In the old bakery, the air was thick with the sll of wet cent and stone dust. But Bernard stopped working, leaning his shovel against the wall with a heavy grunt.
He looked over at Milo. The young man was slumped against a stack of bricks, his face pale, streaked with gray dirt, and his chest heaving.
"Go clean yourself up," Bernard said, his voice booming in the quiet room. "You look like a ss. We can continue again tomorrow."
Milo looked up, his eyes tired. "Are you sure, Sir? I can bring a few more bricks."
"Yes," Bernard grunted, wiping his hands on a rag. "You’ve been running back and forth all afternoon. You look as pale as a corpse. If you collapse, Salvatore will have my head. Go. Get so water."
Milo sighed, then nodded. He stood up slowly, his muscles aching. He felt a layer of gri on his skin that made him itch, and the gold rings in his chest felt heavy and sore from the constant movent.
He stepped out of the bakery and began the walk back to the main mansion.
As Milo reached the side entrance, he stopped. Salvatore walked inside, followed by a guard whose na Milo didn’t know yet.
Salvatore was wearing a sharp, dark suit, looking perfectly handso. He stopped in his tracks when he saw Milo.
They looked at each other.
Milo was a ss. His shirt was soaked with sweat and covered in cent splashes. His face was gray with dust, and his hair was ssy.
"Where have you been?" Salvatore asked. His voice was sharp. "I thought I told you to rest."
Milo lowered his head imdiately. "Ah, I... I just helped Sir Bernard fix the building over there." He pointed vaguely back toward the bakery.
Salvatore didn’t look anywhere else. He kept his eyes fixed on Milo. He noticed the way the young man’s shoulders were slumped and how he was breathing through his mouth.
Behind Salvatore, a guard motioned toward several shopping bags he was carrying.
"Put those in my office," Salvatore commanded the guard without looking back. Then he stepped closer to Milo. "Are you healthy enough to care for soone else? Did I ask you to work?"
Milo swallowed hard. He shook his head. He wanted to explain that Bernard hadn’t really asked—he had simply dragged him along—but he was too afraid to speak.
"I’m s—"
Salvatore raised a hand, signaling Milo to be quiet before he could say the word "sorry."
Milo fell silent, staring at the floor.
Salvatore’s gaze traveled down to Milo’s feet. They were bare, covered in thick mud and gray dust.
"You walk outside barefoot, and now you’ve gotten yourself dirty," Salvatore grumbled. He sounded more annoyed than angry, but to Milo, it felt the sa.
"I’ll clean it..." Milo whispered, thinking Salvatore was upset about the mud on the marble floor.
"Go clean yourself up and co to my office," Salvatore said. He walked past Milo without another word, the scent of his cologne briefly masking the sll of the dusty bakery.
Milo hurried toward the stairs. As he moved away, he heard Salvatore tell Roderick to go find Bernard and bring him to the study.
Salvatore entered his office and went straight to the large desk. The shopping bags were piled on the sofa. He didn’t look at them. He sat in his chair and waited, his fingers tapping rhythmically on the armrest.
A few minutes later, there was a knock. Bernard entered. The old man was still dirty and sweaty, looking out of place in the elegant, wood-paneled room.
"Ah, Sal! I was just about to go ho!" Bernard said, his voice loud as always.
Before Salvatore could say anything to him, Bernard reached into the deep pocket of his work vest. He pulled out the small wooden box Milo had found.
"Is this what you were looking for?" Bernard walked forward and placed the box on the desk.
Salvatore’s eyes widened. He reached for it, his hands shaking slightly as he pulled the box closer. He struggled with the small latch for a second because his fingers were trembling with urgency.
When the lid clicked open, Salvatore looked at the faded photo inside. He let out a long, slow breath. It was as if a heavy weight had been lifted off his shoulders.
"Well, yes," Salvatore said. He tried to keep his voice flat, but there was a crack of emotion in it. "How did you get it?"
"Milo found it," Bernard said. "He said he found it inside the oven. I thought I had checked everywhere."
Salvatore stared at the photo of his parents. "I rember very well. I put it sowhere there. But soone must have moved it or hidden it deeper. Anyway, it’s good I have it now."
"Yeah," Bernard agreed. "It’s good I brought that boy with ."
Salvatore carefully placed the box on a corner of his desk, away from his papers. "Thank you, Bernard. This is very important to . I’ll give you sothing for this later."
Bernard smiled, looking pleased. "Ah, but the boy found it, not ."
"No problem, I’ll give him sothing as well," Salvatore said. Then, his expression hardened. "But now that I’ve called you here, I want to ask: why did you ask him to work with you? The boy is sick. I told him to rest."
Bernard fell silent. He looked confused. "Well, he’s new here. I thought it would be good if he helped out with sothing to get used to the house. And... I didn’t know he was sick. He didn’t tell ."
"He won’t tell you," Salvatore said. "That stupid kid... he’d walk into a lake and drown if you asked him to."
"I didn’t know!" Bernard argued. "I ask everyone else, but your guards are useless. They can’t help without making swear."
Salvatore looked at Bernard and let out a sigh. "You have your part of the work. You’re capable of it. They have their part of the job as well. You won’t die for or raise a gun. That’s what they do. You can’t just ask them to help you. I’ve told you. Hire people so you can just observe them."
Bernard looked dissatisfied, but he didn’t argue further. "Fine. If I can’t do it myself, I’ll get soone. I’m going ho."
Bernard left the office, and Salvatore stayed behind. He waited for ten minutes, staring at the wooden box on his desk. Finally, there was a soft knock at the door.
"Co in," Salvatore said.
Milo walked in slowly. He had showered, his hair looked wet. He was wearing a clean shirt and the loose trousers Teo had given him.
He stood in the middle of the room, looking worried.
Salvatore looked at Milo’s feet; the young man was wearing sandals now. Then he looked at his face.
"How are you?"
"I’m fine," Milo said quietly. He was clearly exhausted; his eyes were heavy.
Salvatore stood up and walked over to the sofa. He reached into the shopping bags and began pulling out the things he had bought at the market.
"Co here. Try these on."
Milo looked confused. He saw the piles of shirts, trousers, and the shoe boxes. He walked closer, his eyes shifting between the clothes and Salvatore.
Salvatore grabbed a set of clothes, a pair of tailored black trousers and a crisp white shirt. "Try these. If they’re too big, I’ll have Roderick alter them."
Milo reached out and took the fabric. He felt the high quality of the cotton. "These... these are for ?"
Salvatore looked impatient. "Yes. Try them on now."
Milo stared at the clothes, then at Salvatore. He couldn’t believe it. No one had ever bought him new clothes before, except Nero, of course. But usually, the ones he got from Nero were designed to be revealing.
A look of pure, genuine happiness spread across his face.
Salvatore looked at him, silent and stunned for a mont. Seeing the young man look so happy over a pair of trousers made him feel a strange pang in his chest.
Suddenly, Milo reached for the waistband of his loose trousers. Without a word, he dropped them to the floor, standing there in front of Salvatore. Pantless.
Salvatore’s eyes widened. He stood there, speechless.
"I didn’t tell you to get naked here."
Milo stopped, holding the new black trousers. He looked up at Salvatore, his face turning a deep, bright red.
"Ah... I’m sorry!"
He panicked and hurriedly pulled the new pants up. He struggled with the button because his hands were shaking, but he managed to get them on.
Despite the awkwardness, he was so happy that the pants fit his waist perfectly. He didn’t seem to care that the man was watching him either.
Salvatore leaned back against his desk and crossed his arms. He watched as Milo took off his old shirt and put on the new white one. He rubbed his forehead, trying to process the fact that the boy had no sense of privacy.
However, once Milo was fully dressed, Salvatore’s expression changed. The clothes were of good quality and fit him well. The white shirt made his hair stand out, and the black trousers made him look neat and professional.
Salvatore nodded. "You look good."
Milo’s face flushed at the complint, then he looked down at himself and smoothed the fabric of the shirt.
"Thank you, Sir."
"Try the shoes," Salvatore ordered.
Milo sat on the edge of the sofa and slipped on the leather shoes. They fit perfectly.
Salvatore was amazed at his own instinct.
"You can keep everything in those bags," Salvatore said, watching Milo admire the shoes. "They are yours."
Milo bowed his head low. "Thank you, Sir. Truly."
Salvatore looked at him for a long mont. "And thank you, Milo. You found a box for today that I thought was lost forever. It was very important."
Salvatore continued, "And sit down. I want to ask you about Ronald."
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