MILO

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 granny's 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 state, 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 muses, licking his lips. "We will fix that."

"I'm a realist, Mr. Di Vaio," I explain, unbothered by my outlook. "There's a difference."

"You may call me Milo," he smirks, shifting his body towards me, his rapidly changing demeanor giving me a headache.

"You said only those that are close to you call you Milo," I note. "We just met."