"Nero... Nero usually t them in the house while he made strip naked on the floor," Milo cried, his shoulders heaving with a fresh wave of sha. "They saw naked, Sir. They know what I am."
Salvatore let out a long, slow breath through his nose. The dark, volatile rage that had driven him to destroy the Hartley estate flared up again, making his chest feel tight. He looked toward the glass doors where the executives were waiting.
"They are your staff now, Milo," Salvatore said, his voice dropping into a dangerously quiet tone. "If you don’t like looking at them, you can fire them right now."
Milo shook his head frantically, his nose rubbing against Salvatore’s collar. "Please, I just don’t want to be here."
Salvatore grabbed Milo by the shoulders, pulling him back so he could look directly into the young man’s tear-stained face.
"Milo, listen to . You have to step onto your own property now. You cannot spend the rest of your life running away because you are scared. I will not let you live like that."
Milo’s breath remained rapid, his eyes darting around the glass room as he struggled to manage the overwhelming embarrassnt.
"Do you want to fire them?" Salvatore asked, his gray eyes locking onto Milo’s hazel ones. "Which ones are they? All of them?"
"T-three of them," Milo choked out, wiping his nose with the back of his bandaged hand. "But... what if they tell the others? What if everyone finds out?"
"Be confident. Just stand still beside ," Salvatore commanded, his tone completely firm. "You have the legal authority now. You can do whatever you want to them with your words. Understand? We’re going to try this again. You’ll fire the three of them the exact second this eting is over. But first, we’ll finish your introduction to the company."
Milo looked at the unyielding determination on Salvatore’s face and realized he had no choice. He needed to be brave if he wanted to stay close to this man. He swallowed his tears and nodded once.
He moved off Salvatore’s lap and sat down firmly in the heavy executive chair at the head of the table. Salvatore stood right beside him, his large hand resting protectively on the back of Milo’s chair as Roderick signaled the directors to enter the room again.
The double glass doors of the conference room opened smoothly, and the directors filed back inside. The atmosphere was completely different now.
The previous corporate formality had vanished, replaced by a tense, heavy silence. The n took their seats around the long table, their eyes darting between Milo, who sat stiffly at the head of the table, and Salvatore, who stood right beside his chair like an immovable shadow.
Roderick remained by the door, his arms crossed over his chest, his sharp eyes monitoring every executive in the room.
Liam was the first to sit down, placing a leather portfolio on the polished wood. He kept his expression professional, though his fingers trembled slightly as he opened the docunts.
The other directors adjusted their ties, looking at the legal paperwork spread out before them. They were entirely overwheld.
In just a few days, the Hartley Group—a corporate empire built over decades—had been effectively severed from its founders.
The older board mbers quietly assessed the situation. They knew how corporate takeovers worked, but they had never seen one executed with such absolute, terrifying finality.
There were no months of negotiations, no hostile stock buyouts, and no legal battles in public courtrooms. A single night of fire at the Hartley estate had changed everything.
Legally, the docunts before them were airtight. Andro Hartley had finalized Milo’s adoption papers years ago to secure legal custody of him. Since Nero had been officially declared dead by the state and Andro was gone, the bulk of the Hartley shares of, the controlling shares of the company, automatically reverted to Milo as the sole legal heir.
It was a flawless legal transition, but everyone knew the truth. They sensed that Salvatore Portello was the main reason behind the Hartley family’s complete annihilation.
Because of that realization, none of them dared to speak out or question the validity of the transfer. The fear of ending up like Andro or Nero kept their mouths shut.
However, as their eyes shifted from Salvatore to Milo, their underlying contempt beca visible. They looked down on Milo. They knew who the boy was.
To them, Milo was not an executive. He was the submissive, silent boy who used to stand in the corner of Nero’s study.
They rembered his compliance, his vulnerability, and his complete lack of authority. They did not believe this fragile, brown-haired youth had the capability to lead a corporate board, and their subtle, cold stares made Milo’s chest tighten.
Milo felt the collective judgnt bearing down on him. He shifted slightly in the heavy leather chair, his fingers twisting beneath the table, his breath coming in shallow gasps as the dull ringing in his ears intensified the silence.
Salvatore noticed the shift in the room instantly. He didn’t blink, his gray eyes tracking the specific ways the three older directors looked down their noses at the boy.
Salvatore knew exactly how to handle n who thought their wealth made them superior. He stepped forward, placing his large, calloused hand flat on the table right next to Milo’s portfolio.
The simple movent drew every eye in the room toward him.
"The signatures are finalized," Salvatore stated, his deep voice cutting through the quiet room with absolute, calm authority. He did not raise his voice, but the weight of his tone left no room for interpretation.
"From this mont on, Milo holds sixty-five percent of the controlling shares in the Hartley Group. Every docunt requires his direct approval."
One of the older directors, a man with graying hair who had served on Andro’s board for years, cleared his throat hesitantly. He looked at Salvatore, carefully avoiding Milo’s gaze.
"Mr. Portello... we understand the legal transfer of the shares. But managing the logistics division requires specific expertise. The board is concerned about the company’s stability under... inexperienced leadership."
Salvatore leaned forward slightly, resting his weight on his palm. His expression didn’t change, but his eyes turned completely cold. "You need not worry about that. Milo’s leadership is not your concern. He is capable of doing his job. Your concern is whether he decides to keep you at the company or not."
The director’s face drained of color. He imdiately looked down at his papers, his mouth closing tightly.
Salvatore turned his head slowly. He recalled the faces and their titles. anwhile, Milo whispered the nas of the n who made him uncomfortable.
His gaze locked onto the three n Milo had pointed out.
"Liam," Salvatore called out flatly.
Liam stood up imdiately. "Yes, Mr. Portello?"
"Prepare the termination for them," Salvatore commanded, pointing directly at the three executives. "They are no longer part of the company."
The three directors froze, their eyes widening in shock. One of them stood up, his chair scraping loudly against the floor. "You can’t do this! We have partner contracts—"
"You serve at the pleasure of the majority shareholder," Salvatore interrupted, his voice dropping into a dangerous, quiet register that made the entire room hold its breath. "Milo does not like the way you conduct business. Your contracts are void. Sit down and remain quiet until the paperwork is ready for your signatures."
The man looked at Salvatore’s unyielding posture, looked at Roderick standing by the door with his hand resting near his jacket, and slowly sank back into his chair, his hands shaking.
Milo watched the entire exchange from his seat. The terror that had gripped him earlier began to transform into sothing else.
He saw the powerful executives, n he had spent years fearing, completely neutralized by a few words from Salvatore.
He looked at Salvatore’s broad shoulders, feeling an overwhelming sense of gratitude and security. The Don wasn’t just protecting him; he was systematically dismantling the ghosts of Milo’s past.
"Liam will handle the daily administrative reports and forward them to Milo," Salvatore concluded, straightening up. "The rest of you will continue your duties exactly as prescribed. We’ll evaluate your performance in due ti."
Salvatore didn’t wait for them to stand. He reached down, grabbed Milo by the shoulder, and guided him out of the chair.
Milo stood up, his knees now slightly steadier, and walked out of the glass conference room alongside Salvatore and Roderick, leaving the remaining board mbers in a state of absolute, silent shock.
By late afternoon, the black car drove out of the central business district, heading toward the grand residential hills on the western side of the city. The area was highly exclusive, ho only to the region’s oldest and wealthiest families.
"Thank you, Sir," said Milo, looking down.
"Be confident. Liam will be your assistant, so ask him anything you want to learn."
Milo nodded. "Yes, Sir."
Milo looked around. He was confused because they weren’t heading back to the mansion.
"Are we going sowhere else?"
"Yes, to your new house."
Milo gulped. His new house?
The car turned onto a massive cobblestone driveway, passing through a set of towering iron gates bearing the old Hartley crest.
The vehicle ca to a stop in front of a colossal stone mansion. The building was ancient, constructed from gray granite and surrounded by immaculate, manicured gardens and high stone walls.
Roderick cut the engine and stepped out first, walking up the grand steps to open the heavy double doors.
The entire property was completely empty; the servants had been cleared out under Salvatore’s orders when Andro was kidnapped.
Salvatore stepped out of the back seat, holding the door open for Milo.
"Get out. See your new house."
Milo stood on the cobblestones, looking up at the massive structure. He had been brought to this house occasionally when Andro held family dinners, but he had always been kept in the secondary carriage house or the kitchens.
To see the main mansion standing completely silent and open before him felt entirely surreal.
Salvatore walked up beside him, his boots crunching on the gravel as he looked at the front facade.
"Get used to the place," Salvatore said, his voice calm and steady.
Milo looked around the massive courtyard, the dark green ivy climbing the stone walls and the wide windows reflecting the afternoon sun.
The place looked completely different from his mories. It didn’t look like a prison anymore, it looked like an empty canvas. He turned his head to look at Salvatore, his hazel eyes wide with fragile, lingering disbelief.
"It’s really for ?" Milo asked, his voice barely above a whisper against the quiet breeze in the gardens.
"Yes," Salvatore answered, looking down at him with a serious, unyielding intensity. "It’s yours. The Hartley na belongs to you now, Milo. No one can use it to hurt you again."
Milo’s throat went dry. He looked back at the grand entrance where Roderick was waiting. The sheer scale of the wealth and power Salvatore had handed him in a single afternoon was overwhelming, but as he felt the heavy, reassuring presence of the Don standing right beside him, the fear began to fade.
He didn’t know how to be a boss, and he didn’t know how to run a mansion, but he knew that as long as Salvatore’s shadow was behind him, he would learn how to stand on his own.
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