Page 83 of Milo

"And Henri didn't know that one of his men was a spy for the Russians?" I already know the answer but I’d like to hear it from Milo. Is he going to be honest with me?

"No, Henri was not aware of Andre's true intentions when he joined his organization." Milo runs a hand through his black hair, his neck muscles tightening. "Earlier this week we discovered that the man who recommended Andre for the position was bribed by the Russians."

I wince. "Did you kill him?"

His shoulders tense. "No, I did not. I trust Henri to deal with his employees in the proper manner."

So, Henri killed him. Got it.

I flick the tips of my fingernails. "Am I in danger? Did I create more problems for you?"

"As you know, our dispute with the Russians predates what happened in Monaco. It is being taken care of. As long as you are with me, you will be safe."

"Okay.” My gaze darts to his hands. Priorities. "So, what's in the envelope?"

Knowledge is power.

"Andre's real name is Andrei Vasilesvsky.” His tone is professional, matter of fact, void of emotions. "He is a cousin of Igor Zharkov, the head of the Pravda faction of the brotherhood. He is also—" His jaw clenches.

My heart races. “Also, what? I can handle it, Milo. Just tell me.”

Power is confidence.

Milo inhales a small breath, his eyes hooded, dark, uncomfortable as he reveals, "Andre is wanted in Moscow for the rape and murder of three women."

Ignorance is bliss.

"What?" Knots form in my stomach and my face pales. “He?—"

Oh my God. I sat with this man. We played cards together. He flirted with me. He complimented me. He touched me. His deplorable, sick, heinous hands were wrapped around my wrist.

And then I killed him. I murdered a murderer. I took the life of a rapist. I saved Milo. I probably saved myself. These are the facts. These facts should exonerate me of my crime. They should absolve me of my sin. They should justify my actions.

But do they? Do they really?

I am not the judge.

"These are the police reports." Milo flips open the flap, removing a thin stack of documents. He passes me the files. My heart clenches as Andre's vile blue eyes stare up at me from the mug shot. "The details are—" A slight head shake. "Disturbing. I would recommend that you do not read the full report."

Too late.

Milo stays silent as nausea, disgust, and anger course through my veins. My knuckles turn white as I grip the report.

Bound. Gagged. Mutilated. Throats slit open. Their bodies wrapped in garbage bags. Dumped under bridges. The victims were all waitresses. Brunettes. All young women who were just starting their lives. They all had families. Friends. One had a son. A child. This child is motherless now.

Andre was fucked. He was an actual real-life monster. Someone who shouldn't have been given the gift of life.

He was an abomination. An error. A mistake.

My parents weren't religious. We never went to church. Even when I moved in with my grandparents, I never went. But for the last ten years, Nana has preached the word of God. I've listened. I've tried to believe. For her sake. It made her happy. I wanted her to be happy.

Nana told me God doesn't make mistakes, but she was wrong. He does. How could God put this man on earth on purpose? Is He that cruel? Does He not take responsibility for His children? Is it free will? Is it nature versus nurture? If our lives are predestined, then Andre was destined for this? Destined to be a psychopath? And that was, okay? Acceptable? Part of His plan?

I knew there was evil in the world but to be so close to it...it's harrowing.

"Kiara…” Milo places a comforting hand on my trembling knee, his thumb stroking my skin. He gently removes the documents from rigid fingers. "I think that is enough."

"Why did you show this to me?" I suck in a shaky breath. "To make me feel better about killing him?"

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