Milo

17. White Flag Down

Chapter 17

White Flag Down

Our Father, who art in heaven, hallowed be thy name.

"Kiara, can you hear me?" Milo kneels down in front of me. Blood gushes out of his right shoulder, staining his clothing, dripping on my dress, on the filthy cement that I've collapsed on. "Kiara."

Thy kingdom come; thy will be done; on earth as it is in heaven.

"Kiara…” His voice is like the wind, howling in my ears, so quiet, so calm, yet so fucking destructive. "Kiara, please say something."

Give us this day our daily bread. And forgive us our trespasses, as we forgive those who trespass against us.

"It's okay, Kiara.” His warm hand encircles mine, prying the murder weapon out of my rigid fingers. "It is over. You're okay."

And lead us not into temptation; but deliver us from evil.

"Milo!" Marchello roars, his heavy footsteps followed by many many others, like the thundering of a pack of wild horses, their hooves beating on the ground, matching the frantic rhythm of my heartbeat. "What the fuck happened? You are bleeding!" A pause. "Is that fucking Andre ?"

For thine is the kingdom, the power and the glory, forever and ever.

I blink, my gaze focused on him. Only him. No one else.

So still. He's so still. Like an abandoned toxic lake on a summer's day when there's no breeze, no sound, no ripples on the water.

Nothing.

Motionless. He's just an empty vessel. No life. There's no life in him.

I took it.

I took his fucking life.

Milo’s voice is deep and muffled, like echoes in an underwater cave. “Gio, get the fucking car. Now!"

Amen.

"Milo." Marchello squats down beside my victim. "Milo!"

"Kiara…” Milo’s face is so close to mine but I can't see it, it's invisible, non-existent, a blur. "I'll be right back. Just breathe."

Breathe.

I can't breathe. It hurts to breathe. Every breath I take feels like knives are spearing my throat, my lungs, my heart.

I shouldn't breathe. I should stop. If I don't breathe then it won't hurt. Then it'll go away. It'll all go away.

But—

But I deserve the pain. I deserve the agony. The suffering.

I deserve it all.

I inhale, sucking in the cold air around me, filling my body with torment, with evil.

Andre's evil .

It's inside me now. A part of me.

His hatred, his contempt, his life.

It's a part of me.

Marchello places two fingers on Andre's pulse point, craning his head up to meet Milo's eyes. “He is?—"

"I know," Milo says. "Handle it. Tomorrow we leave for Genova."

"You need a doctor," Marchello notes as he brings himself to his feet. "She will meet you at Julia's. Leave the rest with me."

Screeching tires. Headlights. Commotion. Italian. French. Everything is jumbled. Nothing clear. Static. Torturous static.

The Lord is my shepherd, I lack nothing.

"Kiara, we need to leave," Milo says. "Can you stand up?"

He makes me lie down in green pastures; he leads me beside quiet waters.

Milo winces, snaking his right arm around my paralyzed body. He lifts me to his chest, every movement gentle, controlled, tender. "Gio, get the door."

He refreshes my soul. He guides me along the right paths for his name's sake.

Leather. Fresh leather. The scent is nauseating, sickening, dizzying.

Milo pulls his cellphone out of his pocket and dials a number. "Julia, something has happened."

Even though I walk through the darkest valley, I will fear no evil, for you are with me, your rod and your staff, they comfort me.

Comfort me.

Comfort.

No .

No!

I'm sorry, Nana. I can't. I just can't. It's not enough. These words aren't enough. These verses, these passages, these testaments of good and hope and faith.

It's not enough.

There's no point. I don't fear evil for it has conquered me. It has tainted every fiber of my being. It has seeped into my skin, spread through my body like a cancer.

Malignant. Malevolent. Malicious.

I don't fear evil anymore.

Because I am evil.

I'm so sorry, Nana. I'm so fucking sorry. I wanted to see you. I wanted to give you a hug. I wanted to dance through the heavens hand in hand, to see Grandpa, to see Mom, Dad.

But I can't anymore. It's not possible. I'll never see you again. You must be so disappointed in me, Nana. You have every right to be.

I was weak. I was scared. I was wrong.

A life is a life. You taught me that. I played God. I played God, Nana.

And now my punishment is to play with the devil for all of eternity.

The car door opens and I'm in Milo's arms again, the metallic odor from his wound permeating the air around me, coating my tongue, filling my nostrils.

"Fucking hell, Milo!"

Julia.

"Oh my God, she's freezing.” Julia caresses my cheek with the back of her hand. "Paolo, take Kiara to her room."

"No!” Milo’s grip tightens around my body. His nails dig into my shoulders, my thighs. "I will take her."

"You're fucking bleeding, you idiot!" Julia snaps. "You need stitches. Dr. Romero is in the kitchen waiting for you. Paolo will take her."

"Stitches can wait.” Milo cradles my limp body as he walks up the stairs, faint grunts of pain escaping the back of his throat. "Kiara, please say something." He pushes a strand of hair out of my face, his thumb grazing my temple. "Please."

"Put her down," Julia says. "Now go, Milo. You're getting blood on my fucking carpets."

I fist the silk lavender fabric of the duvet as I perch on the edge of the bed and stare at the wall, my head light, fuzzy, disoriented .

"Will she be alright?" Milo paces back and forth in front of me, running a hand through his hair. "She hasn't said anything since?—"

"She's in fucking shock, you idiot. Paolo—" She looks at her husband. "Take him downstairs. Now!"

"But—"

"Baby brother," Julia says, her tone gentle. "I will stay with Kiara, please go and see the doctor. You're pale, you've lost a lot of blood. Don't be foolish. Please, Emilio. Go ."

Milo kneels in front of me, concern filling his dark eyes as he curls his fingers under my chin. "Tesoro," he whispers. My eyelids flutter closed as he brings his soft lips to my forehead. "I will be back."

And he leaves.

"Cara…” Julia rubs my hands between her palms. "We need to warm you up. I will draw you a bath, okay?" She pauses, scanning my face. "Can you nod if you hear me?" I move my head. Barely. "Good, cara , good. I'll be right back."

Julia opens the door to the ensuite bathroom and turns on the bathtub faucet before returning.

She removes my shoes, one by one, tossing them off to the side. She stands up and removes the stole off my shoulders. Scarlet blotches of blood stain the white fur, tainting the material, ruining it. It won't come out. It's permanent.

"Can you undress yourself?"

"Mhmm," I hum as she lifts me to my feet. "Zipper."

Julia unzips the golden gown, and it falls to the floor around my ankles. I step out. "Take my hand, Kiara.” Her motherly touch relaxes me as she walks me to the clawfoot tub. Bubbles float on the surface of the steaming water. "I'll give you some pri—" I remove my bra and panties before she can finish her sentence.

Julia dips her finger into the tub. "Let me know if it's too hot.”

I lower myself into the scalding hot suds, my skin burning as I sink into the bath. I bring my legs to my chest, resting my cheek on my knees.

Julia pulls up a stool next to the tub, a shampoo rinser in her hand. Probably Natalia's. " Kiara, how are you feeling?” She submerges the pink cup into the water and pours the contents over my head. "Talk to me, cara."

I close my eyes, the soapy water cascading down my face, over my eyelashes, down my nose, my lips, into my mouth.

"Numb."

"That is a normal reaction when a person experiences something traumatic.” She drags a loofah over my shoulders as she scrubs away Milo's dried blood.

"I know," I breathe.

I know it all too well.

"Milo, he—um...he explained to me what happened," Julia hesitates. "What you did?—"

"I killed someone… I killed someone, Julia."

She swallows, her eyes welling up with tears. "And if you didn't—" Her breath hitches. "My little brother would be dead."

At this moment, that fact shouldn't matter. It shouldn't justify taking a life. Even a bad one. I have blood on my hands. Literally and figuratively. And that's not okay. It's not acceptable. It can't be acceptable. There is good and there is evil. There is wrong and there is right.

I was wrong.

Wrong. Wrong. Wrong.

Yet.

Seeing the gratitude in Julia's eyes, the heart wrenching appreciation glowing in her irises, it doesn't seem so wrong, and that, that kills me, destroys me, decimates me.

I don't say another word as Julia washes my hair and scrubs my body. She can cleanse my exterior, make it shiny and new, but she can't cleanse my soul. She can't wash away the dirt, the grime, the mildew of my actions, of my decision to play judge and jury.

"Here—" Julia holds out a cotton robe as I climb out of the tub and slip my arms into the warm clean garment. "Do you want anything to eat, Kiara? Drink?"

"No.”

I look at my reflection in the semi-fogged-up mirror. The woman staring back at me is a stranger. I don't know her. I don't want to know her.

I hate her.

I hate her so fucking much.

"Why don't you get some sleep.” Julia lifts the drain plug out of the tub, the once clear water now a rosy hue. "We are leaving early for Genova tomorrow."

I blink. "You're coming?"

She smiles. "Yes, cara . Paolo and I are going with you. My mother will stay here with Natalia. "

"Okay." I amble toward the king-sized bed, curling myself in a ball on top of the covers. "Goodnight."

"Sleep, cara." Julia flicks off the lights.

It's too dark. I switch on the lamp on the nightstand. I can't handle any more darkness.

For what feels like hours, I lay on my side, not moving a muscle as the shadows of trees dance across the white walls, jagged branches swaying in the wind like terrifying puppets.

"Kiara, are you awake?"

I crane my neck toward the door, a sense of calm washing over me. "Yes," I whisper as Milo strides toward me, a black T-shirt wrapping his torso. White bandages peek out from the collar, the sleeve.

The mattress dips as he sits down on the edge. He sweeps my dampened hair behind my ear, his rough thumb trailing across my cheekbone. His gaze flutters down the length of my curled-up half-naked body.

"Kiara…” His voice is like a soothing lullaby. " Thank you ."

I bite the inside of my lip, my tear ducts trembling, my cheeks burning from his gentle touch. He's thanking me for killing someone. I'm getting praise for being a murderer.

I can't form words. A sentence. I don't know what to say. You're welcome? How can I say something like that? How can I tell him that I'm also thankful?

"I—" Milo expels a labored sigh, his jaw tightening as I stay silent. "I will let you sleep.” He pushes himself off the bed.

Panic fills my heart.

"No—" I fist the fabric of his shirt, my tone pleading, desperate . "Don't leave." I pause, meeting his pensive gaze. "Please don't leave me. "

I don't want to be alone. Not now. I need him. I need someone beside me. I need someone to keep the shadows at bay.

To keep the demons away.

"Stay... just for a bit."

Only a bit.

Hesitantly, Milo dwarfs my hand with his as he lowers himself back down on the silk sheets, his body full of tightened restraint, the veins in his forearms like stripes on a zebra, mesmerizing, beautiful. I inch backward as my heart races, making room for him, the cool fabric of the covers like ice underneath my legs.

"I will stay with you for as long as you want.”

He winds his left arm around my neck, raking his fingers through the wet strands of my hair. He brings my head to rest on his rising chest, the cotton robe slipping off my shoulders as I melt into his warm embrace, my palm resting on his stomach.

Oh, God .

My insides stir from the proximity, from the heat emanating from his body, from the rough texture of his jeans against the inside of my thigh. My breathing is shallow as his increasing heartbeat echoes into my ear, so loud, so deafening; it cuts through the charged silence that encapsulates us.

He idly draws tiny circles on my bare shoulder, slowly pushing the robe further down my arm. His faint but scorching touch sends shivers through my whole body. He conjures goosebumps, desire, need .

"Are you cold?" The husky timbre of his voice reverberates through my body like a fucking earthquake, crumbling walls into dust, shaking my very fragile foundation .

I let out a shaky breath, tilting my head to meet his darkened eyes, my mouth dry, parched . "Are you?"

He shifts his position, angling his body toward me. The pad of his thumb floats over my parted lips, his strained gaze locked with mine.

"No.” He draws closer to me, his heady breath fanning my skin. “I’m not."

"Good.” I squirm restlessly against him. Conflict stirs in my heart, the repressed emotions of today bubbling to the surface, filling my eyes with tears as images of Andre's dead body flash across my mind.

What is wrong with me?

"Kiara…” He wipes the rolling tears from my cheek. "Do not cry. Please ."

My teeth clench together as my eyelids flutter shut. I can't hold it in anymore. I can't push it down. I can't.

"I killed someone," I whimper, unable to contain the sorrow. "I?—"

" Shh ," Milo hums, holding me tight against his chest. "It's okay. You are okay."

The warmth of his body heat absorbs into my shattering skin. "I want to forget.”

Comfort.

In this moment, he is giving me comfort. He's holding me together. Literally. But I need more than comfort. I need more than to be held. I need to forget. I crane my neck up, my gaze piercing his.

"Make me forget, Milo," I whisper against his lips as I inch closer, his sweet breath filling my drowning lungs. "Please."

Milo stiffens, tightening his arms around my body as he says in a retrained, almost pained tone, "Not like this, tesoro… ”

"Milo," I breathe out his name, desperation in my voice. "Please."

Milo's jaw tightens as he studies my face. He sees it. Sees me. And he's conflicted. Just like me. But we both want it. We've wanted it for so long. We wanted it. But now...now I need it.

"Are you sure, tesoro?" he asks in low murmur.

"Please..." I slowly drag my hand down his torso toward his cock. "I'm sure."

"No.” He pushes my hand away as he shakes his head.

"No?" I frown. "Why?"

"Because..." He's silent for a moment before he whispers, "It is you that needs to forget, not me ."

"Wha-" My words are trampled as he drags his hand down my neck to the base of my throat. He glides his fingers underneath my robe, edging it away, making me shudder.

Oh, God .

"I will make you forget?—"

My breath hitches as his warm palm finds my breasts, his fingers rolling my nipples. Heat erupts in my core, my legs clenching from the ache.

"Everything."

I let out a moan, writhing under his touch as he rolls on top of me, pinning my hands over my head. He peers down at me like I'm his prey.

And I am. God, I am.

I am at his mercy, and I want him to be merciless. I need him to make me feel. Feel something other than grief. Other than numbness. I want to feel alive, in the sickest, most twisted way possible. I want him to burn me, destroy me, make me forget.

"Close your eyes, tesoro," he rasps. And I do. "Good girl."

He’s letting me win, and God knows I need a fucking victory right now. But did I win the war? Or simply the battle?

I whimper as he plants open mouth kisses on the underside of my jaw, my neck, my shoulders. His palm assaults my breasts, blissful pain spearing my nerve endings as he twists, gropes, squeezes. Neurons fire in my brain.

"Milo—" I cry as he nips at my neck, his sharp teeth grazing my throat. He peppers kisses in the valley between my breasts, his stubble rough against my skin, his taunting hand feathering down my stomach, past my mid-section, to my thighs, parting them, stopping at my pulsing sex.

Fuck.

"You are so wet for me, Kiara…” he growls, swirling his fingers against my slick slit, pressure building between my legs. My hips buck as he plunges two fingers into my soaking wet pussy, his thumb stroking my clit. His mouth latches onto my stiff nipples— biting, licking, savoring.

Buzzing. My body is buzzing from his expert touch, my toes curling from the pleasure, my lungs panting, quivering.

I expel wanton gasps as he whirls his fingers inside me, pushing in and out. His lips trail further down my belly, his tongue coating my skin with sloppy wet kisses as he settles himself between my legs. His strong hands coil around my thighs, spreading them apart like the red fucking sea. His balmy hot breath blows against my sex.

And then I die a sweet, torturous death.

"Fuck!" My breathless cries fill the room as his mouth crashes down against my clit, his impure tongue flicking, sucking, biting my sensitive nub as his fingers pillage me, annihilate me, send me to another fucking realm.

A realm of pleasure, depravity, greed, lust .

No consequences, no moral dilemmas, no right, no wrong .

Just pure fucking debilitating ecstasy.

I wind my fingers through his dark hair, tugging at his roots as I undulate my hips around his sordid mouth, needing more friction, more pleasure, more everything.

The pressure builds inside me, twisting my uterus, his fingers relentless in their assault. My walls tighten around him, my breathing wild, raw, unfiltered as I bite my fist to stop myself from fucking screaming.

"You're so close, Kiara—" A roaring, animalistic growl leaves the back of his throat as he commands, "Come for me, tesoro. Come for me."

His tongue fucks me like I've never been fucked before. My hips buck forward as a tidal wave of dirty releases gushes from my sex, soaking his face, spraying his fingers, dripping down my thigh like a broken fucking dam.

He holds down my quivering legs as another orgasm rips through my body, the intensity nearly blinding me.

I pant, my legs shaking as he finally withdraws his devilish fingers. My heart races, my mind blank, stars in my fucking eyes.

"Oh my God," I breathe as Milo dismounts me, the mattress bouncing as he gets off the bed. "Holy shit."

"Goodnight, Kiara." Milo's voice is so faint, so quiet like he's not even here. "Go to sleep."

I hum, my body exhausted, drained, defeated as my eyes flicker shut.

And I sleep.

I sleep like the fucking dead.

Until I wake up.

And the pleasure is gone.

And the only thing I feel...

Is anger.