Leone
Milo drives.
I stare straight ahead as we turn onto the private road leading up to my father’s estate. The hedges are trimmed to symmetry. The stone wall running the length of the property is smooth and spotless. Everything about this place is polished, expensive, and untouched by time.
The gates open without us stopping. Security systems built into the stone pillars blink green. Milo doesn’t speak. None of us do.
We pass manicured lawns. Fountains with gold statues. Imported palm trees that don’t belong in this climate yet somehow thrive here, anyway. I catch sight of the stables in the distance, the same ones I used to sneak out to just to get away from the main house.
Then it appears.
The mansion is massive—white stone, black-framed windows, arched balconies, and double stai
