching together, "That means they have only recently joined our organization."

"That is what it sounded like." Vittoria tilts her head up, batting her lashes at Milo. "Is there anyone new that you do not trust?" She glances at me. "Or that fits that description?"

I bite my tongue to keep myself from lashing out at her. That's what she expects. I know it. But I won't fall into her trap. Calm, cool, collected. That's me. Oh, and smart. Smarter than her.

"Do you speak Russian, Vittoria?" I ask, eliciting confused glances from the three men.

She frowns. "No, I do not. Why?"

I shrug. "Well, I'm just wondering how you understood what Igor was saying on the phone if you don't speak Russian."

"He was speaking in English."

"Really?" I say in a drawn-out breath. "Interesting." I bite my lip, glaring at Vittoria. "When was this again? When did you overhear this conversation?"

"Two days ago."

"What time?"

She blinks. "It was late."

"Where were you? "

"At the brothel," she says without missing a beat. "In the other room."

"What were you wearing?"

"Uh—"

"What did you eat that day?" I ask, crossing my arms. "What was the weather like? Hot? Cold? Sun? Rain? Snow?"

"It was—it was snowing, I think," Vittoria stammers, her breath quickening.

"What color were the walls at the brothel, Vit?" I ask, not believing her for a second. "What kind of bed did you sleep on? Did you have your own room? Or did you have to share? Was the room small, big? Did it have windows? Air conditioning? Where in Moscow was it?"

"I—I don't know. I?—"

"Or maybe you just forgot your lines," I state sharply, unfazed by the tears welling up in her eyes. "Perhaps next time, use a teleprompter."

"Kiara," Milo scolds, frowning at me. "What are you doing?"

"Me?"

"I'm sorry!" Vittoria cries, burying her head into her hands, her shoulders vibrating as she begins to sob. "I don't want to think about it! I don't want to remember. Please don't make me! Please!"

"It's alright, Vittoria," Paolo whispers, rubbing her back as he casts me an unimpressed scowl. Great, I'm the bad guy? "It's alright. Shh."

I scoff. "So dramatic."

"Kiara, may I speak with you outside?" Milo grabs my arm and drags me to the hallway. He closes the door to his office, his eyes widened with confusion as he scans my irritated face. "What is going on with you? Why are you being so hostile with Vittoria? Why ask her all those questions? She is clearly traumatized."

"She's not traumatized, Milo, she's fucking acting! And quite poorly might I add. You don't seriously believe her, do you?"

"She knew about Enzo," Milo says, letting out a sigh. "How would she know about him if she weren't truly being held by Igor?"

"I don't know, but what I do know is that she's lying. Don't you see what she's trying to do? She's implying that I'm the mole."

"What? You?"

"Yes!" I shake my head. God, he's dim. "That's where all of this is leading. You don't see it? Really? Other than me, who else is technically new? Hmm? She's trying to put a wedge between us, Milo. How can you not see that?"

"Tesoro," Milo hums, taking my hand. "In the last few months, we have had three new members join our organization, it is not only you." He runs his thumb across my knuckles. "I trust you, Kiara. I know you are not the mole."

I close my eyes, his touch relaxing my stiff muscles. "I'm glad that you trust me, Milo, I really am but what about the others? They don't know me like you do. They have no reason to trust me."

"Baby—" Milo cups my cheeks, placing a soft kiss on my lips. "They will trust whoever I tell them to trust."

"Why are you so quick to believe her?" I rest my forehead against his. "For all we know, she's the fucking mole."

"Do not worry, Kiara. We will not tell her anything. I might believe her, but I do not trust her." He kisses my nose. "Not like I trust you."

"Fine," I grumble, sucking in a deep breath. He's not budging. "Well, what's your plan then? What are you going to do?"

"I will have to re-run background checks on the new recruits, track their movements and calls for the last few months." Milo sighs apologetically. "I am sorry today has turned into such a disaster."

"Yeah…" I fiddle with my Nana's locket as I admire my engagement ring. "So much for a celebration."

"We will celebrate, tesoro." Milo pulls me against his chest, his chin resting on my head. "Once this is all over." He kisses my forehead. "Go downstairs, Kiara, try to enjoy the rest of the day. Please? Your Christmas does not need to be ruined. It is salvageable."

"Yeah, whatever." I pull away from Milo, my head throbbing, my body weak from stress. "I'll be downstairs if you need me."

"I love you, Kiara," Milo says, squeezing my hand. "Remember that."

I force a smile. "I love you too, Milo."

He turns around reaching for the door handle. "I'll come find you soon, yes?"

"Mhmm."

If he wants proof, then I'll just have to find it.

How? No fucking idea.

"Cara!" Julia leaps off the couch and runs up to me. She grabs my hand and lets out an excited shriek. "Look at this rock! Holy fucking shit! It's bigger than mine!"

I stifle a yawn. "It's a bit extra."

"Come sit, Kiara, you look exhausted." Luisa pats the seat beside her, a sympathetic smile on her face. I sit down between my two friends. "How are you feeling? It is crazy, no? I cannot believe she is alive."

"It is horrible," Julia says, passing me a glass of wine. "But at least she is safe now."

"I'm good." I shake my head, pouring myself a glass of sparkling grape juice. Alcohol and headaches don't mix. I purse my lips. "So, you believe her? That she was held captive all those months?"

Luisa frowns, taking a bite of a cream-filled pastry. "Of course, who would lie about something like that?"

I scoff. "Vittoria."

Julia blinks. "You don't believe her? Why?"

"Because her story doesn't make sense, because I can see it in her eyes, her lips, her body language. She's lying, Jules. I know she is."

"Kiara—" Julia places her hand on my thigh. "Everyone reacts to trauma in different ways, just because she is not presenting the typical signs of abuse does not mean she is lying. We must believe her." A little grin appears on her face as if she's trying to lighten the mood. "I thought you were a feminist, cara."

"I am!" I exclaim, irritation spiking in my tone. "But just because I'm a feminist doesn't mean I have to blindly trust all women, especially not Vittoria who is acting her little ass off upstairs saying that there's a fucking mole here."

"What?" Luisa gasps, her mouth hanging open. "She said there is a mole?"

"Yup," I say, chugging the shitty grape water. "And she basically insinuated that it was me."

"She said that?" Julia asks, setting down her glass. "She said it was you?"

"No, but she hinted at it. It was very subtle, but I caught it right away." I slump into the couch. "If Milo doesn't nip this in the bud, I don't see how anyone is ever going to trust me."

Luisa bites her lip. "This is not good, Kiara. To be accused of being a mole, it never works out well."

"Yeah, I know! Plus, I'm new and I'm with Milo and he's told me things, but like how conniving and diabolical does she think I am? Would people honestly believe that I was at the bank on purpose? That I somehow lured Milo to my till? He could've chosen fucking Evie! That was his decision. And why would I shoot Andre if I was working for the Russians? Huh? That makes no sense at all!" My eyes spring open. "Oh my God!"

"What?" Julia asks, blinking. "What is it?"

"Andre!" I say, jumping off the couch, my head spinning. "I can go ask Andre if Vittoria is lying or not. As far as I know, he's still in the basement."

"Kiara—"

I clap my hands at my brilliant idea. "Yes, this is perfect. I'll go down there and get him to confirm my theory, that Vittoria is a lying bitch." I purse my lips in thought. "Where's Teresa?"

"I don't think that is a good idea, Kiara," Luisa says. "He is dangerous. Do not go alone."

"Then come with me," I say, cocking my head to the side and yanking on her arm. "Girl power, let's go!"

"I think you need to calm down, cara," Julia hums, giving me a worried stare. "Maybe you need to sleep."

"I agree with Julia," Luisa says, her eyebrows knitting together. "You have had an emotional day. You are not thinking clearly. Go rest, Kiara."

"You know what? You're right." It would seem as though I'm on my own. "I think I'll go take a nap. Sleep it off. "

"That is a good idea," Julia says. "I will wake you when dinner is ready, yes?"

"Thanks," I say in a warm tone, heading out of the living room. Glancing over my shoulder to make sure they're not watching me, I duck into the adjacent room and dart to the kitchen, following the smell of Italian cuisine. Teresa hovers over a pot of aromatic pasta sauce as I enter the kitchen. "Hi, Teresa."

She jumps, grabbing her chest. "Signorina, you scare me."

"Sorry." I lean against the counter, scanning her plump face. "Teresa, I need the keys to the basement."

She frowns. "The basement?"

"Yes, to the room you bring food." I'm not sure how much she knows. "I need the keys to the room. Please."

Conflict flashes across her face. "I am not supposed to?—"

I put my left hand on her forearm, making sure she sees the ring. "It's fine, Teresa. I grant you permission."

She blinks at the glistening diamond. "Oh, congratulations, Signorina!" she exclaims, smiling up at me. "One moment, I will be back."

"Grazie," I say, tapping my nails on the counter as she scurries to the back room.

Scanning the cutting station, my gaze lands on a small fillet knife. Hmm. Perhaps some form of protection would be wise. After all, he is a rapist and a murderer. I shouldn't just go in unarmed. Opening one of the wooden drawers, I take out a sharp knife and slide up my sleeve, blade down.

Teresa returns a moment later, keys in hand. "Be careful, yes?"

With the icy metal of the Chef's knife pressed against my forearm, I know I'll be just fine.