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"Emilio Di Vaio." He pauses, conjuring up a coy smirk. "But those close to me, call me Milo."
"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."
"You did a background check on me?" "Of course." He lets out a melodic chuckle. “I had to make sure I wasn't going to be working with a criminal." I grin in spite of myself. "Hilarious. Do I get to see your background check?" "Now that is hilarious.”
"The devil is not as black as he is painted." Don't fold the pages, Kiara. –Milo
I suppose even the devil was once an angel.
His stubble grazes my jawline as he whispers, "Hit me, Kiara. I want to feel your hands against my body."
"Do not be afraid; our fate cannot be taken from us; it is a gift," Milo says in Italian, reciting a portion of a Canto from Dante's Inferno. "We are all given a path to walk, Kiara. Mine is simply different than yours. But our destinations are the same."
"Wear something red." "Red?" "Yes," he smirks. "It would please me." I toss him a sweet smile. "Of course, Mr. Di Vaio. I aim to please." I'm wearing fucking black.
"You look good on your knees. But perhaps now is not the time, Kiara."
"You cannot even begin to fathom the kinds of positions I want to see you in, Kiara." He twirls a tendril of my hair between his fingers and adds, "Soon, you will be begging me to fuck you. It's written all over your face. You want me. So so bad."
"Nice dress by the way," he hums, reaching for my hand. "But I told you to wear red." I swallow as his fingers lace through mine. What is he doing? "I am wearing red," I whisper, attempting to gather my wit. I'm not going to suffer alone. "You just can't see it."
"There are no locks on the doors, Kiara. Keep that in mind." My chest rises, the alcohol from the cocktails hindering rational thought, making his acute observation moderately enticing. "Do you plan on sneaking into my room?" "No," he grins with wicked confidence. "You will come to mine. I guarantee it."
"There are sculptors around the world, Kiara," he rasps, his fingers stopping at my nipples, circling the stiff, desperate peaks. "That would die a thousand deaths just to have you as their muse."
"You will break, Kiara," he growls, his jaw twitching. He takes a step back, a guttural groan escaping the back of his throat, his expression glowing with disdain, torture. "I will break you." "I'm already broken, Mr. Di Vaio," I whisper, my stubborn resolve almost melting. Almost. "Yet here we are." "No, Kiara, you are simply bent. But when I'm done with you, you will be shattered, broken beyond all recognition." "I'm not fragile like glass, Mr. Di Vaio,” My pulse quickens, "I'm fragile like a bomb." "In that case," he smirks, turning on his heel. "I can't wait to make you explode."
"Say that again." Like a fallen angel, Milo appears out of the shadows, slamming Andre into the side of the wooden bar, his menacingly frigid gaze burrowing into Andre's pathetic little eyes. Milo bends his right arm ninety-degrees, the recessed lighting on the ceiling reflecting off the silver blade pressed into Andre's stomach. "What did you call her?" "Oh my God!" I gasp. "Milo stop! What're you doing?" He ignores me, leaning closer to Andre who's grinding his teeth. "If you ever look at Kiara again, I will cut out your kidney, understand?"
He wants me. And I so desperately want him. So, fuck it. He wins.
He tastes like sin and salvation, a sinister gift straight from the fiery pits of hell, but his lips, his perfect goddamn lips, make me feel, in the purest of forms, like a fucking angel. A deity. A goddess. A saint.
mia dolce ragazza."
"You will be the death of me.” "What a wonderful way to die.”
He looks like a man. A man that's making me question my principles. A man that's shaken my foundation. A man that's shifted the ground beneath my feet. A man I know I should despise. But I don't. Not even a little.
"I might not always be able to protect you, tesoro." "I know that.” I push myself up on my tippy toes and snake my arms around his neck, my fingers raking through his hair. "But it's a risk I'm willing to take." "You are not a gambler," he breathes against my parted lips. "And I am a big risk." "I like the odds.” A low, building current courses through my body, not too overpowering, not too dull, just right. "I like them a lot." "What happened to my pessimist?" I manage a small smile. "She found something to believe in."
"Resta con me per sempre."
My father used to tell us that if we looked hard enough, we could find beauty even in the most peculiar places. Like in a broken man with a broken heart. Or in a lonely girl who doesn't want to be alone. Or in the chance encounter that brought them together. Or in the storm that might blow them apart.
"You are a treasure that I've been searching for my whole life."
Milo is like an old book, his edges are rough, harsh, somewhat withered, but inside, there's a masterpiece, adventure, romance.
"More women need to get mad. That is how change happens."
Cons: He's the head of a mafia He's killed people He's a criminal He tried to kill me He kidnapped me He lied to me Pros: I love him.
"You cannot love pieces, Kiara," she states, glancing at the painting of her late husband. "You must love the whole man or love none of him."
"Sei la cosa più bella che mi sia mai capitata. Ti amo, Kiara." He brushes his thumb across my lips. "You are my light, tesoro, without you, I would be lost."
"God, I love it when you threaten me.” He tucks a piece of hair behind my ear. "It is such a turn on."
With every step I take, I am walking away from my past and toward my future. Toward an ocean of endless opportunities, infinite love, and boundless faith. There will be noise. There will be storms. There will be waves. But I'm not scared. Not one bit. He is my life raft. And I am his. Together, we will weather all storms. Together, we will cause the storms. We will blow the world away. We will be remembered. Forever.
"That is not my legacy," I whisper, dragging my thumb along her cheek, her jawline, her lips. "You are my legacy, tesoro. Our children are my legacy."
