The Mafia's Stolen Prize (BL) Chapter 97: The Lion and The Snake

The old man’s face was bruised, his clothes torn, his breathing ragged as he sat helpless beneath the glare of a single overhead bulb.

"What are you doing?!" Nero shrieked, his wired jaw clicking violently as he retched. He thrashed against the silver chains, his voice a hoarse, desperate rattle.

"Don’t touch him! Leave him alone!"

Alben sat casually on the nearby sofa, dressed in a silk robe, sipping his favorite juice. He didn’t look up from the screen.

"Oh, it’s not for you, sweetie. But you can watch it yourself so you don’t have to keep asking where your father is."

Nero didn’t grasp the full extent of the trap. He began crawling across the floor like a broken animal, dragging the heavy chains behind him as he tried to reach the base of the sofa.

"Please," Nero cried, his arrogant pride completely gone, replaced by pathetic, weeping desperation. "Please, leave him alone. Don’t touch him. Do whatever you want to , but let him go. Please."

Alben smirked wickedly, setting his glass down with a soft click. "Sadly, sweetie, it’s not my decision. My authority only extends to you. If you want to beg, you should beg Salvatore."

Nero opened his mouth to speak, but the sound of the front door opening made him freeze. He twisted his head around, his swollen, purple eyelids cracking open.

Milo was the first person he noticed.

The young man sat in the wheelchair, his face turning completely pale as his gaze landed on the ruined, naked form of his forr master.

Milo’s hands began to shake violently beneath the blanket. Even though Nero was chained, bloody, and clearly broken, the deep, structural trauma in Milo’s brain still recognized him as a source of absolute terror.

"Good timing," Alben said, a wide, playful smile spreading across his face as he gestured toward the center of the room. "Co in, Sal!"

Salvatore pushed the wheelchair into the living room. He stepped to the side and placed a firm, heavy hand on Milo’s shoulder, squeezing lightly to steady him.

"Calm down," Salvatore murmured quietly near his ear.

Without another word, Salvatore scooped Milo out of the wheelchair and sat down on the sofa, placing the trembling young man directly on his lap.

He wrapped one massive arm around Milo’s waist, holding him tightly against his chest, while his other hand held Milo’s wrists still.

"You’re going to see an interesting show," Salvatore said, his voice entirely flat.

Milo couldn’t look away from Nero. He didn’t notice the expensive furniture or the modern art on the walls. He only saw the blood dripping from Nero’s broken body.

Alben stood up, straightening his robe. "Okay, so do we start now?"

Salvatore nodded once, his face an immovable mask of stone. He tapped the side of Milo’s jaw, forcing the young man to look up at the television screen.

"Look at the screen, Milo. It is the last ti you will ever see him."

Milo followed Salvatore’s finger, his hazel eyes widening as he took in the live image of Andro tied to the iron chair. The reality of what the Dons were doing began to dawn on him.

"Sir..." Milo whispered, his voice shaking.

"Rember," Salvatore said, his deep voice vibrating directly against Milo’s back. "He and this piece of garbage on the floor are the sole sources of your misery. From now on, you don’t need to worry about them ever again. They will be completely gone from your life."

Milo looked at Salvatore in absolute horror. He knew the Don was powerful, but the sheer, calculated coldness of the statent made his chest tighten.

Nero heard the words from the floor. The realization of what was about to happen shattered his mind completely. He began to scream, thrashing against the silver chains until they cut deep into his raw skin.

"No! Please! Don’t do anything to my father! Salvatore, please! I’ll sign the transfers! I’ll give you anything! I’ll do anything, please!"

Salvatore didn’t even look down at him. "You’ll do everything anyway, Nero. You have absolutely nothing left to negotiate with . You should have listened to when I warned you."

Panicked and running out of ti, Nero turned his bleeding face toward the sofa, staring at Milo with wide, pleading eyes.

"Milo! Milo, please forgive ! Tell them to stop! Ask them to forgive , please! I’ll never co near you again! I promise! Milo, please!"

Milo gulped, a sharp sob catching in his throat. He trembled so violently that the wool blanket slipped from his shoulders.

He looked at Nero, the man who had controlled his entire life, the man who had ordered him stripped and tortured, now begging on his knees for rcy.

Milo felt a deep, twisting confusion in his stomach, but before he could speak or move, Salvatore’s arm tightened around his waist like an iron band.

Salvatore looked down at Milo, his gray eyes steady and cold. "It is not your decision to make, Milo. I decide it. You don’t need to regret or feel guilty about a single thing. You are here today just to witness their fall."

Milo stared at the screen, paralyzed by the sheer force of the Portellos’ vengeance. He didn’t know if Salvatore was crazy enough to execute both of them in cold blood, but he was about to find out.

On the television screen, a small red light began to blink in the corner of the warehouse room.

Nero let out a long, screeching wail of pure agony as the screen suddenly erupted into a blinding flash of orange and white light.

The warehouse room disintegrated instantly. The explosion tore through the iron chair, the walls, and Andro’s body, shattering the cara feed into a static line of gray noise.

"DAD!!!" Nero scread, his voice cracking into a raw, breathless shriek before his forehead slamd against the floor, his body shaking with violent, uncontrollable dry heaves.

Milo felt his heart stop. The sheer violence of the explosion, even through a screen, felt like a physical impact against his ribs.

He closed his eyes tightly, a sharp, guttural sob escaping his lips as he buried his face deep into the crook of Salvatore’s neck. He didn’t want to see any more of the blood, the chains, or the ruin.

Salvatore felt the violent, rhythmic trembling of Milo’s body against his chest. He didn’t look at Nero, and he didn’t look at the screen.

He simply brought his large hand up to the back of Milo’s head, pressing the young man tighter against his shoulder, shielding him from the rest of the room as Alben turned off the television.

"You see, it’s over," Salvatore murmured against Milo’s hair, his grip unyielding and protective. "It’s done."

Milo realized that Salvatore, the lion, had defeated the snake.