38. Missing Piece

Chapter 38

Missing Piece

I wake up in an empty bed, my gaze darting to the digital clock on the nightstand. 11 p.m. I groan, rubbing my eyes. Great. I should've gotten Milo to wake me up. Why did I think I could sleep through the night?

I take a sweater off the armchair and slip it on, grabbing my phone on the way out of the bedroom. He's probably still working. Of course, he's still working.

God, when will this end? Where's the light at the end of the tunnel? I don't see it. I don't. I fucked up. I really fucked up and now he has to fix it. He has to undo all the damage I caused.

But can he?

No matter how much sway and power Milo has, some messes are impossible to clean up. He can scrub and bleach and disinfect, but my dirty actions aren't going to wash away that easily. Not when there's a mole on the loose. Not when I'm a suspect in the eyes of the family. Not when lies are spreading like a disease. Not when everyone is catching the infection .

I walk down the hallway toward Milo's office, pausing outside the guest bedroom.

" I don't know, " Vittoria says in Arabic. What? " Maybe a month? Two ?" I press my ear against the door. " I know. I know ." She pauses. What is going on? " Yes, okay. I love you too. Bye ."

Who is she talking to? And in Arabic? Oh my God, nothing makes sense. Nothing. I knock on her door. Let's see her lie her way out of this one. "Vittoria?"

"Yes?" Distant fumbling sounds from inside. "Come in." I open the door, staying out in the hallway. "Oh, Kiara. Hi."

"Hi. Were you just on the phone?"

She blinks. "Oh, yes with my sister. It's been a long time since we talked."

"Your sister?" Strike one. "Really? How's she doing?"

"Good." She clears her throat. "She is very happy to hear from me."

"I can imagine. It's not every day your sibling rises from the dead."

"She said it was a miracle." Vittoria sits down on her bed and flicks her nails. "A gift from God."

"A gift from someone , that's for sure," I agree, studying her movements. "Vittoria, can I give you a tip?"

Her brows pinch together as she looks up at me. "What?"

"If you want to get away with lying, you should learn how to hold eye contact for more than a second." I lean against the door frame. "And your hands? Too much fiddling. Dead giveaway." I click my tongue. "Well actually, that could also be a sign of anxiety or nervousness but in your case? I think it's all of the above. What do you think?"

She places her palms on her knees, staring at me. "I am not lying to anyone. "

I pout, shaking my head. "Remember to blink, Vittoria. Too much eye contact is also bad."

She swallows. "I'm not lying."

I sigh, tilting my head. "See? You keep saying that but it's not the truth, is it? It's almost like you're trying to convince yourself. But why? What actually happened, Vittoria? Hmm? You might as well tell me because I will find out."

She clenches her fists. "You seem to be the only one who does not believe me, Kiara ."

"Because I'm objective, Vittoria. And observant, and quite frankly, more intelligent than everyone else here. I know, I know, I shouldn't brag, but it's the truth." I take a step forward. "You see, Milo, I think he only believes you because he's been eaten alive by guilt. He's unable to look past that. But me? I can see right through you. You're like the cheapest brand of cellophane. So fucking transparent."

She opens her mouth to say something, but I hold up a finger.

"I know you're hiding something, Vittoria, and it's only a matter of time before I find out what it is, and when I do—" I stop in front of her, my gaze cold. "You will regret ever lying to me and to the man I'm going to marry. You will regret causing us such a headache and you will definitely regret ever stepping foot in this house. Now—" I smile. "Is there anything you'd like to tell me while you still have the chance?"

She silently stares at me, her expression for the first time, unreadable. "No. I don't have anything to say."

"Are you sure? I can see that there's something on your mind. What is it?"

Her face tenses. "Sometimes in life, Kiara, you must do what is necessary to survive. "

I frown. "What does that mean?"

"You're the genius, right?" Her lips curl into a scowl. "Figure it out." She points to the door. "And get the fuck out of my room."

I scoff, heading to the door. "If I were you, I'd be careful, Vittoria. I just killed a man, perhaps I'm a little unhinged right now. Don't provoke me, okay?"

Her face pales. "Leave."

She's tougher than I gave her credit for. A shame. She was so close to cracking.

"Sweet dreams, Vittoria."

I make my way to Milo's office, my brain pulsing as I try to wrack my head around what the fuck is going on. What is she planning? Who does she work for? Does Igor speak Arabic? Was she actually in Russia? Survival? What was she talking about? So many questions and none of them link together. There's no common ground. I can't solve a puzzle with half the fucking pieces missing. It's impossible.

I bust into Milo's office without knocking. "Did you know Vittoria speaks Arabic?"

Marchello and Milo look up from the computer. "What?" Milo asks as I sit down on the chair in front of him.

"Arabic," I repeat myself. "I just overheard her on the phone speaking to someone. Thought you'd want to know."

Milo pinches the bridge of his nose, reclining in his chair. "Kiara, she studied abroad for a year when she was in university. I think it was in Dubai."

"Oh." I cross my arms. "Does her sister also speak Arabic?"

"I don't know, Kiara," Milo says in a tired tone. "Why?"

"When I asked her who she was talking to, she said it was her sister. Doesn't that seem weird to you? Why would she speak Arabic to her sister? "

"Why were you eavesdropping on her?" Marchello asks, taking a sip of coffee. "That is also weird, don't you think?"

I shoot him a glare. "I just happen to be passing by."

"Mmm, of course," he hums, checking the time. "Perhaps you should go back to sleep, Kiara. We have a lot of work to do."

I roll my eyes, ignoring him. "Milo, come on, you don't think that's suspicious behavior?"

"Kiara," he sighs. "I have just spent seven hours going through footage and recordings of our new recruits, trying to find the mole. I do not have the energy to deal with this right now."

"Why are you looking through footage? She's lying. There's no mole! You're wasting your time."

"Kiara, please," Milo pleads, his tone low. "We have more footage to comb through and we need to adjust our plans for the Russians. Can you please just let this go? Please?"

"No. God, why don't you believe me? Seriously, Milo? Why? You said you don't trust her, yet you're changing your plans ? What plans? For new year's?"

Milo nods. "Yes, we cannot follow through. It could be a trap."

"Oh my God," I whimper, losing my mind. "There's no trap, baby, there isn't. Trust me, please." This is insane. What is he doing?! "Don't change your plans. You said everything is ready to go! It's almost over, Milo. You're so close. Don't stop now just because she claims there's an insider."

Marchello frowns. "She knows about new year's?" he growls. "Milo! Are you an idiot? Why would you tell her?!"

Milo slams his hand on the table. "You do not speak to me like that! "

Marchello grinds his teeth, glaring at me. "Why is it that you do not want us to believe there is a mole? Huh, Kiara? Why are you so adamant that we follow through with our plans? Hmm? Maybe perhaps it is because you have something to gain ."

Oh my fucking God!

A frantic gust of air slips past my lips. "Shut the fuck up, Marchello!" I look at Milo. "You don't believe me, do you? Why? Why is Vittoria's word more valid and believable than mine?" I narrow my eyes, realization dawning on me. "Oh my God, you did love her, didn't you? You said you weren't sure, but you did. That's the only explanation. It's?—"

"That is incorrect, Kiara," Milo states, his jaw clenching. "I am doing all of this because even if there is a small chance that she is telling the truth, I need to be prepared. There is no room for error. Our family cannot and will not survive another mistake. I need stability, Kiara. I need to reclaim power, and I cannot do that unless I am one hundred percent certain that I am not sending my men to fucking die!"

"I think it is time for you to leave," Marchello says, nodding at the door. "Let the men work."

"Men? Plural?" I scoff. "Funny, I only see one ."

"Watch your mouth, woman!" Marchello growls.

"Or what?" I ask. "What are you going to do? Hmm?"

Milo bangs his fist on the table. "Both of you, stop fucking talking!"

"Fine!" I abruptly stand up, my blood thrumming with irritation. "I'll leave you boys to it then." I grab a jacket from Milo's coat rack. "Bye."

"Kiara, where the fuck are you going?" Milo asks, his tone defeated.

"For a walk! I need some fresh air. "

"Do not leave the estate," he says as I slip on his trench coat. "Understand?"

"Don't tell me what to do," I snap back. "I'll go wherever I damn well please. I can't stay in this house any longer. I'm losing my fucking mind."

"If you must leave then take Gio or Mateo with you," Milo says.

"Why? Clearly, I'm not in any danger seeing as I'm the mole, right Marchello? Why do I need a guard? I'm the bad guy, right?"

"For fuck's sake, Kiara!" Milo stands up. "At least take your gun."

"Oh, you trust me with a gun? Really? Even though I work for the Russians?"

"I never said that Kiara," Milo sighs. "Why are you being so difficult?"

"Difficult? Me?" I flap my arms. "God, I need to leave before I strangle you."

"Marchello, give her your gun," Milo says. "Now!"

"What?" Marchello frowns. "I'm not?—"

"I said now!"

"Fine!" He reaches into his holster and reluctantly hands me his pistol. "Don't fucking lose it."

"Wouldn't dream of it," I scowl, pocketing the gun. I glare at Milo. "Don't wait up."

"Do not leave the neighborhood, Kiara," Milo warns. "I will know."

I roll my eyes. "Don't you have footage to comb through? Better get to it."

"Kia—"

I don't give him time to finish before I march out of his office, slamming the door. God, I need a drink. This is absurd. Am I the only sane person here? This is how innocent inmates on death row must feel. It's infuriating, blood-curdling, fucking maddening.

I shove my feet into a pair of boots by the front door. Exiting the house, the clear star-infested sky greets me as I make my way out of the gates.

What do I do? Think, Kiara, think! I turn right, walking aimlessly up the block, my fingers curled around the heavy pistol in my pocket. What are the facts? What do I know for certain? Oh my God. Nothing. I don't know anything. It's all a jumbled mess of maybes. How do I solve a riddle with no clues?

God, am I in the wrong here? Am I being paranoid? Is Vittoria telling the truth? I don't know anymore. I don't. I grip the locket around my neck. Nana, help me! Please! Give me a sign, a signal, a crumb!

A wave of nausea washes over me. Oh, God. Feeling lightheaded, I sit down on a random bench, nestling my head between my knees. Breathe. In and out. In and out. In and out. My phone rings. Milo. I ignore the call. It rings again. I ignore it. And again.

"What do you want?"

"You've been gone an hour, Kiara," he says in a gentle voice. "Come back, tesoro. I'm sorry for yelling at you. Please."

"I'll be back in a bit, okay? I just—" I close my eyes. I can't go back until I have a plan. Until I have something to go on. I need to figure out what's happening, otherwise, there might be nothing to go back to. "I need to think."

"About what?"

"Just everything," I whisper, hanging up.

Slipping my phone into my pocket, I stand up, continuing my journey. According to researchers, walking increases creativity by sixty percent. That's a lot. And I need to be creative. This problem isn't a linear equation. It's complicated, complex, with so many variables. Vittoria. Igor. Enzo. The Russians. Arabic. The rose. The Mole. Andre. God, that's too many variables. Too many variations of the truth. Too many possible answers. I can't do it. I can't solve it. I can't.

I circle a corner, entering a dimly lit street, the humming of an engine behind me. I twist my neck toward the slowly moving vehicle. Too slow. I can barely see it, no headlights. I pick up my pace as my brain stem activates survival mode. The car follows me at a distance.

Trepidation seizes my insides as the car speeds up and a man jumps out of the passenger's side door.

Fuck! I start running, my heart racing as I fumble around for my cell phone. The man follows me, only a few feet behind. My vision blurs, panic setting in as I try to dial Milo's number, my legs heavy as I sprint. As I'm about to press call, I trip on the uneven pavement, my body lurching forward, the phone flying out my hands and smashing on the ground.

No!

I scramble to get up as the man approaches me. I study his face, reaching for the gun. I don't know him. He's not familiar. I raise my shaking arms, the pistol heavy in my hands. Too heavy.

"Who are you?" I ask, pointing the silver revolver at the six-foot-tall man. "Who sent you?" He raises his hands in the air, the SUV stopping behind him. They probably have guns as well. Shit. "Who are you?! Let me go or I'll fucking kill you!"

He doesn't say a word, but I know something's wrong. He smiles as he looks over my shoulder into the distance. And that's when I hear it. Footsteps behind me.

I spin around but it's too late.

A blunt object hits the back of my head.

Game over.