Milo

39. The Big Picture

Chapter 39

The Big Picture

Bolts of thundering pain pulsate through my brain, every one of my nerve endings activated as jarring cold water collides with my face. I gasp, receded grey edges hindering my vision as I struggle to open my eyes.

Fuck. My head.

I wince, another flood of freezing water crashing against my face, jolting me awake into a state of confused consciousness. I blink, my hazy vision coming in and out of focus.

"Who are you?" I croak, my throat dry as I try to make out the man in front of me. "Where am I?"

He doesn't reply.

"Let me go.” Abrasive material burns my wrists and ankles as I writhe in the cushioned chair, attempting to stand up. Shit. Come on. Focus. Focus! Slowly, like a dial-up connection, the fog stifling my ability to think, to see, to process, begins to lift.

The man watches me as I look around the room, frowning as I take in the upscale and sophisticated design of my surroundings. The walls are slightly curved, blinds rolled down on all the windows. The white furniture and sleek marble accents cause a sharp pain in my eyes.

Where the hell am I?

The floor beneath my feet is unstable, swaying, subtly rocking my body like I'm floating.

A boat? I glance around the room again. No. A yacht. A marina. We must be at a marina. That means there might be people. There might be help.

As if sensing that I'm about to scream, the man moves his coat to the side, revealing a gun. No words. I don't need words to heed his warning.

Scream and you'll die. Got it.

"Do you speak English?" I look up at the bald middle-aged man. He doesn't move a muscle, standing still, stoic and impassive. Let's try again. "Russian?" Nothing. "Arabic?" No. "Ita?—"

"Italian, yes. He does."

I whip my head around toward the familiar voice, my eyes widening with disbelief as Marchello strides toward me, waving his revolver in the air.

"Marchello? What—what are you…" Realization dawns on me. "Oh my God, you? You're the mole?"

"Me? A mole?" He throws his head back and laughs, his nefarious cackles rattling my bones. "I like you, Kiara, I really do," he stops in front of me, “but you are not nearly as intelligent as you think you are. There is no mole, idiota . Well—" He clicks his tongue. "I suppose there is now." He cocks his head to the side. "You."

"I don't?—"

"You don't understand?" he cuts in, a sly grin on his face. "I know you don't. See, that is the problem, you are incapable of understanding. Do you know why? Because you do not belong here, Kiara. You will never belong here. "

"Go fuck yourself," I seethe, struggling to free myself from the ropes binding my limbs.

"I will not be disrespected!" His features harden as he whips me across the face with his pistol. Pain spreads through my body, metallic odor filling my nostrils and coating my tongue. "You will keep your mouth shut, understand?"

I clench my jaw, my left eye welling up with tears. Don't fucking cry. I look up at him, spitting blood-infused saliva into his face.

"Fuck you."

He blinks, glaring at me as he wipes two fingers across his cheek. "I would hit you again, but I am afraid I might kill you."

"Isn't that your plan? To kill me?"

"Maybe, it depends on your answer," he says, pacing in front of me as he sucks on his teeth. "The truth is, Kiara, it was never supposed to come to this but unfortunately you have proved to be a very malignant form of cancer." He stops, peering down at me. "You are more difficult to remove than I had originally thought."

I swallow, my brows knitting together in confusion as I keep my mouth shut. Based on the curl of his lips, the gleam of pride in his eyes, and his boastful tone, I don't need to ask any questions. He thinks he's won whatever game we were playing.

This is a victory lap, his moment to shine.

He twists the revolver around his index finger. "I created many opportunities for you to leave on your own accord. I planted the necklace, I led you straight to Andre, I even brought that cheating whore Vittoria back from the dead, and yet you stayed."

He lets out a maniacal laugh that sends chills down my spine. So, Vittoria wasn't kidnapped. I was right. Or she was. Just not by the Russians.

Marchello continues, not giving me time to ask what happened. "Not only did you stay but you accepted his proposal. I was certain bringing back Vittoria would be the end, but I was wrong. When you referred to yourself as Milo's fiancée, I thought it was over. I thought I lost, but then, I had a moment of pure genius."

"A mole.”

"Yes," he grins. "A mole. It was perfect, I thought in time I would be able to convince Milo that you were a traitor, a spy, but then you go and kill Andre, all on your own. It was beautiful but it changed my plans. I had to act quickly. I had to strike while the iron was hot. So tonight, Milo will think that you fled, that you ran away. That in fact, you were the mole."

I blink, attempting to make sense of everything he's saying. "So, you orchestrated all of this because you don't want me to marry Milo?" I pause, narrowing my eyes. "Why? I don't understand."

He takes a deep breath. "Because, Kiara, there is no room for love in Santi Oscuri . There is only power, loyalty, and money.” He scans my bleeding face. "Not only do you make Milo weak—" He points the gun at my uterus. "But you are also a broken woman, and you have no place by his side. When the time comes for Emilio to produce an heir, my daughter will gladly offer up her womb because she understands the importance of legacy."

My face falls. "I don't think your daughter will be as willing as you think."

"It is not about will, Kiara, it is about duty. I have served this family since I was fifteen years old, almost fifty years. I have been at the forefront of battles, of wars, standing beside the Di Vaio's, ensuring that our legacy lives on, even after I am dead. And I will not let you, Vittoria, or any other woman, jeopardize our position as leaders."

"Vittoria?" I ask in a low hum. "What did you do? Why?—"

"Milo, he was not groomed to be capo . That was always Sergio's birthright but then he died, and Emilio was going to undo everything his brother was trying to accomplish." Marchello's lip twitches. "He was going to relinquish control of Moscow, and for what? His brother's body? So sentimental, so foolish. A body is nothing, Kiara. It is flesh and bones and blood, nothing of value, nothing important."

"So, you kidnapped Vittoria and framed the Russians," I say, the pieces finally falling into place. "Why? To make Milo angry? To make him want revenge?"

Marchello casts me an impressed grin. "Exactly, he needed motivation, he needed fuel , so I gave it to him. Not too long after Sergio's death, I caught Vittoria in a very compromising position with one of our men, so I gave her a choice, the same choice I am now going to give you."

"Yeah?" Fucking bastard. "And what's that?"

Marchello squats down in front of me, his gaze flickering around my face. "Either I kill you, right now.” He drags the pistol across my battered cheek as the silent man brings over a briefcase. "Or you take this money and disappear. You go far, far away. And never return."

I blink. "Why not just kill me? Get rid of me for good? If I'm such a cancer, why risk keeping me alive?"

"Because, Kiara, I look at the big picture. I plan ahead. That is my job. If you are willing to take this money—" He taps the metal case. “That tells me that you have a price. And if I keep you alive, I can buy you again, in the future, if I ever need to. You will be my pawn; I will own you. "

"Vittoria took the money," I whisper under my breath. "You paid her to come back. You paid her to say?—"

"Of course, she took the money!" Marchello scoffs. "That was the only reason she latched her nails into Milo in the first place. She never loved him, she loved this—" He motions around. "She loved luxury, diamonds, champagne. So yes, she took the money and she moved to Dubai. She was smart, Kiara. And I hope you will be smart too."

That explains the Arabic. That explains everything.

"There's one thing I don't understand." I purse my lips, a thought popping into my head. “You said your job is to ensure the legacy of this family, right? Don't you think this whole thing is counterproductive then? Milo is changing the plans against the Russians. You would've reclaimed power in six days, but now? You fucked everything up by bringing in a fake mole. Did you think of that?"

"Once again, Kiara, big picture," Marchello hums with an unbothered shrug. "We will have another opportunity to take down Igor, but I will not have a better opportunity to get rid of you. So now—" He stands up. "I need your answer. Do you wish to die tonight? Or live a long, healthy life?"

The last time my life flashed before my eyes, I saw nothing. It was empty, deprived of meaning, emotion, substance. But this time, I don't see my past. I see my future. I see Milo. I see his face. I hear his laugh. I feel his touch.

I feel his love.

It's inside me. It's coursing through my veins, keeping me alive. It's given me life. He resurrected me. Brought me back from the brinks of existential death. Without him, I have no one. Not one single person on God's green earth loves me as much as he does.

And I know he does. I do.

He gave me his heart .

And I'll give him my life.

"I won't take your money," I whisper, my breathing shallow. "I would rather die than be blackmailed by you. I will not be your pawn, Marchello. So, kill me."

Marchello frowns. "Kiara, be logical, take the money."

"No.” I stare at his gun. "I don't want your money."

"This is what I mean.” He takes four steps backward as the bald man puts a gun with a silencer in his palm. Marchello holds out the pistol, pointing it at my head. "Love makes you stupid. It is truly the most destructive emotion." He sighs. "Any last words, Kiara? A prayer, perhaps?"

I close my eyes, a small twinge of peace gripping my heart. "I'll see you soon, Nana," I murmur under my breath. "I'll see you soon."

A loud bang echoes around the room.

"You son of a bitch!"

My eyes spring open, Milo, Gio, and Mateo storming into the room, guns drawn.

Relief washes over me.

"Untie her," Milo spits, glancing at Gio who rushes toward me. He re-grips his gun, pointing it at Marchello as Gio unties the ropes from my wrists and ankles. "You fucking little shit. I trusted you and you have been manipulating me this whole time!"

"What—How…How do—" Marchello stammers, backing away until his back hits the wall. He raises his arms in surrender. Milo nods at the cameras in the corners of the room. "But I—I disabled them. I?—"

"Even you, Marchello, do not know everything," he growls, burning rage twisting his face. "I heard every single word that came out of your traitorous mouth!"

"Traitor?!" Marchello's voice rises as I stand up. I keep my distance, rubbing my sore wrists. "I am not a traitor! I am loyal! More loyal than you will ever be, Emilio! Everything I have done is for the sake of our family. For you! For our future!" He takes a step forward, pressing his chest against the tip of the Beretta. "You needed to become a leader, Milo, and I made that happen. I made you into the man we needed, into a man who will rule the fucking world!"

"You betrayed me, Marchello," Milo says, his jaw clenching. "You were like a father to me, and you betrayed me."

"I did what I had to do, Emilio," Marchello spits. "I did my duty. I stayed loyal to Santi Oscuri."

"No." Milo cocks his head to the side, his tone deep, menacing as he states, "I am Santi Oscuri, and you, Marchello, have broken the code. And for that, you must die."

My gaze darts between the two men.

Loyalty. Power. Wealth.

Stability.

No.

No.

"Stop," I shout as Milo racks the slide, chambering a round. "Milo, stop! Stop!"

His head snaps toward me, his eyes chocked full of agonizing pain as his gaze flickers around my face. "Look at you, tesoro," he breathes, his voice trembling. "Look at what he did. He needs to die."

"No," I whisper, placing my hand on Milo's stiff arm. "You can't kill him." Marchello shoots me a dubious look as I glance at him. "You can't kill him."

"Yes, I can. He broke the code."

"It doesn't matter," I whisper, removing the Beretta from his hands. Big picture . "If you kill Marchello, we'll look weak. We'll lose power, Milo. The other families, they'll know. It'll get around. It'll—" I swallow. "It'll start another war. A civil war."

"Kiara—"

"You need stability, baby," I say, clenching my teeth as my fingers coil around the gun. " We need stability. At least for a little while."

"I have underestimated you, Kiara." Marchello expels a low laugh, drawing our attention. "Perhaps you do belong here after all."

"You will keep your mouth shut, understand?" I repeat his words as I stride toward him. "You said that there is no room for love in Santi Oscuri , right? But you're wrong."

"Wh—"

"Did I say you could talk?" I meet his defiant gaze as he snaps his lips shut. "Better. You're wrong because if I didn't love Milo, I would let him kill you. I would let him unload this entire magazine into your fucking body." I take a deep, calming breath. "But you see, I do love him, and I've grown to love his family. Julia, Natalia, Luisa even. And I don't want to see this family, my family, be catapulted into another unnecessary war on the basis of internal conflict. So, thank whatever God you worship that love does exist in Santi Oscuri, because without it, you would be dead."

Marchello swallows.

"I cannot trust him anymore.” Milo glares at his underboss. "What do you suggest we do with him?"

"You can trust me, Emilio!" Marchello pipes up. "You can."

“We'll think of something.” I cast Marchello an ominous smile. "The floors in my bathroom looked a little dirty. He can start there." I turn to Milo, my head throbbing. "Let's go, I need to have a word with Vittoria."

"The floors?!" Marchello shouts, his chest puffing up. " You expect me to clean your fucking bathroom?! After all the years I gave to this family? After all the sacrifices I made?!"

Dull pain pulses in my temples as I whip my arm out and fire a bullet into his shoulder.

He staggers backward, sliding down the wall as he presses his palm against the bullet hole.

"Shut up, Marchello, you're giving me a headache."

"Jesus, Kiara," Milo murmurs as Gio lurches forward.

I hold out my hand. "No, don't help him.” I nod toward the galley kitchen. "Go get some paper towels and spray." I smile, peering down at the whimpering old man. "You're getting blood all over the carpet. Clean it up." I expel a deep sigh, looking up at Milo. "As I was saying, I need to have a word with Vittoria."

Milo blinks. "Whatever you want, tesoro, just don't shoot me."

"Here. Take it." I hand him back the gun. "For your own safety."

I am not a pawn.

Not anymore.

I'm a fucking queen.

And queens don't cry.

They don't.

I walk past Milo, needing to get off this damn boat.