5. Between the Lines

Chapter 5

Between the Lines

" Mi scusi , Kiara?" A gentle knock on the door draws my attention away from the oval mirror. Good timing . I put down the blush brush and turn my head. "It is Luisa, may I come in?"

"Yes, come in." I stand up and adjust the black chiffon blouse, making sure it's even on both shoulders.

There's no lock on the door, she could've barged in but instead, she knocked. Interesting. How polite. A rarity, I'm thinking.

I give Luisa a careful once-over as she enters my room, not at all surprised by her striking beauty; a petite figure, long thick Caramel hair, doe-like brown eyes, slender nose.

Objectively speaking, she's gorgeous, more so than me. I've always envied short women, there's a certain dainty quality to them that I think I'm missing.

Luisa smiles as she approaches me. She scans my outfit with pride. "Do you like the clothes I bought for you?" she asks. "I think it suits you very well, no?"

"Yes." I run hands down the curves of my hips, my fingers gliding along the satin texture of the mini pencil skirt. "They're very nice, thank you."

"It's my pleasure." She passes me a cellphone. "Milo told me to give this to you. There are some numbers programmed into the phone, mine, his, a few others you might need. I can go over them later."

"I already have a phone." I take the cell from her hand and twist it in between my fingers. "Why do I need another one?"

"I'm not sure, I was just told to bring it to you." Luisa lifts her shoulders into an unbothered shrug. I suck in a sharp breath. Ask no questions. Of course. "Are you ready to go? Dr. Giardini is expecting you."

I blink. "Doctor? I thought I was meeting with Milo?"

" After the doctor. Milo has requested a comprehensive physical. It is standard for all his... employees . "

I expel an airy scoff. What a caring employer. "I have no choice but to go, correct?"

Luisa's lips curve up into an apologetic smile. "It will be quick; he is a good doctor."

I'm sure he is. I doubt the mafia would hire incompetent physicians.

"Fine." I place the phone on the vanity table next to my grandmother's necklace before following Luisa out of the door and down the dim hallways of Milo's grand estate.

This villa is nothing like I've seen before; distressed faded white walls with grey bricks shining through, blood-red carpeting, gold detailing on every picture frame hanging on the walls, refurbished sconces from the nineteenth century. It's like an ancient castle that got a modern facelift, a twenty-first-century homage to The Palazzo Medici. It's mesmerizing, like I'm walking through the halls of history.

"How long have you worked for Milo?" I ask as we make our way down the stairs, my hand sweeping along the ornate railings. Luisa's high heels echo through the vast emptiness of the house. "Are you his assistant?"

"Assistant? Me?" Luisa lets out a soft laugh as if the idea is simply preposterous. "No, I manage the estate for Milo. My father, Marchello, is Milo's... assistant . We grew up together. My father has been the advisor to the Di Vaio family since his youth. He previously worked for Milo's father and brother before they—" She pauses, rounding a corner. "This way."

"Oh," I hum with a nod, trying to make out the similarities in features between Luisa and Marchello. I make a mental note to ask Milo about his family. I doubt Luisa will elaborate any further if I ask. "And do you enjoy managing the estate?"

"Of course." Her tone is laced with prestige and power. "It's my home."

"Right."

Now it's mine too. For the time being.

Once we get down to the floor that the infirmary is situated on, Luisa stops us in front of a glossy black door. "Milo's office is right upstairs, I can come back to show you or?—"

"I think I'll find it." I give her a tight-lipped smile. A moment of freedom seems like something I should savor. "Thank you, Luisa."

"Text me if you ever need anything," she says sweetly. "I'm here to make this transition as easy for you as possible."

"Thanks."

Luisa knocks on the door for me as if I'm incapable of doing it myself. "Kiara Payne is here," she states before waving goodbye.

The door swings open, revealing an elderly man in his sixties; salt and pepper hair, crow's feet on the edges of his aged eyes, a stethoscope draped over his lab coat.

"Miss Payne, please, come in," he says in a hoarse tone, ushering me inside. "Please sit." He holds out his hand "I'm Dr. Aldo Giardini, a pleasure to meet you."

"Kiara Payne." I shake his hand as I perch myself on the medical examination table. This better be a verbal exam, I'm not getting undressed.

"This will not take long." He retrieves a clipboard from the far console table and slips on a pair of thick-lensed glasses. "Your medical history was difficult to attain so please bear with me as we go through the questions."

I stifle an incredulous laugh. Difficult to attain? It should be impossible. I'm starting to suspect that doctor/patient confidentiality is nonexistent if you have wealth and power.

For the next ten minutes, Dr. Giardini goes through his extensive list of questions, asking me about vaccines, family history, any surgeries I've had, my blood type. He's professional, respectful, clinical during the entire conversation.

That is until he asks me, "Are you a virgin?"

My jaw drops. "Excuse me?"

He peers up at me from the clipboard, unflinching as he asks again, "Are you a virgin, Miss Payne?"

I cross my arms defensively. "Is that a standard medical question?"

"Yes."

I purse my lips, unconvinced. "Did Milo ask you to ask me if I'm a virgin?"

"No."

I click my tongue, shaking my head. "Are you lying to me?"

"No. I am not. "

"Mhmm." I narrow my eyes. "Would you tell me if you were lying?"

"No," he states, a ghost of a smile on his face. "I would not."

For fuck sakes.

"No, Dr. Giardini," I sigh. "You can tell Milo that I am not a virgin." I tilt my head. "Will he be pleased or disappointed?"

The doctor doesn't answer as he scribbles down a note. "When was your last sexual encounter?"

I clench my jaw. He's unbelievable. This can't be protocol.

"Five minutes ago." I keep my expression neutral. "I fucked one of Milo's guards before I came here." I lean in closer to the Doc whose eyes are bugging out of his sunken face. "He had a huge cock, I loved it ."

He clears his throat. "I take it you are joking."

"I don't know? Am I ?" I give him an innocent shrug. "Maybe Milo should check the security footage."

Either I've rendered the doctor speechless or he's having a petit mal seizure. I wonder if there are cameras here. Or a microphone.

"Are you on birth control?" he continues after a few seconds of silence.

"No, I'm not," I say, getting tired of this inquisition. He lifts up an inquisitive brow, I elaborate, rolling my eyes, "I use condoms ."

"Only condoms?" He purses his lips. "Nothing else?"

"Yes, Dr. Giardini, only condoms," I sigh, hopping off the table. I'm sensing this is the end of the line of his intrusive questioning. "My previous gynecologist told me I only have a 4.4 percent chance of getting pregnant, those aren't great odds so no, I'm not on birth control."

"Very well." He averts his prying gaze as he flips through the pages of my past. "Alright, we are finish?—"

I exit the medical office before he can finish his sentence, my blood thrumming with irritation as I march up the stairs toward Milo's quarters. Again, he must think I'm an idiot. If he was curious about my sexual past, he could've just asked. He doesn't strike me as a timid man, but I suppose he doesn't want to show his hand this early in our... arrangement .

Not wanting another confrontation, I take a leveling breath before knocking on his door. "Mr. Di Vaio?"

"It is open," he calls out and I turn the handle, peeking my head into his lavish office. My mouth hangs open as I scan the grandiose interior. So much fucking velvet. Milo's eyes follow me as I enter the room, trailing up and down my body as he purses his cunning lips. "I think I prefer the towel."

I roll my eyes, gliding toward the rows upon rows of tattered books sprawled along the far wall. "I'm sure you do." I tilt my head to read the names of the titles. "Do you enjoy reading?"

"When time permits." The smoky timbre of his voice buzzes through my bones as he joins me by his extravagant collection of European literature. "Do you?"

"Mhmm." I pull an old copy of The Divine Comedy off the shelf and handle the bindings and pages with a delicate touch, amazed that I'm holding such an iconic piece of art in my hands. I flip to the first page, my eyes widening. "Oh my God, this is a first edition. "

"Most of them are first editions," he says casually, like they're not worth millions. "Would you like to read it?"

I flicker my perplexed gaze toward the frustratingly handsome man in front of me. "I would, thank you," I say hesitantly, unsure of what to make of his sudden kind countenance.

"Of course." He gives me a stoic nod, gesturing toward his desk. "Please sit, Kiara."

Oh, time for more intrusive questions.

Milo pulls a folder out of a drawer once we're both seated, flipping it open. "So, tell me, Kiara…" He scans the documents. "Why was my investigator barely able to find any information on you? You have no social media accounts, no educational history, no employment. Nothing. Who are you? The truth."

Carefully placing The Divine Comedy on his desk, I recline in my seat, crossing my legs. His eyes dart to the exposed creamy flesh of my thigh. I inwardly smirk. Shameless.

"It's not that interesting," I say, looking over this shoulder toward the oil painting of two Italian men, both possessing a strong resemblance to Milo. "Who are those people?"

Milo's lip twitches. "Where were you born? Tell me."

I sigh. Clearly, we're not moving past this. "I was born in Virginia, in the States. When I was thirteen, my parents passed away, so I moved to Hawthorne to live with my grandparents."

"My condolences," Milo says. "May I ask how they died?"

I close my eyes, memories of that day still so painfully vivid.

"Daddy, drive faster!" I whine, squeezing my bladder tight. "I have to pee!"

"We're almost home, sweetheart," Dad says, smiling at me through the rearview mirror. "Ten minutes."

"Honey! Watch out!" Mom screams as rays of winter sun reflect off the black ice on the highway. "Slow down! "

"Shit!" Dad turns the wheel, our bodies flinging side-to-side as the car skids, slides, screeches.

"Kiara, hold on to something!" Mom orders and I do. I grip the handlebar as our car spins out of control, nearing the edge of the highway. My temples pulse from the speed, the fear, my heart racing as my dad tries to reclaim control of the car.

But he can't.

"Mom!" I shriek as our bodies lift up into the air for a brief second like the first drop of a rollercoaster. The car veers off the highway, through the railings, and plummets into the tree scattered ravine, the impact bashing my head against the window.

And then nothing.

Buzzing. Dull buzzing. The odor of leaking gasoline. The smoky smell of fire. Muffled voices. Tapping. Clawing. Shattering. My back scraping against shards of glass.

"Can you hear me?"

I groan, my eyes fluttering open. I'm in a stranger's arms. I don't know you. Who are you?

"Back up, Connor! It's going to blow."

"Fuck!"

And I'm carried away.

Only me.

I clear my throat, sucking a sharp breath. "A car accident. I was the only survivor."