Milo didn't go back to his room. He knew that if he stayed there, he would only think about the blood on the grass and the look in the dead man's eyes.
He felt like a failure. He was certain that Salvatore had already decided to send him back to Nero.
He had to do something, he had to find work. He offered to help the laundry maids, but they were finished. He offered to help in the kitchen, but he ran off when he saw Luke glare at him.
Finally, a kind woman asked him to mow the grass in the side garden. He grabbed a sickle and went straight to the far edge of the backyard, where the grass was long and overgrown.
He began to work. He moved on his knees, pulling the tall blades with one hand and swinging the sickle with the other.
His hands were still black from the soot in the chimney, stubborn to remove, and now they were stained with brown soil and green grass juice. A few sharp blades of dry grass scratched his palms, drawing tiny beads of blood, but Milo did not stop.
He did not complain at all.
To him, the burning in his muscles and the scratches on his skin were nothing compared to what Nero had done to him. His tolerance for pain was very high because he had lived with it for thirteen years.
He didn't know where Salvatore was. He assumed the man was very busy. He was sure he didn't want to see his face again. Why would a powerful Don want to look at someone who couldn't even pull a trigger?
As the sun climbed higher, Milo paused to wipe the sweat from his forehead with the back of his dirty hand. He looked toward the stone path and saw two figures. One was Bernard. The other was Salvatore.
Salvatore looked serious, tall, and terrifyingly handsome. At the same time, he gave Milo goosebumps. Even from a distance, Milo could feel the pressure of the man's presence. He remembered how that man killed without batting an eye.
Milo shuddered and quickly looked back down at the grass. He worked faster, his heart pounding against his ribs. He was terrified that if he made a mistake, Salvatore might pull out his gun and shoot him right there. That wouldn't be fun!
Salvatore stopped near a stone bench and looked at Milo in the distance.
"How is he?" Salvatore asked Bernard.
Bernard looked at Milo and then back at his boss. He looked confused.
"Who? The boy? You asked me to come just to ask about him? Do you want to hire him or something?"
Salvatore didn't answer. He just kept his eyes on Milo.
"He's clumsy," Bernard said, shaking his head. "I can tell he's never done hard labor in his life. His hands are soft. But... he's determined. He has a strong will. I like the boy. Most people his age would have quit after five minutes of cleaning that chimney, but he stayed until it was clear."
Salvatore watched as Milo pulled a thick clump of weeds. The boy's movements were slow and careful. He was steady.
"He's not that clumsy," Salvatore said quietly.
"Well, like I said," Bernard muttered, "he's determined. He wants to be useful."
Salvatore stared at Milo longer than he intended to. The young man really caught his attention, and it annoyed him.
Since the death of his parents, he had never given himself time, let alone paid attention to others. And when he could breathe a little, the young man came along to spark a sense of curiosity.
But he never took on anyone else's burdens—not if they were useless or just a waste of time and energy.
Milo might catch his attention, but it wasn't worth taking on Hartley's burden. He didn't want to be seen as a debtor. And seeing how Nero treated him, it seemed the man was obsessed with the young man, there would only be more and more obstacles to getting him to take Milo in.
It really wasn't worth it.
Salvatore told Bernard to leave. The old man muttered to himself as he walked away toward the tool shed. Salvatore pulled out a cigarette and lit it. He leaned against a tree and watched the scene in front of him change.
A small boy, about nine years old, ran out from the house. This was Matteo, or "Teo." Teo was carrying a small sickle. He sat down next to Milo and started to help. Teo's little hands moved very fast. He was used to this.
Salvatore had "bought" Teo a year ago at one of Macron's illegal auctions. At the time, Salvatore was still working under Niccolo. He had seen the boy being sold like a piece of meat and had felt a rare flash of anger.
He had taken the boy. As soon as he killed Niccolo and took over the mansion, he had brought Teo here. The child was grateful and worked very hard, usually staying quiet and out of the way.
Now, Salvatore saw Teo talking a lot. He was leaning toward Milo, whispering and smiling. Occasionally, Teo would laugh and show Milo something.
What are they talking about? Salvatore wondered. He took a long drag of his cigarette. He had a million things to do. He had a war to plan and a business to run. And yet, here he was, standing in the shade, watching two boys mow his lawn.
He saw other servants, men and women, approach Milo as they walked through the garden. They stopped to say a few words. They looked comfortable around him. But as soon as they noticed Salvatore standing under the tree, they immediately lowered their heads and walked away quickly.
Salvatore exhaled a final puff of smoke and crushed the cigarette butt into the dirt with his shoe. He turned and walked back toward the mansion. He didn't say a word.
In the garden, Teo let out a loud sigh of relief as soon as Salvatore disappeared into the house. "Oh, I was really afraid he'd get angry," Teo whispered.
Milo looked at the boy. "Why?"
"He's very kind, but he's so strict," Teo said, wiping his hands on his pants.
Milo stopped mowing the lawn. He looked at Teo with a confused expression. "Kind?"
He couldn't believe what he was hearing. He had just seen Salvatore kill two men in cold blood today. To Milo, Salvatore was a beautiful, terrifying monster.
"Trust me," Teo said. He looked at the mansion with a serious expression. "He's the kindest man I've ever met in that kind of position. I mean, he's from a mafia family, so you can't expect him to be a saint. But he saved me. He took me away from a very bad place. He gives me food and a place to sleep, and he never tortures me."
Milo went back to mowing the lawn, his mind racing. "I wish he could help me too. But he won't."
"Why?" Teo asked.
Milo looked at Teo, his eyes full of sadness. "I have a master who is very cruel. I wish I could get away from him forever. But I failed Mr. Portello's test."
Teo looked at Milo with deep sympathy. He reached out and touched Milo's arm. "Oh. I hope you can find a way to leave there. I would love it if you lived with us. Everyone is very nice here."
Milo looked at Teo and let out a long sigh. "Yes. You are really kind to me, Teo. I would love to stay here. But tonight, I think I have to go back."
The two of them worked until the sun was directly overhead. Milo was covered in dirt and sweat, but he felt a strange sense of peace.
For the first time in his life, he was working because he wanted to, not because someone was holding a belt over his head.
When the work was finished, Milo didn't expect them to ask him to have lunch with them.
The girl he had met that morning, Michelle, came out to the garden. She was smiling.
"Come on!" she called out. "It's time for lunch."
She grabbed his arm and pulled him toward the house. "Wash your hands. You too, Teo! Move it!"
Milo stumbled along behind her. "I... I can eat?"
Michelle looked at him with a surprised expression. "Of course you can eat! Luke prepared the food. He made a huge pot of beef stew. It's the best in the world! Come on!"
Milo walked into the kitchen to wash his hands. The room was filled with noise. People were laughing and talking loudly as they moved chairs and set the tables.
It was a warm kind of noise that brought a sense of peace.
Milo stood by the sink, mesmerized by the scene. At the Hartley mansion, Nero would fly into a rage if he saw the maids talking or laughing. That man simply hated it when people were happy. He wanted the house to be silent, cold, and professional, like a grave.
He followed Michelle into a side room where there were several long tables and many chairs. Two older women were handing out plates from the kitchen. The smell of the food was incredible.
"Your name is Milo, right?" one of the women asked. She had a kind face and silver hair. "Bernard told me about you. Is this enough for you?"
She placed a plate in front of him. It was piled high with tender beef in a thick, dark sauce, along with potatoes and carrots.
Milo nodded quickly. He was used to eating scraps or cold leftovers. This was a feast.
Before he knew it, mealtime had flown by. They seemed interested in him and asked him many questions. Milo was an open person, he liked to chat and hoped to have someone to talk to, because until now that had been impossible while he was still in Nero's hands.
Nero didn't like anyone getting close to Milo.
Halfway through the meal, Luke walked in. The head chef, who had been so angry and mean that morning, was now smiling broadly. He seemed like a different man.
"It's very good, Luke! You're the best!" one of the men shouted.
Luke's face lit up even more when he saw the empty plates. He looked at Milo's plate and saw that every bit of sauce had been wiped clean with a piece of bread. He nodded at Milo with a look of pride.
Luke and a few other women then brought out a dessert, warm apple cake. Milo took a bite and felt like he was in a dream.
"You are all so kind to me," Milo said softly to Michelle.
Michelle smiled and patted his hand. "Oh, don't say that, sweetie. We're like a family here."
Milo looked around the table at the humble faces and the warm light. He felt a lump in his throat. He loved that place, but he knew that in a few hours, Nero would arrive, and he would have to leave this warmth forever.