Hours passed. It was probably well past midnight. Salvatore lay flat on his back, staring up at the handcrafted ceiling above him. The angel in the sky. It was an old building, constructed by soone who was truly proud of their work.
He couldn’t ignore it. It was beautiful. Usually, he would spend a few minutes gazing at it before falling asleep. But today, it was different.
He couldn’t sleep. His mind was racing, trapped in a continuous loop of Milo’s words.
"I like you, Sir."
The declaration had caught him completely off guard. Salvatore was no stranger to people making advances toward him. In his position, n and won frequently tried to use attraction to gain his favor, protect their assets, or secure a higher status.
Milo wasn’t the first to confess his feelings.
But still, this was completely different. He knew Milo wasn’t playing a ga or trying to manipulate him.
Salvatore rembered how Milo had looked him straight in the eyes with a terrifying level of honesty that made him feel anxious.
He couldn’t deny his own feelings about it. Milo was exceptionally attractive, possessing a delicate, striking beauty that stood out imdiately from everyone in a crowd.
Beyond his physical appearance, there was a soft, genuine sweetness to his character, a fragile innocence that had sohow struck a chord deep within Salvatore. It was chipping away at the thick layer of armor he’d worn around his true feelings.
And every ti Salvatore let his mind dwell on that attraction, he felt like a monster.
Milo was twenty, but his developnt had been severely stunted by isolation and torture. The boy was fragile, confused, and highly vulnerable.
Salvatore was sure Milo didn’t truly understand what he needed or wanted out of life yet. The young man was simply reaching for the first hand that had pulled him out of the darkness.
For Salvatore to lean into that attachnt, to take advantage of a traumatized patient under his protection, felt utterly repulsive.
On top of everything, he was truly afraid of having his heart broken. He was afraid that if he invested his ti in the young man, Milo would eventually realize he couldn’t accept Salvatore’s dark side—which was only natural.
But Salvatore just wasn’t ready for that.
"Damn! That kid!" Salvatore punched the pillow beside his head as he lay there, covering his eyes with his other arm.
He admitted that Milo had affected his life too much in just a few weeks. He couldn’t imagine what it would be like if Milo decided to leave now.
After all, Milo had to leave. He would have a better life than staying inside his mansion.
Salvatore took a deep breath. He hated the feeling of dependency, but he couldn’t shake it off.
In the morning, the air was crisp and freezing, a thick layer of blue mist clinging to the gravel paths of the training grounds.
The guards had already assembled in their uniforms, their breath forming small white clouds as they went through their stretching routines. They talked loudly and joked while waiting for the rest to arrive and begin their exercises.
Then they saw him.
A collective, silent groan rippled through the group as Salvatore walked out onto the gravel, dressed in a simple black T-shirt and track pants.
His jaw was tightly set, his eyes dark from a complete lack of sleep. The n imdiately braced themselves, whispering curses under their breath as they realized the Don was personally inspecting their exercise session today. That ant they couldn’t take their ti as they usually did.
But it turned out to be significantly worse than they had anticipated.
Salvatore didn’t just stand by and watch; he strode directly into the center of the formation, his boots crunching sharply on the stones.
He joined them for the exercise and led them himself.
"Ready!" Salvatore commanded, his deep voice cutting through the air.
The guards dropped instantly, their palms hitting the cold gravel. Usually, the training captains, one of whom was among them, allowed them a steady, comfortable pace with brief breaks for water, but Salvatore was different.
The man led them at his own pace, one that everyone hated.
Salvatore counted, his shoulders moving in a steady, unbroken motion.
By the ti the count reached one hundred twenty, the muscles in the guards’ arms were trembling violently against the gravel.
The pace was far too fast.
"Sir, why is it so much today?" one of the guards near the back complained, his voice strained as he pushed his torso off the ground. "We still have to run after this."
Salvatore didn’t even pause his motion. He tilted his head toward the guard, his gray eyes flashing with a cold, mocking sharpness.
"What is too much? If you have the breath to speak, you have the strength to work. Add twenty more! Count!"
The formation groaned in unison, their muscles screaming. They took a deep breath, but nobody complained this ti.
Roderick, who was about to get his morning coffee, saw Salvatore and quickly turned around to avoid him. He didn’t want to ruin his beautiful morning with push-ups.
At 6:15 AM, the count was still rising, the n sweating profusely.
Then Milo ca running toward the training field, his brown hair disheveled from sleep and his breathing completely frantic.
He had overslept!
The mont he saw Salvatore in the center of the yard doing push-ups alongside the n, his heart sank into his stomach.
He panicked even more.
He was certain the man was going to punish him severely for this.
"I’m sorry! I’m late! I’m sorry, Sir!" Milo gasped, scrambling to find an empty spot at the end of the line.
He dropped down imdiately, forcing his palms into the gravel to mimic the others’ movents.
Salvatore stopped instantly. He looked at Milo, his expression completely flat and distant.
"Go get your breakfast," Salvatore said, his voice curt and dismissive. "You’re not getting sick again. I don’t want to see you out here."
Milo’s arms went weak, nearly buckling against the ground. He stood up slowly, looking at Salvatore with deep, vulnerable confusion.
The words felt like a slap to his chest.
I don’t want to see you.
Salvatore didn’t give him a second glance. He dropped back down onto the gravel, his chest rising and falling as he resud counting with the others.
Milo stood there, his hands resting weakly at his sides as the wind whipped through his light shirt. His heart ached terribly.
His mind imdiately leaped to the worst possible conclusion.
Salvatore was disgusted with him.
Last night’s confession, his stupid, impulsive declaration of his feelings, had finally pushed the man past his limit.
The man was fed up with dealing with him, fed up with his presence, and now he was completely freezing him out in front of everyone.
Milo was certain that Salvatore would kick him out for real this ti.
Salvatore watched Milo’s stiff, miserable posture out of the corner of his eye. He could see tears beginning to glisten in Milo’s hazel eyes, but he forced himself to stay focused on the exercise.
He finished the push-up and stood back up. His T-shirt was damp with sweat.
"Why are you still standing there?" Salvatore growled, his voice rough from the exertion. "Go get your food. Take your dicine."
Milo swallowed hard, his jaw trembling as he tried to maintain his composure. "I’m... I’m fine now, Sir. I can do the run."
Salvatore didn’t answer him. He turned toward the guards.
"Continue the run!"
The guards sighed. The man had made them do more push-ups, and now that they were finished, they still had to run.
It wasn’t fair!
But no one complained out loud.
Salvatore pushed Milo’s stiff body forward, making him walk inside.
"Didn’t I tell you to go have breakfast?" Salvatore said, his tone flat. "We’re going out today. Prepare your stomach."
Milo turned around quickly, his eyes wide as he looked at the damp fabric of Salvatore’s shirt. "We’re going out?"
"Yes," Salvatore said, checking his watch. "I have to take care of sothing for you, and in the afternoon I’ll pick you up. We’re going to the Hartley Company."
Milo gulped. The Hartley Company?
His stomach turned to ice, a sudden, suffocating wave of fear replacing his previous sadness. The thought of eting people who had worked alongside Andro and Nero made his throat tighten.
"Sir... I don’t want to go."
Salvatore stopped walking, his gray eyes fixed on Milo with unyielding intensity. "Why? You have to go."
Milo looked down at his shoes, his fingers twisting the hem of his sleeve.
"I’m scared, Sir... It’s too fast. I’m not ready. I don’t know how to speak to those people. And what if... what if they hate ?"
"Everyone hates their boss," Salvatore stated simply. "It won’t make a single difference to you. You have absolute control over them in the company. They’ll bow because they have to."
Milo opened his mouth to argue, his lips parting to plead, but Salvatore didn’t give him a chance to let the panic build.
He reached out, placed his large hand against the center of Milo’s back, and pushed him firmly down the hallway toward the kitchen.
He sat Milo down in a chair.
"Get him so food," Salvatore ordered a young kitchen staff mber who was clearing the morning dishes.
Milo wanted to say that he wanted to wait and have breakfast with the other guards, but he had no chance.
Without another word, Salvatore turned and walked to the office and called for Roderick.
The man ca in quickly. He didn’t say a word about Salvatore’s appearance now.
Salvatore looked at the docunts on the desk and then looked up at Roderick. "Is everything settled with the Hartleys?"
Roderick nodded. "Yes, I scheduled the eting this afternoon, as I told you. And what about Alben? He insists that he wants all the assets for himself."
"No, he can’t do that. Milo is alive. I won’t let him do that either."
"Yes, but he has Michael Hartley, or Nero, so he’ll get all the assets."
"He won’t hand over the letter without my permission. Just make sure everything is settled for Milo. I’ll handle Alben myself."
"I think he’s ready to take control of Hartley."
"No, I won’t let him."
Roderick looked at Salvatore. "You care too much about that kid."
"I need to get him into a position of power. It will benefit Portello."
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