The afternoon sun was hot as Alben and Joe headed off to attend to their own business. Salvatore decided it was time to visit the traditional market located deep within Portello territory.

He didn’t go alone, Felix insisted on coming along, and several guards followed in two separate cars, keeping a respectful distance behind them.

The market was the heart of the district. It was a place where people could sell almost anything: food, clothes, electronics, or handmade goods. Under the Portello name, the merchants paid a "small fee" in exchange for total protection.

This meant they were safe from rival gangs, local thugs, and even unwanted government interference. Because of this guarantee, the market was always crowded.

Salvatore walked with long, fast strides through the rows of shops. His eyes moved constantly, scanning the faces of the shoppers and the state of the stalls.

Everything looked normal. People were haggling over prices, and the smell of spices and grilled meat filled the air.

"Since last week, we’ve received a lot of new merchant applications," Felix said, walking half a step behind Salvatore. Felix was still relatively new to managing the market’s logistics, but he had gathered a lot of information for the report.

"The problem is, we don’t have enough space right now."

Salvatore nodded. He remembered how his uncle, Niccolo, had run this place. His uncle only cared about the money coming in. He never visited the stalls, and he never listened to the complaints.

For years, under Niccolo, he had watched helplessly as merchants fought over space, management was poor, and "tax collectors" from other small gangs would often harass the sellers.

Niccolo did nothing to address the issues that had upset Salvatore back then. That’s why he vowed to take over the business.

When Salvatore finally managed to take over everything, he changed the rules immediately. He stationed his own men on the streets every day to conduct "sweeping" patrols.

He was incredibly strict. Two weeks ago, his men had caught two thugs trying to extort "extra" money from a fruit seller. They caused a lot of chaos. Salvatore ordered them shot dead to send a message to other gangs to be careful around Portello’s business.

Since then, the market has become quiet. Neighboring vendors still argue with each other, as people always do, but the external threats have slowly faded away.

Because the vendors felt safe, more people wanted to move their businesses into the Portello zone.

Salvatore stopped near the edge of the market and looked at the crowded parking area. "We’ll build on that area," he said, pointing to a dusty lot. "We need to create an underground parking garage to free up the surface for more stalls."

"Are you planning that for this year?" Felix asked, surprised by the scale of the idea.

"I need to talk to Robert about the construction costs," Salvatore replied.

As they continued walking, Salvatore stopped abruptly in front of a small shoe shop. The windows were filled with sturdy leather boots and simple walking shoes. His mind flashed back to the image of Milo.

He remembered the young man standing on the cold marble of the Hartley mansion, barefoot and shivering. Even this morning, he had been walking barefoot.

Felix looked confused. "You want to buy new shoes here?"

That man has his regular shop for shoes and everything. He doesn’t usually buy his things from the market.

Salvatore didn’t answer immediately. He walked into the shop and greeted the old man behind the counter. He turned to Felix.

"No. These are for that little chicken."

Felix stared at him, his mouth hanging open slightly as Salvatore began looking through the shelves.

"You have a chicken now? What kind of chicken wears shoes, Sal?"

Salvatore let out a rare, genuine chuckle. "He’s afraid of everything. He flinches at every sound. He reminds me of a little chicken."

"Who are you talking about?" Felix asked, curious.

"Milo," Salvatore said.

Felix’s face went still. He stared at Salvatore for a long time. "Milo? That boy from the other day? The one Hartley took back? He came back to the mansion?"

Salvatore picked up a pair of soft, durable leather shoes. He tried to guess the size of Milo’s feet based on how he had looked when he carried him.

"Yes. I took him back last night."

Felix was silent for a while. The air between them grew heavy. "Well? Why? You actually went and took him?"

"I had to," Salvatore said simply.

The expression on Felix’s face changed instantly. The professional mask dropped, replaced by a dull, gloomy look. He crossed his arms over his chest. "I hope it’s not because you actually like him."

Salvatore ignored the comment. He held up a pair of shoes to the old shopkeeper. "Give me these. I’m not entirely sure of the size."

The old man smiled kindly. "Don’t worry. Take them with you. If they don’t fit, just send them back to exchange them later."

Salvatore nodded and asked the man to wrap them. He then turned to look at Felix. "Well? What’s with that face?"

Felix looked at him as if the answer were obvious. "Seriously? You’re asking me now?"

Salvatore smiled, but there was no warmth in it. "I don’t bring people into my house that I don’t like, Felix. You know that."

Felix looked away, biting his lip.

Salvatore paid the old man and handed the bag to a guard.

"Good luck with the business," Salvatore told the owner. "But you should make the shop a bit brighter. It’s too dark in here."

The old man laughed. "Yeah, thank you. But I thought too much light would hurt my eyes."

"Trust me," Salvatore said. "Give it more light. You can’t attract customers into a dark cave like this."

Salvatore walked out of the shop and kept moving. He didn’t stop at just the shoes. Over the next hour, he stopped at several clothing stalls. Every time he saw something, he thought of Milo.

Is this good for him?

I think he’ll look good in it.

He definitely needs it.

Every time he saw something that looked comfortable or warm, he bought it. He bought soft shirts, sweaters, and several pairs of pants. He even bought socks and pajamas.

By the time they reached the parking lot, the guards were carrying more than five large bags.

Salvatore stopped at the back of the car and looked at the pile of clothes. A small, self-deprecating smile touched his lips. He realized he had spent a significant amount of money and time on a boy who was supposed to be a "guard in training."

He shook his head and gestured for the guards to put everything in the trunk.

Felix climbed into the driver’s seat with a grumpy, slumped posture. He slammed the door a little too hard.

Salvatore got into the passenger’s seat and glanced at him. "What is it now? Do you want me to buy you clothes, too?"

Felix sighed loudly. "No."

"Then what’s the problem? Don’t act like a woman. Just say what’s on your mind."

Felix pouted, staring out the side window. "Did he sleep with you?"

Salvatore pulled a cigarette from his pocket and lit it. He exhaled a long cloud of smoke before looking at Felix.

"What’s the problem? I can sleep with anyone I want."

Felix didn’t say anything. He started the engine and began to drive out of the market in total silence. The tension in the car was thick.

"Don’t make us crash because of your jealousy," Salvatore said calmly. "Keep your eyes on the road."

Felix let out an annoyed sound, clicking his tongue. "Seriously! I don’t care about him. I just... don’t understand you."

"What do you need to understand?"

Felix felt his cheeks flush before he spoke. "Okay, let me ask you. Can I sleep with you tonight? You know how I feel."

Salvatore chuckled, but it was a cold sound. "That’s not going to happen, Felix."

"See? Sal... please."

"Drive the car," Salvatore said firmly. "You’ll kill us both if you don’t focus. Look at the road."

"You always say you’re busy, or it’s ’business,’" Felix muttered. "But you know I’m serious about us. I’ve been loyal to you for years."

Salvatore leaned his head back against the seat and closed his eyes, then sighed.

"You couldn’t handle me, Felix. You can’t. Stop talking about it."

"I could, last time!"

"Last time was a mistake," Salvatore interrupted. His voice was sharp now, ending the conversation. "Don’t talk about it anymore. It won’t happen again."

Felix gripped the steering wheel so hard his knuckles turned white. He didn’t say another word for the rest of the drive.

Salvatore stared out the window, his mind drifting away from the angry man beside him and back to the mansion.

He wondered if the "little chicken" had woken up and if he would be happy to get a new pair of shoes.