Milo couldn't relax that evening. He kept looking at the clock. It was late, and Salvatore hadn't come to the room. Milo felt a cold knot of anxiety in his stomach.
He wasn't here to sleep in a nice bed. He was here on a mission. If he returned to the Hartley mansion tomorrow without results, Nero wouldn't believe him. Nero would assume he had fooled him. Nero would take off his belt, and the three days of recovery Milo had just experienced would be erased in minutes.
He had an advantage or a curse that until now he believed was what kept him alive in Nero's hands.
He could see death on a person's face if that person was going to die in less than thirty days. He would see their face turn pale to blue. But he would see the exact date on their chest.
That was what Nero wanted from Salvatore. To see if the man would die. Because their decision on how to treat the man depended on whether Salvatore could control Portello for a long time, or whether he would die due to internal conflict.
They didn't want to waste time, energy, and money on a temporary successor.
But Milo saw Salvatore's face shining brightly. Very much alive. Without even looking at his chest, he knew the man would live a long life. He just needed to make sure.
The fear of Nero's punishment was stronger than the fear of the Portello guards. Milo knew he had to do something. Everything.
He had to approach Salvatore. So that night he decided to move, even though his body was still aching from the push-ups earlier that evening.
He was out of the room, and found the hallway was quiet. He saw a servant in a nearby pantry and told a lie. He said that Salvatore had requested tea earlier.
The servant looked surprised but pointed Milo toward the large double doors at the end of the corridor, and helped him prepare the tea.
Roderick, who was standing guard further down, watched Milo with a neutral expression but did not stop him. Instead, he escorted him to Salvatore in the study room.
Milo's hands trembled as he held the silver teapot. He had expected to find Salvatore alone, perhaps reading or working. Instead, he saw four men. They all stopped talking and turned their heads to look at him.
Milo froze but walked quietly into the room.
He did not realize he was standing in front of the four most dangerous men in the country. To him, they just looked like four normal, powerful men.
He saw Felix, the youngest, looking surprised. He saw Joe, the older man, whose face was hard and suspicious. He saw Alben, who was leaning back on a sofa with a relaxed, predatory grin. And then there was Salvatore, sitting in the center of the room with a leather-bound ledger in his lap.
Milo took a shallow breath and forced himself to keep walking. He moved with a slight limp, his feet dragging against the expensive carpet.
"You can do it, Milo," Milo thought to himself.
The clothes Stella had given him—a simple gray shirt and black trousers—were a bit loose on his thin frame. They were comfortable, but they were not the tight, provocative clothes Nero forced him to wear.
"I... I brought you tea," Milo said. His voice was small. "Stella said you liked tea."
Salvatore stared at the teapot and then shifted his gaze to Milo's face. His dark gray eyes were sharp, as if he were trying to calculate why the boy was really there.
Alben, sitting on the sofa, scanned Milo from head to toe. A slow smile spread across Alben's face. He seemed to find Milo's innocent and nervous expression entertaining.
"You brought tea just for Salvatore?" Alben asked.
Milo looked at Alben and quickly lowered his head. "I'm sorry. I... I can bring more."
Alben stood up. He was a tall man, and he moved with a smooth, dangerous grace. He walked over and took the teapot from Milo's hands, setting it on a nearby table. Then he stepped closer, leaning his face down until he was just inches away from Milo.
Milo could smell the scent of perfume and something metallic on the man's body. So close. He held his breath.
"You want to seduce him... right?" Alben asked, his face closer, smirking.
Milo felt his face turn hot with shame. He looked at the floor, unable to meet Alben's eyes. Alben noticed Milo's submissive posture.
A natural submissiveness that was rare to see.
He chuckled and stood directly in front of the young man, blocking his path to Salvatore.
"What was your name again? Miko?"
"Milo," Milo whispered.
"Ah okay, Milo. So you came here to seduce Salvatore. But look at him, he is busy right now," Alben said, crossing his arms and looking Milo up and down. "Why don't you play with me instead? I have plenty of time."
Milo looked at Alben for a second before looking back at the carpet. He did not want to play with him. He did not want to sleep with anyone.
He only wanted to see Salvatore's chest so he could check for a death mark. He had to do it. It was the only way to avoid the belt when he went home.
Salvatore watched the interaction from his seat. He noticed that Milo didn't look like the other slaves or gigolos he usually met. Usually, those guys were playful, flirtatious, and happy to be there because they were being paid.
But Milo looked like he was being forced to move against his will. There was no joy in his eyes, only a desperate and kind of terror.
Alben didn't move. He liked the way Milo looked... fragile and easily broken. But even though he was a pervert with a lot of lovers and sex partners, he prioritized consent.
"How much does Hartley pay you for a night?" Alben asked. It was a common question in their world, but it made Milo look confused.