Milla woke up, sitting up in her bed, rubbing the sleep from her eye with a knuckle and gasped. Ezio sat, crouched in her window. She quickly pulled the blankets up to her chin. "Get out of here!" Milla hissed at the man she was about to marry.
"I came by last night," said Ezio, as he climbed down into her room. "You were not here. Tell me Caro, where were you?" A worried expression covered his face like a Maschera. "Malfatto is still after you."
"Mal…Malfatto?" she stammered, acting as if this was the first time she had ever heard the name. Milla knew Malfatto was after her, but not after her life, she was not sure why Malfatto was after her, was it what she could give him, behind a building? Or was there something more? Romantic? Dark? Sinister?
"He is that doctor that attacked you," explained Ezio, pacing in front of her bed, at the foot. "He is a notorious killer of women in these parts. I'm not sure if he is still after you to do damage to myself, for if you morto, a part of me would die."
Milla pulled back the blankets; he would see her in a lot less than a nightgown in a few months. "Oh, that's Malfatto," she said, feigning ignorance towards the doctor. "I don't think he was trying to kill me." Milla sat at her vanity, brushing her long brown hair into curls, which she would sweep behind her slender neck. "Nor do I believe he is after me."
"How can you defend that Feccia?" gasped Ezio.
"I'm not defending anyone," she said. Milla sighed and looked up at the man she was about to marry. "I just don't like to assume the worst in a person." Ezio smiled. She was such a sweet soul with a sweeter heart. Malfatto would be playing the fool if he killed her. He bent down and kissed Milla, before jumping out of her window.
She looked in the mirror and sighed to herself. The taste of Malfatto's Bacio was off of Milla's lips. A hard, scruffy Bacio replaced that feeling of his soft lips upon hers. She gave a twirl, still enthralled by the Bacio of the doctor. "Ooh, I see Ezio can turn you into a spinning fool, sorella."
Milla stopped and saw her younger sister standing there, a hand on the door handle and a hand on her wide hip, a mischievous grin spread across her face. "What do you want, Cassandra?" she sneered. Cassandra was three years younger than Milla but twice as wide.
Cassandra sat on the bed, the bed groaned and sagged under the weight. "If you must know, Camilla, I want to know why you came in so late and why you are twirling about your bedroom this morning."
"Do mama and papa know?" asked Milla. Cassandra shook her head. She knew Cassandra would not tell them, no matter what she told her. "I was at the Bocino."
