A week later.

For Milo, the days had blurred together into a slow, monotonous routine of eating, resting, and sleeping. His body felt fit again, the burns on his neck and jaw had faded into faint pink marks, and the dark purple welts on his back had settled into dull, manageable bruises.

Yet, Salvatore refused to let him return to his duties. He wasn’t allowed on the training field with the other guards, and he wasn’t allowed to help around the house or fetch coffee.

Every time Milo tried to stand by the door to assist, Salvatore would give him a flat, cold look and order him back to his room.

Milo felt less like a guard and more like a fragile porcelain object that the Don had locked away in a cabinet to keep from breaking.

The protection felt scary to him.

He was afraid he might fall in love.

Or maybe he had already fallen in love.

His ears still felt strange. The deep, watery roar had gone after Dr. Andrew’s treatments, but his hearing hadn’t fully returned to normal.

Everything sounded slightly distant, as if a thin sheet of glass stood between him and the rest of the world, and a faint, high-pitched ringing hummed continuously in the back of his skull.

He didn’t complain about it. He simply learned to tilt his head slightly toward whoever was speaking, trying to get used to it.

That night, Milo couldn’t stand the confinement of his room any longer. He walked down the long corridor toward the kitchen, hoping to find some noise to drown out the ringing in his head.

Stella and Michelle, along with some other girls, were at the large island counter, talking, cleaning, and folding fresh linen napkins. On the other side, Luke and his assistants were near the back stoves, scrubbing down the heavy copper pots.

Stella looked up as Milo stepped onto the kitchen floor. A warm smile spread across her face.

"Well, look at you. You look bright today, Milo. Feeling better?"

Milo nodded.

"I feel much better. Thank you for asking."

Michelle set a folded napkin down and reached for a clean bowl.

"Do you want to eat again? We still have a fresh pot of chicken broth that Luke made if you’d like some."

Milo’s eyes lit up, and he nodded happily. His appetite had returned with a vengeance.

He sat down on a chair, watching as Michelle ladled the hot, clear broth into the bowl.

Within ten minutes, he had finished the first bowl and gladly accepted a second, dipping a thick piece of crusty bread into the liquid.

"It’s so good!" Milo said happily.

Maureen walked into the kitchen from the pantry side, carrying an inventory clipboard. She stopped, her sharp eyes tracking the empty bowl and the speed at which Milo was clearing the second one.

"If people see you eating like that, they might think you were starving to death here," she said, though her voice lacked its usual bite.

Milo paused, his cheeks turning slightly pink as he swallowed.

"I’m sorry. But it was just so good. My stomach feels like it’s never full."

From the back of the kitchen, Luke let out a loud, booming laugh, slamming a clean pot onto the drying rack.

"Let the boy eat as much as he wants! I like that boy! Eat more, Milo! I’ve got two more loaves of bread in the warmer if your stomach has the space!"

Milo smiled shyly, looking down at his spoon.

"Thank you, Luke."

He finished the rest of the bowl, feeling the heavy warmth settle in his stomach. The kitchen was cozy, but as he looked around the spacious room, he realized something was missing.

He turned to Michelle, tilting his right ear slightly toward her.

"Is Teo already asleep? I haven’t seen him all week."

Usually, the boy liked to come to his room. It was strange that Teo hadn’t even checked on him.

Michelle and Stella immediately stopped what they were doing. They exchanged a quick, hesitant look across the linen napkins.

The cheerful atmosphere in the kitchen dissolved into a heavy, awkward silence.

Milo’s smile faded. He looked between the two women, his heart giving a small, uneasy thud.

"What is it? Did something happen to him?"

Stella let out a slow breath, balancing the clipboard against her hip. She thought for a moment about whether she should keep the secret, but the entire mansion had been talking about it for days.

The guards knew. Everyone knew.

Milo was bound to find out the truth eventually.

"Don’t you know, Milo?" Stella said quietly, leaning against the counter. "Salvatore sent him away to Roderick’s house."

Milo looked completely confused.

"No... I don’t know about that. Why did he send him away? Did Teo make a mistake?"

"It wasn’t just a mistake," Stella said, lowering her voice to a whisper so it wouldn’t carry past the pantry doors.

"Someone heard the rumor from the office. Felix was the one who took the Don’s photograph, but he used Teo to hide the box inside your dresser drawer. Teo lied straight to Salvatore’s face to frame you."

She shook her head.

"Salvatore was so angry. He kicked Felix out and sent Teo out of the house too. Someone said they even saw Salvatore punch Felix really, really hard."

Milo sat completely speechless, his hand frozen over his empty bowl. His mind struggled to process the words through the dull ringing in his ears.

Teo framed him?

He remembered the boy’s pale face in his bedroom the last time they had spoken, the way he had refused to take the car remote, and the sudden shout before he ran out.

But he never expected the boy to frame him.

"So... Teo won’t be here anymore?" Milo asked, his voice dropping to a small, hollow tone. "Because of me?"

"Hey, actually, it’s not because of you, Milo," Michelle intervened quickly, reaching for his hands. "Don’t take that weight on your shoulders. It’s because he lied to Salvatore. You know how Salvatore is about things like that. He hates liars more than anything. If you break his trust, you might not want to know what he’ll do."

Milo looked down at the grain of the counter.

Even though he should have felt angry that the boy’s lie had nearly cost him his life in Nero’s basement, he couldn’t bring himself to hate him.

Teo was a child.

He knew the boy didn’t have bad intentions. He wasn’t evil.

He then realized the cold distance the guards had maintained toward him all week, the way they avoided his gaze whenever they met.

They might be terrified of him.

They saw him as the person who had caused Felix’s downfall, Teo’s exile, and much more.

Maybe, to them, Milo was a walking thunderstorm that brought destruction to anyone who touched him.

He felt a heavy, miserable ache in his chest.

He hadn’t wanted to cause problems for anyone.

The distant sound of several cars signaled Salvatore’s return. Milo stood up immediately, leaving the kitchen before the staff could say anything else.

He reached the grand foyer just as Salvatore was walking toward the stairs.

The Don looked exhausted.

Roderick walked over to greet Milo, then continued past him.

Milo quickened his pace, keeping a step behind the man as Salvatore began to climb the staircase.

"Sir," Milo said, trying to make his voice clear. "Can I bring you some tea to your room?"

Salvatore didn’t stop walking; his boots thudded rhythmically against the stone steps.

"No. Why are you still awake? It’s late."

"I feel much better today," Milo said, following him closely. "I just wanted to get some fresh air. I was in the kitchen."

"Just go to sleep when you’re ready," Salvatore said, his voice calm. "Don’t wander around the corridors at night."

Milo kept pace, his heart pounding against his ribs as they reached the top of the stairs.

He couldn’t let it go.

"Sir... about Teo..."

Salvatore stopped instantly at the top step.

The air around him seemed to turn freezing cold in a fraction of a second.

"I don’t want to talk about it."

He turned around sharply to face Milo, his large frame completely blocking the light from the hallway chandelier.

The sudden movement caught Milo off guard.

Startled, Milo took a hasty step backward, but his heel caught the edge of the top step.

His balance vanished, his weight tipping backward toward the steep drop of the staircase.

"Oh!"

Milo’s eyes went wide, his muscles locking as he braced for the violent pain of the fall.

But he didn’t hit the stone.

Salvatore’s hand shot forward with terrifying, instinctive speed. His large, calloused palm locked securely around Milo’s waist, his iron grip halting Milo’s momentum instantly and jerking him forward, slamming Milo’s chest directly against his own solid torso.

Milo gasped, his face pressed against Salvatore’s coat. The scent of heavy tobacco, expensive soap, and the crisp night air filled his senses.

His heart wasn’t pounding from the near fall anymore; it was pounding because of the tight, crushing grip of the man holding him.

"Be careful!" Salvatore said.

A deep, burning blush crept up Milo’s neck, turning his cheeks a bright crimson.

"I’m sorry..."

He knew he had fallen in love with the man, but right now, with Salvatore’s large, warm hand against his lower back, the feeling seemed like a physical weight that would suffocate him.

Salvatore looked down at him, his brow furrowing as he noticed the dark red color on Milo’s face.

"You feel sick?" Salvatore growled softly, his voice vibrating through his chest against Milo’s ribs. "Go to sleep. Do you want another bruise? Your skin is barely healed."

Milo shook his head quickly, his forehead brushing Salvatore’s collarbone before he managed to pull back an inch, though Salvatore didn’t release his waist entirely.

"Sir... I really want to bring you tea."

Salvatore stared at him, his gray eyes tracking the nervous flutter of Milo’s eyelashes.

"Why? I told you I don’t need tea."

’Because I want to be useful,’ Milo thought, his mind screaming the words he couldn’t say out loud. ’Because I want to be near you as much as possible, and I don’t want to be treated like an invalid or a burden.’

But he kept his mouth shut, his lips pressed into a tight line.

Salvatore slowly let go of his waist, his hand lingering for a fraction of a second before dropping to his side.

"Just sleep. We need to talk tomorrow."

Milo looked up at him, his expression turning anxious.

"What is it, Sir? Am I being sent away too?"

"No. Why would you think that? Just wait until tomorrow," Salvatore said, his tone final.

Milo pouted, an old childhood habit he couldn’t control when he was frustrated.

He took a step behind Salvatore as the man turned to walk toward his private bedroom.

"Sir, can I at least visit Teo at Roderick’s house?"

Salvatore didn’t look back.

"No. Not at all. You’ll ruin everything."

"But—"

"Do you want to sleep in your room or my room?" Salvatore teased.

But Milo saw it as an opportunity instead.

"Uh, can I sleep with you?"