The Mafia's Stolen Prize (BL) Chapter 6: Hidden Wounds

Roderick entered the room again after escorting Nero to his car. His steps halted at the doorway when he saw the scene in front of him. The spacious room, similar to a ballroom, was now filled with n panting and doing push-ups.

He imdiately turned around elegantly.

But Salvatore had already seen him and called out to the man.

"Rod, co here. Give them an example. Don’t run away," said the man.

Roderick sighed, cursing softly before he turned and smiled. "What is it?"

"120 tis. Push-ups!" Salvatore commanded.

Roderick sighed, but he didn’t say anything. He took off his suit jacket and joined the guards on the floor.

Milo, who had been focused on his movents, now looked at Roderick, completely confused by what was happening.

Milo grimaced in pain. He tried to do the push-ups, but his hands were very stiff and painful. He changed his hand position many tis to try to manage the ache. He was used to staying perfectly still for hours as a living table, but push-ups were very difficult for his body right now.

By the ti he reached thirty, he was short of breath.

Salvatore stood and watched them. Sotis he mocked the guards for being slow and weak.

He noticed Milo, but he said nothing at first. However, he paid more attention to him. Not everyone could manage to do that many push-ups. It could be dangerous for soone who never did sports. He didn’t want the young man to die.

He stood like a military commander. His eyes were sharp. He had thrown away his cigarette butt earlier.

He looked at Milo again; the young man was starting to look overwheld. He still let him continue.

However, when he saw that Milo was struggling to breathe, he called out to him. "What is your na?"

Milo panted and trembled as he looked up at Salvatore. The man did not rember his na.

"M-Milo..." He stopped and answered with difficulty. His chest felt like it was on fire. His face was pale.

"Why are you so weak?" Salvatore asked.

Milo swallowed hard. "I’m sorry..."

He was afraid. He didn’t want to disappoint Salvatore because he feared the man would report him to Nero, which would lead to another beating.

Salvatore looked at Milo’s white shirt. It was wet with sweat, and he saw brownish spots appearing on the fabric.

Blood?

Salvatore frowned slightly.

"Stop," Salvatore ordered Milo.

Imdiately, all the n stopped. They lay on the floor and sighed in relief.

"Not you, stupid!" Salvatore snapped at his guards.

The guards looked at each other, groaning in disappointnt.

"Continue. Add twenty more!" Salvatore commanded.

None of the guards protested now, too scared Salvatore might add more, even though they looked annoyed.

Milo stared at Salvatore, then looked down.

"Co with !" Salvatore ordered.

Then he looked back at his n. "If you cheat, I will know. I will multiply your count by three!"

Milo stared at the guards who were still doing push-ups. Their bodies were muscular, and they didn’t seem to have any trouble doing them. Not like him. He felt so weak in front of them all.

He followed Salvatore through the corridor until they reached a room at the very end. Milo walked inside with fear. He wondered if he had done sothing wrong.

Salvatore sat on a sofa. Milo looked around the room. There were many books on the wall shelves and items scattered across the floor. It slled like wet paint.

Salvatore stared at him. Milo quickly looked down at the floor. The man had dark gray eyes that looked as sharp as an eagle’s. Milo saw tattoos on the man’s neck and his muscular hands.

His face was very handso and pleasant to look at. It did not make Milo want to hit him the way he felt when he looked at Nero.

Nero was handso, but his personality was so bad that his beauty felt disgusting. Milo did not yet know how cruel Salvatore could be.

Milo stood still, still breathing heavily. His shirt was wet and uncomfortable.

"Take off your shirt," Salvatore ordered.

Milo flinched, familiar with the command. He did it without hesitation. He had expected this. He felt lucky that no one else was in the room. He threw his shirt on the floor and then started to lower the zipper of his pants.

"Hey! What are you doing?" Salvatore asked.

Milo stopped, feeling confused.

"I didn’t tell you to take off your pants. Co here!"

Milo gulped and walked closer with a limp. He wondered what the man wanted if it wasn’t his body.

"Turn around!"

Milo obeyed. He turned around slowly. He was used to this too.

"Stop!"

Milo stopped with his back to the man. This position always made him nervous because he could not see what the person behind him was doing.

Salvatore looked at Milo’s back and waist. The sweat had washed away the foundation used to cover the injuries. The scars were now very clear.

Salvatore pulled Milo’s body closer to the sofa so he could see him more clearly.

"What is this?" Salvatore asked. He pressed his finger against a wound on Milo’s back.

Milo flinched. He was terrified. His wounds were exposed because the makeup had lted away.

"Ah... It’s... it’s just a bruise."

"I know that. I’m not blind," Salvatore said. "Where did it co from?" Because the wound clearly signaled torture.

He didn’t need to care because Milo was nobody to him. But seeing the young man so frightened from the start made him a little curious.

Milo was silent. He knew that if he told Salvatore and that man told Nero, he would be in deep trouble.

"Tell . I will not tell your master," said Salvatore, seeing the fear on Milo’s face. He was used to dealing with slaves and their masters. He could judge people just by their breathing.

Salvatore pulled Milo’s arm firmly, making the young man turn toward him.

Milo looked at Salvatore as if gathering his courage. Then he replied, "I made a mistake. Nero punished ."