MILO

4. Eyes of the Castle

With a white cotton towel wrapped around my body, I cross my arms, staring up at the security camera in the corner of the bathroom, fuming, utterly dismayed.

This motherfucker.

Thank God the toilet is situated behind a separate door otherwise, I would erupt with humiliation knowing that someone was watching me...go. Milo did say that I should get used to having no privacy but this?

This is unacceptable, improper, intolerable.

Go take a shower, Kiara. Well, now I can see why he was pushing it so hard. What a sick, twisted pervert. I refuse to be a channel that he and his goons can turn on whenever they're feeling frisky and need a little peep show. I've already degraded myself by agreeing to work with the goddamn mafia and I would like to preserve the smidgen of dignity I have left. I wonder how many other cameras are hidden in my room. Does he think I won't mind? That I won't protest? That I won't do something about it?

How naive.

Grinding my teeth, I storm out of the bathroom, scanning the bedroom for a blunt object. As luck would have it, Mr. Di Vaio seems to be a sculpture aficionado so my options are vast. I hope he's not attached to any of them. On second thought, I hope he is.

Perhaps the marble lion licking his paw? I run my fingers along its smooth white surface, lifting it up. Pure marble. No. Too heavy. I continue looking. Maybe the archangel Gabriel? I shake my head. No, that would be sacrilegious. Granny would be disappointed. My eyes dart to a bronze Hercules with the weight of the earth on his shoulder. Hmm. This seems like it could be quite aerodynamic.

Snatching the metal statue off of the sleek black dresser, I traipse back inside the bathroom, hoping that my hand-eye coordination will not fail me. Maybe the season of baseball my parents signed me up for when I was ten has been ingrained into my muscle memory.

Here's hoping.

Pursing my lips, I line my feet up with the ogling camera, my fingers coiled around the spherical earth of the statue. Taking a steady step backward, I wind up my arm and fling the bronze Hercules towards the camera, quickly jumping back in case it ricochets. I smile triumphantly as the lens of the camera shatters upon impact, the red light dimming as the statue falls to the ground.

I smirk at my handy work. That's better. Now I can get ready in peace.

Milo might be a voyeurist but so far he's not a liar. The outfits Luisa picked out for me are phenomenal, everything designer and nothing under a grand. I've always wanted to own couture, feel glamorous with expensive fabric draped over my body, perhaps this is the silver lining. I might no longer have a soul but at least I have Chanel. It could be worse.

Removing an off-the-shoulder chiffon blouse and a black pencil skirt from the velvet hangers, I lay the items on the bed before perching on the upholstered gold stool in front of the rococo vanity table. I barely recognize the woman looking back at me. I'm in Italy, a country I've always wanted to visit, yet I don't feel the joy that's supposed to come with checking an item off one's bucket list.

I adjust the flap on the towel hugging my body as I scan the tubes and containers of make-up in the drawers, shocked to find that the BB cream matches my skin tone. Maybe Luisa color swatched me while I was in my Xanax coma.

Granny always told me to find happiness in the little things whenever I was feeling miserable, drained, empty. When your entire life collapses and you lose the most important people in your life, the little things become your life source. The chirping of a bird. The smell of Earl Grey. The warmth of sunshine on your face.