Salvatore stood under one of the wall lamps. He looked at Milo with an expression that showed he was uninterested and tired of the conversation.
"I have hands. I can shower myself," Salvatore said. He spoke clearly and without any emotion in his voice. "Just go to your room. Or I'll make you clean the entire hall all night. You choose."
Milo felt a sharp pain in his side where his ribs were still healing. He swallowed hard. He didn't look at Salvatore's face. Instead, he looked at the man's chest. He stared at the black fabric of the shirt, trying to see through it.
Salvatore's eyes narrowed. He noticed where Milo was looking. He grew suspicious. He thought Milo might be looking for a place to hide a weapon.
He stepped closer. He was taller, and his muscular build dominated Milo.
The young man panicked; he felt the heat radiating from the man's body. He backed away until his heels hit the edge of a rug. His hands touched Salvatore's chest to keep him from coming any closer, or he would fall.
"What exactly do you want?" Salvatore asked, gripping Milo's hand firmly.
Milo's eyes widened; he felt his throat tighten. He couldn't breathe properly. His mind drifted back to the Hartley estate. He remembered the sensation of being forced onto all fours on the cold floor. He remembered the weight of Nero's foot on his back. He remembered the sound of the leather belt cutting through the air before it struck his skin.
He flinched at the mere memory.
He knew that if he went back to Nero tomorrow, and Nero found out that Salvatore hadn't touched him, the punishment would be severe.
Nero was a vindictive man. He would see Salvatore's rejection as a failure on Milo's part.
Panic rose in Milo's chest. He didn't think about his words before he spoke them. He just blurted them out.
"Please, save me," Milo said. His voice was a quiet whisper.
Salvatore didn't move. He looked down at Milo, his hand still gripping the young man's. "You said that before too. What do you mean?"
"Nero will kill me if I don't sleep with you," Milo said. He felt tears starting to sting his eyes, but he forced them back. "He'll find out for sure. He always checks. If he thinks I wasn't useful to you, he'll punish me until I can't stand it. Can you... can you take me away from him? I'll... I'll work for you. I'll clean. I'll do anything."
Salvatore let out a short, dry sound that wasn't a laugh. He let go of Milo's hand. "Why are you so scared of him? He's just a weak man. Kill him. Run away. Be brave."
Milo felt a sense of hopelessness. Salvatore lived in a world where people fought back. Milo lived in a world where fighting back resulted in more pain. He had been a slave for thirteen years. He didn't know how to hold a gun. He didn't know how to fight. He only knew how to endure.
The very thought of killing Nero made his stomach churn. He could only imagine it in his head. He had killed Nero hundreds of times in his imagination. But he could never actually kill that man.
Milo bowed his head. He looked at the polished floor. "Please take me, Sir. Give me protection. I'll be useful to you. I can… I can see when people are going to die in 30 days."
Salvatore sighed. He looked at the ceiling and then back at Milo. He looked completely uninterested in what Milo had to say. He thought Milo was making up stories to get what he wanted.
Salvatore was a man of business and violence. He did not make decisions based on feelings or on strange claims of seeing the future.
"I only take strong men who know how to handle a gun, to kill, or to deliver things," Salvatore said. He looked at Milo's thin wrists and his pale skin. "And I'm sure you've never done such things."
Milo looked up at him. His eyes were wide. "I can learn! I'll do my best to be your man! I will do whatever training you say!"
Salvatore didn't move. He looked Milo up and down. He saw how Milo's shoulders were hunched forward. He saw the lack of muscle on his frame. Milo looked like a broken, malnourished child. He didn't see a soldier. He saw a victim.
"Forget it," Salvatore said. "I don't need you. Take my advice. You should be brave if you want to have control over your life. You want to get rid of him? Kill him. If you manage to kill him, come to me."
Salvatore turned his back on Milo. He started walking toward the large staircase that led to his bedroom on the second floor.
Milo stood still for a moment. He felt the cold air of the hallway on his skin. He didn't want to go back to the room. He started to follow the mafia leader. He limped, his leg dragging slightly. The sound of his footsteps made a scraping noise on the floor.
Salvatore reached the bottom of the stairs. He sensed that Milo was still there. He stopped and turned his head. Milo was a few feet away. His head was bowed again. He looked desperate.
"I don't think your room is on this side," Salvatore said. His voice was stern.
Milo was startled. He looked up at Salvatore. His mind was still trying to find a way to stay.
Before he could speak, a guard walked out of a side door and passed them. A man in his thirties.
Milo's eyes widened. He looked at the man's face. His skin was as pale as a corpse. His eyes looked sunken into his head.
Milo had seen this look many times. It was the look of a person whose time was almost up. He was certain the man had less than a week to live.
The man stopped and nodded toward Salvatore. "Goodnight, Sir."
"Goodnight," Salvatore said. His gaze remained fixed on Milo.
The man continued walking toward the guard quarters.
Milo's stomach felt tight. Cold sweat formed on his forehead. He looked at Salvatore. "Sir, he's going to die in a few days."
Salvatore furrowed his brow. He looked at the hallway where the man had just been. "What? Ronald? He's as healthy as fuck. What do you mean he's going to die?"
Milo looked at Salvatore with a serious expression. He didn't blink. "I'm serious. Trust me. I'm not lying. He'll die in less than a week."
Milo could see it clearly. Even though he couldn't see the man's chest through his thick uniform, the grayish hue of the skin on his face was the same sign Milo had seen on many people before they died.
Salvatore ignored his words. He didn't believe in visions. He thought Milo was trying to prove he was useful by making a lucky guess. "Go to sleep."
Salvatore turned and walked up the stairs. Milo stood at the bottom. He watched Salvatore go until the man disappeared into the darkness of the second floor. Milo was alone in the hallway.
He looked at the door through which Ronald had gone. He knew what was coming. He just didn't know how to make Salvatore see the truth.
He turned back toward the guest rooms, his limp more pronounced now that he was alone. He entered the room and sat on the edge of the bed, staring at the closed door, resigned to his fate.