Bernard came back a few minutes later. He was carrying a heavy pack of cement over one shoulder. He dropped it onto the dusty floor with a loud thud and immediately began grumbling.

He wiped sweat from his red face with a dirty cloth. Milo realized that the old man really liked to complain. He talked to himself even when no one was listening, swearing about everything. Really, everything.

Milo stood up from the stone ledge. He held the small wooden box in both hands. He walked over to Bernard, waiting for the man to stop shouting at a bucket.

"Sir," Milo said quietly. "I found this inside the oven. I think someone left it there. I don’t know what it is."

Bernard stopped mid-sentence. He was breathing hard from the walk, his chest heaving under his clothes. He looked at the box, and his eyes went very wide.

He reached out with a shaky, dirty hand and took the box from Milo.

"This..." Bernard started, his voice losing its loud edge. "This must be the box Salvatore has been looking for."

The old man carefully opened the wooden lid. He stared at the faded photograph inside. His expression changed instantly.

The anger and the grumbling disappeared, replaced by a deep sadness. He became very quiet, staring at the photo for a long time.

Milo watched him. The silence in the bakery felt heavy.

"Who is that?" Milo asked.

Bernard closed the box with a soft click. He took a deep, shaky breath and looked toward the main mansion.

"Just some old friends of mine," he said. "They are Salvatore’s parents."

Milo stood perfectly still. He thought about the man and woman in the photo. They had looked so happy, like a normal village couple. It was hard to imagine them as the parents of a man like Salvatore Portello.

"They are..." Milo started, but he didn’t know how to finish the sentence.

"They are dead," Bernard said bluntly. "They died a long time ago."

After a long pause, Bernard looked at the box again. He shook his head in confusion.

"I don’t know how Salvatore was so sure it was here," he muttered. "I looked in every corner, I checked everywhere. I was sure I didn’t see it. I told him it was lost or stolen. But he insisted. He told me it had to be here. Finally, you found it."

Milo didn’t know what to say. He gave a small, confused grin. He felt strange knowing he had found something so personal to the Don.

Bernard tucked the box into a deep pocket in his vest. "I will give it to him later tonight," he said. He patted the pocket to make sure it was secure. "Now, go on. Get out of here. They are asking for you. It is time for lunch."

Milo nodded. "You’re not going to eat?"

"I already took some bread," Bernard said, picking up his shovel again. "I have work to finish. Just go."

Milo walked out of the bakery and back toward the side entrance of the mansion. He kept thinking about the photo. It gave him an uneasy feeling.

He had seen Salvatore as a cold, dangerous man who owned tigers and crocodiles. Knowing that he kept a photo of his dead parents hidden in an old oven made him feel more conflicted.

Something made him curious. Why was the box there?

Inside the mansion, the air was cooler. Teo found him in the corridor almost immediately. The boy grabbed Milo’s arm and started pulling him toward the kitchen.

"There you are!" Teo said. "I looked in your room, but you were gone. Come on, Stella kept the food for you."

Milo walked with him, but his mind was on his own needs. As they walked, he looked at Teo. "Teo, can I ask for a razor? And maybe a toothbrush? I didn’t bring anything with me."

Teo stopped and looked at Milo. "Oh, sorry! I completely forgot about that. I should have put those in your room this morning. I will ask Stella for a new kit and give it to you after we eat."

"Thank you," Milo said. He felt a small sense of relief.

Meanwhile, Salvatore was with his men now.

They were standing in the middle of a vast vineyard that belonged to the Portello family. The sun was hot, and the ground was dry and cracked.

Salvatore looked at the rows of dead plants and dry grass and let out a long, unsatisfied sigh.

He remembered this place from his childhood. Back then, the land was green and beautiful. The air used to smell like sweet fruit and rich soil. Now, it just smelled like dust and rot.

Felix stood next to him, squinting against the bright light. "I heard Niccolo abandoned it for quite a long time."

Salvatore pulled a cigarette from his pocket and lit it. He took a long drag, his eyes scanning the place.

"Niccolo only cared about easy money," Salvatore said.

"He got a lot of profit from the ports and the police. He didn’t have passion for the vineyard like my father. He let it die because he was lazy."

Joe was there as well, standing near the edge of a dried-out irrigation ditch. "Yes, and the workers didn’t want to stay. Niccolo treated them like shit, and he didn’t pay them for months. It caused a lot of chaos, as almost everyone here depended on this work."

"I knew it," Salvatore said. He kicked a piece of dry wood at his feet.

Alben was walking along the rows, looking at the land with a calculating expression. "What is the plan here, Sal? This land is perfect for my work. I could build something here. I need a place for my new factory. It would be easy to clear this out and lay some concrete."

Salvatore turned to look at Alben. His gaze was sharp. "No. Not here. I am going to restore this place. I want the grapes back."

Alben let out a loud groan. "Seriously? There are so many companies now that produce cheap wine. It takes years to get a vineyard running again. It’s a waste of money."

"We used to have the best wine in the country," Salvatore said. "It was the pride of the Portello name. I am going to make it happen again."

He looked at Felix. "Find out who was responsible for the work here before. Find the old foreman. Tell him to come to the mansion. I need to talk to him."

Felix nodded. "I will find him."

Alben sighed and put his hands in his pockets. "Well, I still need a place for my factory. If I can’t have this land, where am I supposed to go?"

Salvatore began walking through the dry vines toward a small, stone building in the distance. It looked like an old pressing house that had been abandoned for years.

"Let’s see," Salvatore said. "I think we will get the land for your factory from the Hartleys."

Alben stopped walking. He stared at Salvatore’s back. "The fuck? Did they promise you something? Hartley isn’t the type to give away land for free."

Salvatore reached the stone building and pushed the rotted wooden door open. The hinges screamed. He looked inside the dark, dusty space.

"No, they didn’t promise me anything," Salvatore said. "But they need to pay me for the trouble they are causing. They use a very dangerous shipping route. They have been doing it for free for years because Niccolo let them. That ends now."

Salvatore turned around, a cold smirk on his face. "They have a large plot of land near the city border. It is currently being used for storage, but it is perfect for a factory. I am going to take it as payment for the ’protection’ I am providing for them."

Alben let out a whistle. "Well, let’s see how that goes. You just took his favorite toy, and now you want his land. You are going to make them angry."

Salvatore chuckled, the sound low and dark. "That crazy man."