Milo pulled his knees closer to his chest, his brow furrowing as he tried to piece together the fragmented images in his mind.

"Uh... I don’t remember exactly where it was," he said, his voice quiet against the steady ticking of the wall clock.

"But it was so dark. I remember it because I was so scared. I don’t know if it was in the vineyard. But how do you know, Sir?"

Salvatore did not move from the chair, but his gray eyes seemed to darken as the final confirmation settled between them.

The timeline was seamless. The deaths of the Gallo family and the murder of his parents were the exact same tragedy, he even believed they might have been carried out by the same hand.

"As I told you, I sensed that we had connections in the past," Salvatore said, his tone dropping into a low, firm register. "So it means what I was thinking is correct. You are the youngest son of Pietro Gallo. I will tell you more later when Roderick gets more information about you."

Milo looked at Salvatore, his mind completely overwhelmed by the sudden declaration. His heart pounded with a mixture of confusion and intense curiosity.

If they were truly connected through their families’ pasts, it meant he belonged somewhere.

"So, we met before?" Milo asked, his voice trembling slightly.

"I’m sure we did," Salvatore said, a faint, rare softness touching his features before his expression returned to its usual discipline.

"You’re still the little chicken I knew. I remember seeing you crying all the time, looking for your father in the courtyard. It’s just a shame we didn’t have much time together back then."

Milo looked down at the linen sheets, his face instantly burning with a deep blush. He hadn’t realized he had been such a crybaby as a child, though he couldn’t deny that even now, tears came to him far too easily when he was scared.

But beneath the embarrassment, a strange, desperate hope flared in his chest. He genuinely wished with everything he had that he was the exact boy Salvatore remembered.

He wanted that connection to be real.

"About Nero," Salvatore said, his tone shifting abruptly into a cold, businesslike flatness.

Milo’s head snapped up. The blush on his cheeks vanished, replaced by immediate, rigid tension. The phantom fear of his former master was a reflex he couldn’t control.

"What happened, Sir?" he asked, his hands clenching the fabric of the blanket. He was terrified that Nero had somehow broken free from Alben’s house and was coming back to reclaim him.

"He is officially dead," Salvatore said, his voice entirely devoid of emotion. "So don’t mention his name outside. And don’t tell anyone in the house either."

Milo gulped, his throat tight as he processed the statement. "He is dead?"

"Not really dead," Salvatore corrected, leaning back against the chair’s frame. "But on paper, he is dead. Alben will keep him in his house under a new name."

Milo looked at Salvatore intently, trying to read the unspoken reality behind the Don’s calm face. He remembered the bloodied, chained figure he had seen at Alben’s house just days ago. Nero had been so helpless.

"Is he okay?" Milo asked hesitantly.

Salvatore’s eyebrows rose slightly. "Why? Do you want to see him?"

Milo shook his head frantically. "No! No, Sir! I don’t want to see him at all!"

Salvatore let out a short, genuine laugh, the dark humor returning to his eyes. "He isn’t like the Nero you knew before. He’s been properly broken. You could even play with him like a dog if you wanted to."

Milo shuddered, keeping his head down. "No, I don’t want that."

"It’s up to you," Salvatore said, his smirk fading into a serious, calculated expression. "Anyway, I just want to tell you some important things related to this. As the only surviving member of the Hartley family, you will receive all their assets. You will receive their inheritance."

Milo blinked, his mind going completely blank. Through the dull, persistent ringing in his ears, the word sounded entirely foreign.

"Inheritance?"

"Yes," Salvatore stated flatly. "Legally, Andro Hartley signed the adoption papers to secure his claim over you. In the eyes of the registries, you are legally Andro’s son. You are a Hartley. You will inherit their company, their houses, and everything they owned. I will help you secure everything from anyone who might foolishly try to fight for it."

Milo swallowed hard, a profound sense of panic replacing his earlier confusion. The idea of possessing anything of his own, even his freedom, was completely terrifying to him, let alone the vast, bloody Hartley empire.

"I... I’ll have their money?"

"As I told you, all their assets," Salvatore said. "That includes their business as well."

Milo’s hands began to shake in his lap. "But what can I do with it, Sir? I don’t know anything about businesses or companies."

"Well, people are usually happy when they receive an inheritance," Salvatore remarked, watching the young man’s genuine distress with quiet intensity. "Why are you scared of it?"

"I don’t know what I should do with it, Sir," Milo whispered, looking around the large bedroom. "I’m just a guard."

"You’re a terrible guard. At least now you’ll be a CEO."

Milo pouted when Salvatore said it so lightly. Was he really that bad? But then he realized he’d never really helped anyone until now, only caused them more trouble.

So he couldn’t complain.

Salvatore smiled slightly, a small, reassuring movement of his lips. "Don’t worry. I’ll help you with the business. Alben is currently processing the bank transfers, and he’s trying to get his cut. It’ll be easier if you handle the signatures once the transfers are settled. Just give him a share of the business to keep him satisfied."

Milo nodded automatically, though he didn’t understand a single word of the financial strategy. He was too ignorant about contracts to realize that Salvatore could easily steal every cent of the Hartley fortune if he wanted to.

But as he looked at the Don, Milo realized he didn’t care about the money at all. If Salvatore wanted the Hartley assets, Milo would give them to him without a second thought.

"It’s important to have power in our world, Milo," Salvatore continued, his voice serious. "You need to learn how to use it, and I will help you become stronger."

Milo looked at Salvatore, his chest tightening as he gathered his courage. "So... I’ll be rich?"

"Considering the size of the Hartley estate, yes, absolutely," Salvatore said.

Milo’s face turned a bright, burning crimson again. He leaned forward slightly, his hazel eyes locking onto Salvatore’s gray ones with raw, unguarded hope.

"So... if I have power, I can come closer to you?"

Salvatore’s expression instantly stilled. The casual warmth vanished from his posture, replaced by the cold, immovable wall that Milo feared most.

He looked at Milo deeply, fully understanding the true meaning behind the young man’s words. He had warned himself on the stairs that this would happen.

"Not as you might think," Salvatore said, his voice dropping into a flat, heavy tone that brooked no argument. "Don’t fall for me, Milo. Focus on your growth for now, use the inheritance to secure your status, and find someone your own age."

The rejection was immediate, cold, and completely absolute.

Milo felt a sharp, physical ache flare in his chest, far more painful than any of the bruises left by Nero’s cane.

He hadn’t even openly confessed his feelings, and the Don had already shut the door in his face, treating his attachment like a childish mistake.

But as Milo looked at the broad shoulders of the man who had carried him out of the fire, the pain didn’t make him back down.

Instead, the raw survival instinct that had kept him alive all these years twisted into a stubborn, desperate defiance.

He didn’t want someone his own age. He didn’t want anyone else.

Milo gripped the edge of the mattress, lifted his chin, and looked Salvatore straight in the eyes.

"I like you, Sir," Milo said, his voice clear and steady. He felt that if he didn’t say it now, Salvatore would never know.

Salvatore didn’t move. He sat in the chair, his gray eyes dark as night, watching the young man openly defy the boundary he had just drawn.

The room remained completely silent, the tension between them thick and electric as the clock continued to tick against the wall.

Salvatore stood up. He sighed deeply and smiled. "Sleep for now."

Milo stood up as well. He grabbed Salvatore’s strong arm. "I’m sorry, Sir. You’ve helped me so much, and I’ve made you uncomfortable. If you don’t like me, that’s fine. But don’t push me away."

He had never confessed his feelings or felt this way before. The words poured out like a waterfall, unstoppable. He didn’t know where all this courage had come from.

He was so afraid of living without this man.

Salvatore pulled his arm free and cupped Milo’s head. "You need to let yourself go more often. You like me only because I’m all you’ve seen for a long time."

Milo wanted to say something, but Salvatore stopped him. "You need to be really strong in bed if you want me. I’m sure you can’t even imagine it."

Milo found a glimmer of hope. "I’ll be stronger!"

Salvatore was certain Milo didn’t understand what he meant by "strong."