Milo sat very straight in the chair, his hands resting flat on his knees, deliberately trying to hide his nervousness.

He didn’t know why Alben made him feel so uncomfortable. He felt as if the man were trying to devour him whole, despite how humble Alben looked.

Alben let out a short chuckle, swirling the whiskey in his glass. He smiled wider, sensing the tension radiating from the young man.

"You don’t look so good, sweetie. Scared of me? Or..." He leaned forward, resting his elbow on his knee, his eyes glinting with a flirtatious gaze.

"Or are you just too busy with your own company now? You know, if that company ever starts stressing you out, you can always come spend some time at my house. I have plenty of ways to help you relax. You’ve gotten so handsome since you became a billionaire."

Milo’s cheeks flushed a sudden, uncomfortable red. The flirtation wasn’t gentle like usual. It felt heavy and predatory, an open attempt to throw him off balance.

Milo didn’t know how to respond, so he kept his mouth tightly shut, his eyes darting toward the desk.

He just wanted to leave. He looked at Salvatore.

Salvatore sat perfectly still behind the desk. His large hand rested near the glass ashtray. Milo focused solely on it.

Salvatore’s gray eyes were fixed on Alben; his expression was entirely unreadable, but the air around him had turned freezing cold.

He knew exactly what Alben was up to. Alben wasn’t just drawn to Milo’s soft features; he was intensely interested in the shares of the Hartley Group that Milo now held.

In the underworld, a beautiful boy with a massive corporate inheritance was the ultimate prize, and Alben was testing the boundaries to see how much leeway Salvatore would give him to maneuver.

"Leave him alone," Salvatore said, his deep voice cutting through the room like a blunt blade.

He didn’t raise his voice, but the absolute authority in his tone left no room for interpretation. He didn’t know why Alben’s usual flirtatious behavior had become so irritating now.

One thing was certain: he knew he didn’t like Alben focusing his attention on Milo.

He simply hated it.

Alben just smirked, completely unfazed by the warning. He tapped the ash from his cigar.

"Why? I’m just being polite. I haven’t seen our little chicken since last week, or was it longer? Oh, you know I’ve been so busy. I wanted to see how his recovery was going."

He turned his gaze back to Milo, his smile widening into something sharper, an expression no one could read better than Salvatore.

"By the way, Milo... your old master misses you. He’s living in my basement now. He’s... let’s just say, naked all the time. He’s very obedient, so sweet, and he doesn’t shout anymore. Do you want to come over and see him? I can let you touch him this time if you want to play."

Milo’s heart gave a sudden, violent thud against his ribs. The name "Nero" immediately triggered an involuntary spasm in his shoulders, his breath catching as the smell of the concrete cellar rushed back into his mind.

He looked at Alben in sheer horror, his hands clenching into tight fists against his pants.

"No," Milo whispered frantically, his voice shaking. "No, Sir. I don’t want to see him."

Salvatore’s jaw clenched, a visible muscle twitching near his ear. He stood up from his chair, his massive frame completely dominating the space behind the desk, his gray eyes turning dangerous as he stared directly at his ally.

"Well, you’ve already told me what you were going to tell me. Now get out, it’s late," Salvatore commanded flatly.

Alben looked at Salvatore’s rigid posture, realizing he had pushed the boundary as far as it would go tonight without starting an actual conflict.

He let out another lazy laugh, drained his whiskey in one gulp, and stood up from the sofa. He smoothed down his silk tie, tossing the remnants of his cigar into the ashtray as he walked past the desk.

He walked toward Milo and tried to kiss him, but Milo quickly avoided him by moving further away.

Salvatore grabbed Alben just as the man was about to get closer to Milo.

"Stop it. Touch him one more time, and I’ll really kick you out."

"Alright, alright. I’m leaving!" Alben drawled, giving Milo one last lingering look of amusement.

"Don’t work too hard, sweetie. That inheritance is a heavy burden for such a small back. See you around, Sal."

Salvatore just stared at him.

"Go away. Meet me tomorrow with Joe."

Alben just nodded and lazily walked out.

"Milo, next time I’ll bring Nero here."

Before Milo could say anything, the man had already disappeared.

Roderick opened the office door from the outside, his expression neutral as he escorted Alben down the long corridor toward the front foyer; the doors finally clicked shut in the distance.

The room fell completely silent, the heavy scent of that strange cigar smoke still lingering in the air.

Salvatore remained standing for a long moment. He exhaled slowly and deliberately through his nose, then sat down on the sofa.

He picked up his own tobacco pouch, lit a small cigar, and took a deep, deliberate drag, replacing Alben’s scent with his own familiar, grounding aroma.

He looked at Milo, who was still sitting stiffly, his shoulders trembling slightly at the mention of Nero’s name.

"Come here," Salvatore ordered quietly.

Milo looked at Salvatore, but he obeyed automatically. He stood up, then sat back down nervously, his hazel eyes fixed on Salvatore’s face.

The proximity to the Don immediately began to ease the panic in his chest; the heavy scent of Salvatore’s tobacco acted like a familiar anchor.

Salvatore rested his forearms on the sofa, framing the young man without touching him. He looked at the dark circles under Milo’s eyes.

"Did you have a rough day? Is that why you look so sour?"

Milo blinked, his jaw dropping in utter amazement. Through the dull, constant hum in his skull, his mind struggled to process how the Don could possibly know about his bad day. Or maybe he had just guessed correctly.

"How... how do you know, Sir?"

Salvatore smiled, brushing the strands of hair from Milo’s forehead.

"I know everything, Milo. Especially when it comes to you. I know what Caruso tried to do."

Milo looked at Salvatore with renewed respect. How did the man know that detail?

Milo looked down at his lap; the memory of his own stuttering answers and the cold sweat on his forehead made his chest tighten with a fresh wave of shame.

"He... he asked me a lot of things, Sir. And the contract and the restructuring. I didn’t know enough about the market shifts to give an answer. I had to piece everything together based only on what I understood. I sounded completely stupid."

He bit his lower lip, his voice dropping to a small, broken whisper.

"Everyone in the room was watching me. They were happy I was being humiliated. They know I don’t belong in that chair."

Salvatore didn’t interrupt. He listened to the entire confession, his gray eyes tracking the nervous movement of Milo’s fingers. He focused on every small detail.

He took a slow drag from his cigar and let the smoke drift out between them.

"You didn’t sound stupid," Salvatore said, his voice a low, steady rumble that carried an unyielding certainty. "Your response was logical, and that’s enough."

Milo looked up sharply, his hazel eyes wide and his face sad.

"But Caruso said—"

"Caruso is a bastard of an old man," Salvatore interrupted, his tone cold and dismissive. "He’s testing your strength because he thinks you’re weak, someone he can manipulate. I knew him very well."

Milo swallowed hard, the fear from the board still weighing heavily on his stomach.

"But what if he asks more questions next time, Sir? I’m so scared I’ll ruin everything you’ve secured for me."

Salvatore leaned in, his large frame closing the distance between them until Milo could feel the physical heat radiating from his chest. He reached out, his massive, calloused hand just inches from Milo’s fingers.

"Listen to me, Milo," Salvatore said, his gray eyes locking onto the young man’s hazel ones with an iron intensity. "You don’t need to worry about Caruso, and you don’t need to worry about the stability of that company. The Hartley Group isn’t going to fail under your name. Do you know why?"

Milo shook his head slowly, completely mesmerized by the man’s absolute confidence.

"W-why?"

"Because I’m the one holding the reins behind your chair," Salvatore stated, his voice dropping into a deep, possessive tone that made Milo’s pulse give a sudden, heavy thud.

"Caruso can shout all he wants, but he knows that if he tries to push you past the legal boundary, I’ll cut his throat before the weekend. He’s playing a corporate game because he’s a civilian. You have the full protection of the Portello name behind you."

He patted Milo on the head, a firm, grounding gesture.

"Calm down. Go to the kitchen, have Luke give you a proper dinner. Put your mind at ease."

The weight that had been building behind Milo’s left eye all afternoon began to dissolve, replaced by an intense, overwhelming warmth that flooded his entire chest.

The fear of Caruso, the humiliation of the boardroom, it all vanished under the absolute, protective certainty of Salvatore’s voice.

The Don wasn’t belittling him. He was standing right beside him, guiding his hands through the darkness.

"Yes, Sir," Milo breathed, a small, grateful smile finally breaking across his face.

"Thank you, Master."

Salvatore smiled, his expression turning serious again.

"Be careful when you call me Master." 𝗳𝐫𝚎𝗲𝚠𝚎𝗯𝕟𝐨𝘃𝚎𝗹.𝗰𝗼𝗺

Milo grinned.

"I’m ready tonight."