6. Lies in the Eyes

Chapter 6

Lies in the Eyes

Milo's gaze is unwavering as he stares at me with understanding, compassion, sympathy . For a brief moment, he looks almost human.

Innocent.

It's unnerving, uncomfortable, uneasy.

And I don't need it.

I don't need his sympathy. I don't need to relive the past. Talk about it. Dwell on it. Think about how things could have gone differently. There's no point.

None.

Nothing will bring them back. Nothing will bring anyone back.

"I—"

"So anyway," I cut him off, moving past this undesirable topic, "I moved in with my grandparents who decided to homeschool me."

"Homeschooling?" Milo asks, evidently picking up on my tense body language and not prying further into my parents.

"Yes." I stand up, a dull burst of anxiety preventing me from sitting still. I turn away from Milo, scanning the various Leonardo Di Vinci prints hung on his dark grey walls. "They tried to enroll me in a normal high school. It didn't work out."

"Why?"

I shrug, not bothering to look at him. "PTSD or something." I take in the detailed anatomy of the renaissance painter's work. "I was planning on going to university but then my grandfather passed away and I couldn't leave Nana all alone. We had some family money, so I didn't have to work."

At this point, I don't care that I'm telling him everything. I'm going to die anyway. There's no point in lying, in hiding the truth.

"You did not attend university?" he asks. I crane my neck toward him; he's lost.

"Does the University of Wikipedia count?" I tilt my head. "If not, then no."

Milo frowns. "If you never received formal training, how is it that you can speak seven languages?" He pauses, reclining in his leather chair. He links his fingers across his torso. "Or were you lying?"

"Would you like to quiz me?" I let out a genuine laugh, amused that he thinks I'd lie given the circumstances. "I'm not lying but I also can't give you a concrete answer." I pace in front of his desk, gliding my fingers along the back of the gritty chair. "My grandmother, she was a—" I pause, biting my lip. "A worldly woman, eccentric at best, and when my grandfather died, she spiraled a little, if you will. She didn't want to leave the house; she didn't want to do anything."

I dart my gaze to Milo who nods, indicating that he's following.

"I think she felt bad for keeping me in Hawthorne so every few months, she'd go through these obsessive phases where she'd choose a country and our lives would revolve around it," I explain, attempting to find the right words.

"It started with Spain. We'd watch Spanish movies, TV shows, eat Spanish food, read Spanish books, with translations, obviously. But somehow, I started to pick up the language. At first, I thought it was because I took some Spanish in grade school but then the same thing happened with French, Italian, Russian, you get the picture."

Milo blinks. "You are telling me that you became fluent in seven languages by watching films ?"

"More or less," I say, circling his desk. I pause in front of the arched checkered window that overlooks a grand courtyard, a pool in the center. "Once I noticed how easily I was picking up words, phrases, I studied the languages more thoroughly, and after six/seven months, I became fluent. According to the internet, I'm a hyperpolyglot—" I turn my head toward Milo who's spun around to face me. "Supposedly, I possess a particular neurology that makes me skilled at language accumulation."

"That is—" Milo licks his lips, processing my explanation. He lets out a breath. "You're remarkable."

"No, I'm just lucky." I shrug, turning away from him, watching trees sway in the wind on the fringe of the cobblestoned courtyard. Several men dressed in suits walk around the perimeter. "I just happen to be born with this ability. I didn't work for it. It was given to me."

His chair squeaks as he stands up and stalks up behind me. "There is no need to be modest, Kiara—" My breath hitches as he sweeps strands of hair off my shoulder. He arches over, whispering in my ear, "You are remarkable."

I suck in a shaky breath, twisting my body to face him, his chest an inch away from mine .

"Is a cat remarkable for always landing on its feet?" I fight the urge to reach out and touch the sculpted ridges of his chest as my back presses up against the jagged windowpanes. "Or is it just a cat?"

"Well—" Milo smirks, resting his palm above my head. He leans closer to me, caging me with his hellish body. "I have always found pussies to be quite remarkable."

I force a scoff, my breathing ragged. "Charming," I murmur, denying Milo the satisfaction of seeing me squirm.

Bastard.

"You're blushing." His gaze dances across my burning face. He's clearly pleased with himself. I don't dignify his annoying observation with a response. He segues when he's certain I have nothing to add to his lewd remark, "But truly, Kiara, it is worrisome that you cannot see what a gift you have been given."

"It's only a gift now because it's what's saved me from being executed by you ." I weave under his arm, escaping his burrowing intense gaze. " But I suppose it has served a greater purpose."

Hanging his head, Milo expels a low chuckle before slowly turning around. He leans against the window, crossing his arms. "Some optimism." His top lip quirks up. "Finally."

I roll my eyes.

"So now that I've answered all your questions," I take one more stride backward so that there's optimal space between us, "I think it's time you answered some of mine."

"You may ask me whatever you'd like." He pushes himself off the window and perches on the corner of his desk. "But I will tell you only what you need to know."

"I figured as much." I nibble on my bottom lip, surveying his neutral features, attempting to recall everything I've studied about micro expressions. "What is it that you and your family do?"

For half a second, his eyebrows perk up, his lips clipping up into a smile. Amusement. I'm fairly certain.

"I own a chain of hotels and casinos across Europe," he answers flatly. "I'm a businessman."

This is going to be tricky.

"Most regular businessmen don't get kidnapped by the Russian mob. Might want to consider changing professions." I pause. "Why did they kidnap you? Hmm?"

He shakes his head. "Not relevant."

Hmm… Let's turn it up. I've always wanted to put my self-education to the test.

"What do you really do?" I take a step forward, my gaze bouncing between his lips, eyebrows, and nose. The trifecta of human emotions. "Gunrunning?" Nothing. "Extortion?" No. "Drugs?"

The right corner of his lip tightens and rises. Contempt? Interesting. Not the reaction I was expecting. I was anticipating pride.

"Drugs? How unoriginal," I muse, striding closer to Milo who's narrowing his eyes at me, body tense. "Do you make the drugs, traffic them, or sell them?"

His lip twitches, one eye briefly squinting. Traffic.

I think.

I tilt my head, continuing on my rampage. "And the hotels and casinos are what? A front for money laundering?"

His jaw clenches. "I did not say that."

"You didn't have to," I smile, blessing Paul Ekman and his research. "You can't conceal a biopsychosocial reaction." I pause, cocking my head to the side. "The amygdala— it really is the snitch of one's brain. "

"What?" he asks through his teeth. "What are you talking about?"

"Not relevant," I repeat his words. This angers him like I knew it would.

"What makes you so confident that you are correct in your... assessment ?" He takes a purposeful stride toward me. "Tell me."

I shrug. "A party trick."

"Kiara…" His eyes darken. "Do not play games with me."

"If I were playing a game, Mr. Di Vaio. I believe this would be checkmate ."

He stares at me warily, uncertain of how to react. He can either move past this, sticking with his story, or acknowledge that I'm correct.

"I am a businessman, Kiara," he says, unfaltering in his lie. "That is all you need to know."

So predictable already.

"So, what is it that you want me to do for you , Mr. Di Vaio? You speak Italian so obviously I'm no use for you here. If I'm going to be assisting you with business abroad, shouldn't I have the basic facts of who I'm going to be dealing with?"

He sighs.

"I have business partners across Europe, our... relations are unfriendly at the moment," he explains, avoiding giving away too much information. "You will accompany me on several trips and ensure that what they say to me in English is what they say to each other in their native tongues . Similar to the unfortunate incident at the bank."

"So, I'm a spy now? Lovely. That always ends well."

"There is always a risk in business. It is inevitable."

I scoff. " Your business is a bit riskier; don't you think?"

He ignores me, retrieving a document from his desk. He holds it out. "I had an employment contract drafted for you in case your family and friends ask questions. You can make copies if you'd like."

"That won't be necessary, Mr. Di Vaio. I don't have anyone to file a missing person's report."

"Your grandmother?" He frowns. "Will she not worry?"

"Well, she's dead so no I don't think she will."

He purses his lips in thought. "You have seen a lot of death."

I blink. "I imagine you have as well."

His gaze flickers to the portrait above his desk as he stiffens. "Yes. I have."

I wonder how many of those deaths were a result of his gun.

"Well, at least we have one thing in common," I note wryly, getting tired of standing. "So, when do we leave to go.... wherever it is we're going?"

It takes a moment for Milo to recover. His father and brother must have meant a great deal to him. But when you're born into a life of crime, is death really that rare?

"I will be traveling to Sicily for a week on Sunday," he finally says. "In which time you will complete self-defense and weapons training."

My mouth hangs open. "What? Why do I have to learn self-defense?" I toss him a sly smile. "Losing confidence in your ability to keep me safe already?"

"My business partners are dangerous men, Kiara. If I'm unable to protect you, you need to be able to protect yourself."

"Dangerous business partners, hey?" I cross my arms. "Is that a norm in the hospitality industry?"

He casts me an unimpressed glare. "I am serious, Kiara. You will train with Giovanni every day until I deem that you are prepared to enter this world. No sooner."

"I'm a quick learner." I know that I should heed his warning but for some reason, I'm not scared. "I'm sure it'll be a breeze."

"Intellectual acuity will not benefit your physical endurance, Kiara." His lips twist up in a cunning smirk. "This is not a matter of brain—" His hungry eyes dance across my chest. "But of body."

"I know my body, Mr. Di Vaio," I say, instinctively biting my lip as I press my palm against his hard chest. "You'd be shocked by the things it can do."

He grabs my wrist. "Be careful what you say, Kiara," he rasps. "Unless you are prepared to prove it."

My breath hitches, his tight grip sending a wave of heat to my core. "I'm always careful with my words," I whisper, my chest rising. "What does that tell you?"

A barely audible groan escapes the back of his throat as he drops my hand, arousal in his glare. "Do not poke the dragon, Kiara."

"Dragon?" I let out a mocking scoff, turning on my heel to exit his office. Enough fun for one day. "Wow, that is one big ego ."

"I will see you in a week," he grunts in a strained tone, his fists clenched as he returns to his desk.

"Mhmm." I twist open the door handle and pause, craning my neck over my shoulder. "Oh, one last question?—"

"What?" he snaps, peering up at me.

I tilt my head, tone flirty and coy, "Are you a virgin?"

He smirks, letting out a smoky chuckle. "Goodbye, Kiara." A beat. "And please, do not fuck any more of my guards."