3. Fickle Like Promises
Chapter 3
Fickle Like Promises
I want to use you for a lot of things, Kiara.
Things : objects or acts that one need not, cannot, or does not wish to give a specific name to. In Milo's case, I'm certain it's the latter. But given his gritty suggestive tone, dilated pupils, and the slight twitching of his upper lip, I can fill in the blanks quite easily, too easily. Subtlety is not this man's strong suit, evidently, neither is timing.
Not ten minutes ago, he had a pistol pointed at my head, ready to shoot without a second thought and now, he wants things ? The nerve of this man.
I am offended. Thoroughly, wholeheartedly, undeniably offended . Or at least I want to be.
I should be.
I refuse to be as capricious as a criminal, yet I can't help but find my curiosity piqued by the tempting glimmer of pleasurable promise in his garnet eyes.
Mmm .
What kind of things...?
I blink. Dear God. No .
Yanking my disloyal eyes away from his enticing face, I inwardly cringe at my fickle reserve. I will not succumb to his dangerous charms.
I won't.
"So, in exchange for my... skills , you'll keep me safe?" I ask, refusing to acknowledge his earlier statement. I can analyze his intentions later. There are far more important things at hand right now, like my life. If the only options are to work for him or die, I don't have much of a choice.
Although, working for the Italian mafia does pose its own set of problems. Santi Oscuri are notorious for their constant... turnovers in staffing, at least according to the various European newspapers my Nana hoarded over the years.
No one lasts long working for a criminal organization. But I suppose eventual death is better than imminent death. Everyone dies, it's a given, I just always thought it'd be decades before I was reunited with my whole family. At this moment, I'm not sure which half I'd meet.
"I will ensure that no harm comes to you,” he states with unfaltering confidence. "As long as you are with me, I can guarantee that you will be safe."
"I would prefer if you didn't lie to me, Mr. Di Vaio,” I say, skeptical of his overly assured pledge. "There are no guarantees in life."
"A pessimist, I see." He lets out an amused hum. "You are far too young to be so cynical, Kiara."
I scoff. "And you're far too optimistic for a man who just had a bomb strapped to his chest, fake or not. If you can't guarantee your own safety, I doubt you can guarantee mine."
His jaw clenches. I've hit a nerve. "You would prefer to die than take my offer then?"
"Of course not.” I frown, taken aback by his confusion. " All I'm saying is that you shouldn't make promises you can't keep. I will happily accept your protection, but I don't anticipate a long and prosperous life. You can promise me that you'll try your best but I'm not an idiot. I know how this ends."
"You are a cynic.” He licks his lips. "We will fix that."
"I'm a realist, Mr. Di Vaio," I explain, unbothered by my outlook. "There's a difference."
He smirks, shifting his body toward me. "You may call me Milo.” His rapidly changing demeanor is giving me a headache.
"You said only those that are close to you call you Milo. We just met."
His large, battered hand finds its way to my thigh, his fingers coiling around it slowly, applying minimal pressure. He leans into my ear and whispers, "It seems as though we are very close right now."
I control my breathing, ignoring the fragrant oaky musk of his cologne. Gently placing my hand on top of his, I push it away. "We both know you weren't talking about proximity, Milo .”
"I enjoy the way you say my name.” His lips curl up into a satisfied grin. "It is like you are scared of me. I will not bite you, Kiara." He pauses. "Not yet."
My eyes harden, irritated that he can read me so well already. "If you want something to bite , perhaps you can get a chew toy ."
Milo expels a low laugh, his gaze flickering to Marchello who's pretending not to listen. " She is funny, no ?"
" Yes ," Marchello agrees in Italian, like the puppet he is. " Very funny. "
I roll my eyes .
" Allora ,” Milo holds out his hand, inviting me to seal my fate, “do you accept my offer, Kiara?"
I gaze heavenward, shaking my head, incredulity bouncing between neurons. I can't believe I'm doing this. He killed two men in front of me today and now I'm supposed to work for him? Yes, they were bad men, horrible probably, but does that make it okay? Is a life less important if it's corrupt?
If I were a good person, I'd hold steady in my principles; I'd choose death over selling my soul to the devil. But evidently, I'm not a good person. I choose life. Even if that life kills me; perhaps not physically, but morally, which might be even more terrifying.
With a heavy sigh, I extend my arm forward, his hand encircling mine slowly, a ghost of a smile on his face.
"I accept.” The heat from his palm radiates through my body like he's filling me with the flames of hell.
"Excellent.” He smiles, knowing that he's marked me, that he's chained me to a new life, that my very existence rests in his hands. "We will go over further details at my estate."
"And where is your estate?" I rub my hands together, trying to scrub away the invisible filth. "Manchester?"
"In Genova .” He types out a message on his cellphone. "We are going to the airport right now."
I blink. "Right now? We're going there right now ? B-But I don't have anything with me! I don't have my wallet, phone, laptop, Kindle, clothes ." I pause, panic setting in. Oh shit. "My locket. I need my Nana's locket; I can't leave without it." I tap the driver on the shoulder. "Excuse me, you need to turn around?—"
"Please relax," Milo sighs, as he types out another text. " My men have already collected your belongings from the bank?—"
"But I need to go home!" I insist, my voice rising. "I need to get?—"
He peers up at me from his phone, eyes dark and stern. " Shh .” I begrudgingly snap my mouth shut. "I already have people going to your home to retrieve your requested items. Where is your passport located?"
"In the nightstand by my bed.” I attempt to keep my tone even, relaxed. "My locket is there too. It's a silver sphere." I pause, frowning. "Wait, how do you know where I live?"
"Your wallet.”
"You went through my wallet ?" I cross my arms. "Such an invasion of privacy."
Milo expels a soft laugh. “Get used to it, Kiara. There will be eyes on you all the time now."
Dread washes over me. What did I do? Why did this happen? Why did I accept that banking job? Why didn't I take a later break? Why did he have to choose my till? Why did I tell him about the bomb?
Why?!
"Perhaps you would like a sedative," Milo suggests. “It will take the edge off. You have had an eventful day."
"I'm fine," I breathe, my hands shaking. "I'm fine."
"You are not.” He nods toward Marchello who passes him a black tin. He slides open the container and picks up a rectangular pill and snaps it in half, holding out a piece. "Take it."
"No, I'm not going to take random drugs from someone I just met. Are you crazy? I'm fine."
Milo lets out a sigh, his eyes fluttering shut for a brief moment. "It's Xanax and it will help you sleep. We have a two-hour drive to the airport and then a two-hour flight to Genova . You should rest, Kiara." He puts the pill in my hand. "It is pure, I promise."
I purse my lips, eyeing the benzo warily, my heart thumping with anxiety. "I'm surprised you're not forcing me to take it.”
"I do not force women to do anything.” He shrugs. "I have no need."
"Well, that's comforting.” I hesitate for a second before popping the Xanax into my mouth, the sharp edge of the pill scratching my throat. He's right, I need to relax. "How long does it take to work?"
"It will be quick. Just close your eyes and enjoy."
And I do.
With the stress of recent events and the potency of the sedative, I drift off to sleep effortlessly.
At first, everything is serene.
Calm.
Quiet.
Light.
But not for long. It never lasts long.
It's dark now, too dark, thunderous growls echoing all around me; screeching screams, piercing howls of demonic forces surrounding me. The air is thick, heavy, painful to breathe. My feet are bare, my heels digging into shards of obsidian glass, penetrating my skin, cutting through veins, sending spikes of agony through my core.
No, where am I? Help! Help!
Mounds of wasted earth rise all around me like it's breathing, gasping for air. And then I feel it, the magma oozing through the cracking molten rocks behind me, gushing down my body, burning it. I can't run. I can't— My head snaps down to the ashen ground, a decaying hand emerging from the volcanic debris, and another one, and another one, and another one.
Kiara.
Their heads burst out, twisting, turning, inhuman, possessed. They look familiar. So fucking familiar. Ubiytsa, they rasp in unison, their yellow eyes locked on mine as they drag their rotting corpses toward me. No, I'm not. I'm not a murderer. I'm not. I want to scream but no sounds come out. My legs can't move. I'm stuck. Frozen. Paralyzed with fear.
Kiara .
A hand coils around my ankle and yanks me down, my head slamming against the ground, jagged rocks scratching my back as more hands feast upon my limbs. No. No!
Kiara! Wake up!
I gasp, my body jolting upright. Rays of sunshine beam into the room, my forehead drenched in sweat, my breathing ragged, heavy.
It was a dream.
"Kiara, are you alright?"
Gripping my chest, my eyes flutter open slowly, cautiously. I crane my neck, my blurry vision starting to focus on the man hovering above me.
Oh, it wasn't a dream.
"Where am I?" I whisper, my throat dry, sore.
" Genova ," Milo explains in a gentle tone. "In your room."
We're here? Already? I look around, barely able to register the regal decor, the lavish furniture, the dark aesthetic of my surrounding.
"My room?" I wipe the moisture off my forehead.
"Yes, your room…” He narrows his eyes, observing my every movement. "You were screaming, Kiara."
At least someone heard.
"I had a nightmare.” I prop myself against the headboard. "How did I get here? Why didn't you wake me up earlier?"
"I tried but you were unresponsive. Perhaps I gave you too much. I will adjust accordingly," he says, almost apologetically. He pauses before adding, "It is Friday morning."
I blink. "What?"
"You slept for eighteen hours. I was almost worried you were in a coma."
"Well, you're the one who drugged me.” A cough escapes my lungs. "Your fault."
"Perhaps…” He scratches his gruff dark stubble. "You should take a shower now. All the belongings you requested are in the closet, plus some new clothing." His unreadable gaze sweeps across my body. "I had to guess your size, but I believe that everything should fit."
"You bought me clothes?" I ask with an unintentional scowl. "I could've done that myself."
"Not me personally," he smirks. "One of my assistants went shopping. Do not worry, she has great taste. Her name is Luisa, she is here to help you with anything you need."
"My own lady-in-waiting,” I sigh. "How exciting."
He ignores my sarcasm and gestures to the bathroom. "Go shower, Kiara. We have many things to discuss."
"I'm sure we do."
With a nod, Milo exits my room and I lazily slide out of the king-sized bed, banishing the flashes of my dream from my mind. It wasn't real. They're not real. Listlessly, I saunter toward the marble slabbed bathroom, slipping my clothes off with every step until my feet reach the heated tiles of the glass-encased shower.
Hot water spurts down my face, flowing down my breasts, my waist, washing away the emotional dirt that has rendered me lifeless. Scanning the various products stacked against the built-in shelves, I lather my hair and body in lavender-scented suds, the fragrance relaxing, soothing.
Just as I'm rinsing out my hair, a steady flashing of red light draws my attention to the corner of the bathroom.
Is that...?
Is that a fucking camera?