Milo stared at Salvatore. His mind was working overtime to process everything. He was still thinking about Ronald, but he was more curious about the wooden box.

"The box I found in the building?" Milo asked, his voice quiet.

Salvatore sat down on the long sofa. He gestured for Milo to sit across from him. Milo moved slowly. He sat on the edge of the cushion, being very careful not to wrinkle his new black trousers.

He was also mindful of the gold rings in his nipples. He didn’t want the stiff fabric of the new white shirt to rub against the raw skin too harshly.

"I put that box there a long time ago," Salvatore said. He leaned back, his eyes fixed on the wooden container on the desk. "It holds the only photo I have of my parents. I know you might not care about that, but I want you to understand that what you found means a great deal to me."

Salvatore looked back at Milo. "So, tell me. Do you want something in return? I’ll give you a reward."

Milo listened to every word. He wanted to know more about Salvatore’s past, but he didn’t dare to ask. He just gave a small, shy smile and shook his head.

"No. You’ve already bought me these clothes and the shoes. That’s enough for me. I don’t need anything else."

Salvatore watched Milo closely. He let out a short, sharp breath and smirked. "You know what, Milo? You need to learn how the world works. If someone offers you a reward, you should ask for the most expensive thing you can get. Don’t be too kind or too humble. It won’t benefit you."

Milo swallowed. He fell silent, thinking hard about Salvatore’s words. For thirteen years, he had focused only on surviving. He had tried hard to stay out of Nero’s way and avoid punishment.

He had never thought about wanting things for his own comfort. To him, just being away from Nero felt like a miracle. He didn’t know how to want things.

"Tell me what you want," Salvatore pressed him. "The clothes and shoes are just a gift from me. I won’t count them. Ask for something else."

Milo looked Salvatore in the eyes.

"I... I really want your protection," Milo said finally. His voice was steady. "I want protection from Nero. I don’t want to ever go back there."

Salvatore chuckled. The sound was deep and a little dark. "I gave you two chances to leave him, Milo. Both times, you almost went back. Your safety doesn’t depend only on me. It depends on you. As long as you trust me and stay behind me, you will be safe. I am not going to hand you back to him."

Milo looked at his hands in his lap. "I was just afraid. Nero is so powerful and so evil. I was afraid that if I stayed, he would cause problems for you. I didn’t want you to get hurt because of me."

Salvatore laughed again. This time, it was louder. "You’re worrying about the wrong person. I could kill him tonight if I wanted to. Do you really think a man like him could do anything to me? I don’t think he’s ever even raised a gun at anyone. He’s just a loser who’s lucky enough to have a lot of money."

Milo gulped. He tried to believe it. Then he remembered watching Salvatore kill those two men in the garden without even blinking.

He realized the man wasn’t joking. But Milo’s entire world had been the Hartley mansion. He had been taught that Nero was a god. It was hard to break that habit of fear.

"So," Salvatore continued, "as long as you don’t do anything stupid and you stay here, you don’t need to be afraid of him. He is no longer your problem."

Milo felt a wave of sincere gratitude wash over him. He felt like he could finally breathe. "Thank you, Sir. Thank you so much."

"Don’t think this means your life will be easy here," Salvatore warned. "I told you, I’m going to train you. I need you to be strong. And once you’re capable of doing actual work, you’ll get paid like everyone else."

Milo stared at him. He had almost forgotten that people got paid for working. The idea of having his own money was a new concept.

Thinking about it, he smiled broadly and nodded with excitement. "I’ll do my best! I’ll work as hard as I can!"

Salvatore reached for his leather wallet. He knew Milo didn’t have a bank account or any way to handle digital money yet. He pulled out a stack of cash—several crisp bills.

"I only have five hundred euros in cash on me right now," Salvatore said, holding the money out. "Take it. I’ll give you more later."

Milo hesitated for a second, his heart racing. He reached out and took the money. It was a lot of money for him. And it was his.

He looked at the bills, his chest swelling with a feeling of happiness he had never felt before.

"Thank you, Sir!" Milo said, looking up with bright eyes.

Salvatore took a deep breath. Watching Milo’s reaction was difficult. The boy was so innocent and so happy over such a small thing.

Salvatore felt a strange urge to give him everything in the mansion just to see that smile again. He cleared his throat and shook the feeling away.

"Now," Salvatore said, his voice becoming very serious. "I want to ask you about Ronald. I want to know the truth. How did you know he was going to die? Because he is dead now."

Milo felt the happy atmosphere vanish. A cold, uncomfortable feeling took over his body. He gripped the money tightly.

"I can see people who are going to die," Milo said. He tried to speak clearly so he wouldn’t sound crazy. "I see it when they have less than thirty days left. Their faces look pale—not like a normal sickness, but a gray, hollow kind of pale. But to be sure, I have to look at their chest. That’s where the number is."

Salvatore didn’t laugh. He leaned forward, listening intently. "Explain it to me. Exactly how is that possible?"

"That’s..." Milo said, gesturing with his hands. "For example, if you were going to die in a week, I’d see your face looking pale and gray today. I would know death is coming for you. But to know exactly when, I need to look at your chest, right over your heart. There is a number there. It counts down the days. The guard I saw last time—I didn’t see his number, but I saw his face so pale, I knew his time was less than a week."

"Interesting," Salvatore said. He rubbed his jaw. "I don’t usually believe in these things. But you proved it with Ronald. I’ll give you another chance to prove it. If you really have this ability, I’ll pay you more than a regular guard."

Milo looked down at the carpet. "I can only see it, Sir. I can’t do anything about it."

Salvatore looked thoughtful. He was clearly trying to find logic behind it. "Have you ever made a mistake? Has anyone ever survived after you saw their number?"

Milo shook his head. "No. What I see is what always happens. Their death is a fixed point. It’s like a clock that can’t be stopped. Even when I tried to warn and help people in the past, it never worked. They died anyway—sometimes in a different way than I expected—but they always died on the day the number said."

Salvatore fell silent for a long time. He tapped his finger on the arm of the sofa. "What happens if you don’t see a sign on someone, but I decide to kill them? Does that mean you can’t always see it? Or does it mean I won’t be able to kill them?"

Milo looked up. "If I see someone and they aren’t pale, they won’t die. It doesn’t matter what you do. Nero tried to do that once. He hated a man and tried to kill him for fun. He chased him and tried to trap him, but the man survived everything. Nero was so angry, but he couldn’t change it. The man didn’t die."

Salvatore smirked. He looked at the window. "You can’t say that if I use a gun. No one survives a bullet to the brain, Milo. Physics is more real than fate."

Milo smiled softly. It was a sad, knowing smile. "No matter what happens, if they are not meant to die, they will not die. Maybe the gun will jam. Maybe you will miss. Maybe someone will step in the way. But they will live."

Salvatore rubbed his temples. He felt a headache coming on. "This is incredible. And a bit terrifying if it’s true."

He looked at Milo with a very serious expression, making the young man feel nervous.

"Tell me," Salvatore said, his eyes scanning the young man’s face. "Here in this mansion... is anyone marked for death? Who is going to die soon?"

Milo took a moment to think. He thought about the guards he had seen in the yard, the maids in the kitchen, and Bernard. He thought about Alben and Roderick. He shook his head slowly. "No. For now, I haven’t seen the mark on anyone here."

Salvatore rubbed his lips with his thumb. He stared at Milo for a long time, his mind calculating the possibilities. If Milo was telling the truth, he was a living shield. He was a weapon that could predict the movements of his enemies.

"If you can really do this," Salvatore said, his voice dropping to a low rumble. "I need to use you."