Milo Sinister 2 Novels & Stories

“The average person wouldn’t even be able to find the place. That’s how secure it is. Fortunately for us, we aren’t average.” “Can you get me in, then?” I asked impatiently. “Yes, I can. As the guest of an acquaintance, Peter Orlando. You have one shot at this, Mila. Don’t fuck it up.” “I won’t,” I swore just before the line went dead. This wasn’t just a regular job for me. Helen’s life was on the line. The stakes were too high. I couldn’t afford to fuck this up.

I closed my eyes and the memories of that night played back in my mind like I was in a cinema but the difference was that I was watching my life on a screen. It was on a Tuesday morning and I had just finished scrubbing Gerald's bathroom floor when he walked in with his mistress. He tapped her ass and she giggled in response. I looked away and quickly made steps to walk out when he called me. “Mira”. My heartbeat was loud enough for the whole world to hear. I was scared for my life. His voice was terrifying for me,it was my biggest nightmare.

"Order is the only thing that keeps the Feds from the door. And lately, the Cavallo name is synonymous with chaos. Moretti is in a hole. Marcus is... well, Marcus is no longer answering his phone. And then there is the matter of the 'Ghost'." ​He turned his head toward me. He didn't look surprised to see me lurking in the shadows. He looked expectant. ​"Come out, child," Silas murmured. "Don't hide in the dark. I’ve spent my life studying the dark. There’s nothing in it that can surprise me." ​I stepped into the light of the foyer. I felt Enzo’s gaze snap to me—a silent, furious warning—but I ignored it. If Silas was here to audit the Cavallo assets, he needed to know that the most valuable

Milo's eyes went wide with realization and he pushed my wrist away from him, looking towards Sylar worriedly then shrunk against me. "I'm so sorry," he whispered to me then tried to sit up. I rubbed Milo's back to bring him comfort. "No," I whispered. "Milo it was self defense." "He killed him though," Sylar muttered. "He could have knocked him out or something.... He killed both of them." Milo's eyes went wide and he looked towards Stormy's ashes in shock then started to tremble. He looked a little freaked out and I could hear his heart starting to race as he looked towards his bloody hand.

​I looked down. ​Milo, who had been crying for the last hour, was suddenly wide awake. He had wiggled his arms out of his yellow duck fleece. With zero survival instincts and absolute baby fearlessness, Milo reached his tiny, chubby hand across the center console. ​His little fingers clamped firmly into Kaelen Thorne’s thick, dark beard. ​"Da!" Milo squealed happily, giving the facial hair a sharp, aggressive yank.

There were more important things to attend to than my wounds. "No, he doesn't. He's only angry and doesn't know the truth. You also don't know the truth. That's why I want to keep you safe!" As we ran through the gallery, we found an enemy standing in the hallway. I immediately recognised him. He was Colin's warrior. My blood boiled— the ones that hadn't spilled at least. But Mila pushed me behind her. "I got this!" Before I could say otherwise, she snarled and ran with inhuman speed towards the man. She climbed up his body in swift, easy movements and slashed through his throat with her claws before snapping his neck. He was dead before his body hit the floor.

As a precaution the inside is lined with industrial plastic, the kind you use when you don’t want blood to stain the floors, and painted with pine sap. I pull back the flap and peer inside. The smell hits first. Rotting flesh, urine, and sweat. The thing in the corner stirs. "Milo," I say conversationally, stepping up into the truck. "It seems you weren’t completely full of shit after all. We just met some of your old friends." Milo lifts his head, or what’s left of it. His face is a ruined mess, eyes swollen shut, lips cracked and barely clinging to his gums. His arms are twisted at odd angles, the skin barely holding together over the shattered bones beneath.

The world was a smear of grey stone and cruel laughter. Without his glasses, Milo felt untethered, floating in a sea of predatory shapes. He reached out, his fingers trembling as they brushed the cold, damp grass, searching for the frames that allowed him to navigate a world that already felt too sharp for him. "Looking for these, Princess?" Miller’s voice was right above him. Milo heard the distinct crunch of a boot heel pressing into plastic and glass. Milo’s heart stuttered. A sob caught in his throat, making his chest heave, the movement straining the fabric of his oversized hoodie. "Why?" he whispered, his voice cracking. "I didn't do anything to you."

Together, they were unstoppable. Amid the chaos, Amara spotted a familiar figure: Milo Nero. He had returned, more cunning and dangerous than ever, eyes glinting with malicious amusement. “You never learn,” Milo sneered, stepping into the fray. “Still playing hero in a world that thrives on monsters.” Amara’s blade gleamed under the dim chandelier light. “And you never learn that monsters can be tamed — or destroyed.” The clash between them was brutal, a whirlwind of strategy, strength, and unyielding will. Each strike carried the weight of revenge and survival. Luca intercepted Milo’s men with deadly precision, leaving a trail of incapacitated foes.

His robes whispered against the floor as he walked, his thin frame almost hidden by their folds. “You called for me,” Milo rasped, his voice carrying the eerie stillness of graveyards. His sightless gaze turned unerringly towards Scarlett’s sleeping form on the bed. I clenched my fists tighter, claws pricking into my palms. “See her. Tell me what’s happening to her.” Milo moved closer, his pale fingers trembling as he reached out. He sat carefully on the edge of the bed, placing two thin fingers against her temple. His eyes fluttered rapidly, lips parting as his breath came in shallow gasps.