Milo was still lifting bricks when he saw Roderick’s polished black shoes come to a stop in the yard.

He froze, the weight of the brick pulling at his sore shoulders. He slowly set it down in the wooden basket and looked up.

"Salvatore is looking for you. Come to his office," Roderick said.

Milo stood up immediately. His heart began to pound against his ribs. He searched Roderick’s face for any sign of what was coming.

Was Salvatore angry? But Roderick’s face was a blank wall. He looked at Milo calmly, with no expression.

Bernard, who was nearby spreading mortar, wiped his brow and grumbled. He didn’t look at Roderick, but he raised his voice so he could be heard.

"Tell Salvatore I asked the boy to help me. I needed him."

He knew that man would be upset because he had taken his man again.

But Bernard didn’t like to bring people in from outside unless it was really necessary. After all, he knew he could handle the job. He just needed a "little help."

Roderick didn’t respond to Bernard. He simply jerked his head toward the mansion, signaling for Milo to move.

Milo looked at his hands. They were caked in dry cement and grit. He rubbed them against his trousers, but it only made the fabric dustier.

His shirt was clinging to his back with sweat, and his face was smeared with dirt where he had wiped his forehead. He felt like a mess.

He followed Roderick, his bare feet padding softly on the grass and then on the cold stone of the side entrance.

"Is Mr. Portello angry with me?" Milo asked. Fear made his voice tremble.

Roderick stopped at the doorway leading to the main hall. He looked back at Milo. "Did you do something that would make him angry?"

Milo fell silent. He thought about that morning. "I couldn’t find him this morning," he whispered. "I didn’t know what I was supposed to do, so I helped Sir Bernard. I didn’t want to just sit in my room."

He was so afraid Salvatore would be angry about it.

"I really don’t know," Roderick said. "You’d better go see him."

Roderick didn’t walk him to the door. He turned toward the kitchen, leaving Milo to walk to the office alone.

Milo reached the large, heavy doors of Salvatore’s office. He looked down at his feet. They were filthy. He had deliberately not worn shoes or sandals, but now he was afraid to step on the floor in that room.

He stood there for a moment, debating whether he should go wash up, but he knew that making Salvatore wait was a worse sin. He knocked on the door, a soft, hesitant sound.

"Come in!" Salvatore’s voice boomed from inside.

Milo gulped. He pushed the door open just a few inches, peeking his head inside before slowly stepping into the room. He walked on his tiptoes, trying to minimize the amount of dirt he left on the floor.

Salvatore was standing by the window, a smartphone in his hand. He looked busy, his brow furrowed in concentration.

He didn’t acknowledge Milo’s entrance for several minutes. Milo stood in the center of the room, his arms awkwardly at his sides, feeling like a stain in the middle of the clean, elegant office.

Finally, Salvatore tossed the phone onto his desk. He turned his full attention to Milo. His eyes moved from Milo’s messy hair down to his dusty shirt, then to his bare, dirty feet.

Milo curled his toes against the floor, wishing he could disappear.

Salvatore crossed his arms over his broad chest. "Did I tell you not to do chores in the mansion?"

Milo stood as straight as he could, though his muscles ached from the bricks and exercise that morning.

"I’m sorry, Sir. I couldn’t find you this morning. I didn’t know what I was supposed to do."

Salvatore looked at Milo, who looked pale. He had deliberately not given him any tasks because he knew this was Milo’s first day and the young man needed time to adjust.

He wanted Milo to have time to rest. But it seemed the young man was too scared and confused by the changes in his daily routine.

"I’ll make it clear for you," Salvatore said. His voice was firm. "This week, you’ll exercise and train with me. When I’m not here, you’re to rest. You’ll prepare for the next session. I didn’t say you’re not allowed to help people, but that’s not your main duty. And you should know, I won’t pay you for that. You’re a guard, not a mason."

Milo looked at the floor. He didn’t care about the money; he just didn’t want Salvatore to think he was useless. He didn’t want to give Salvatore a reason to send him away.

Just then, the door opened and Roderick entered.

Salvatore gave a small nod, a silent signal.

Milo stayed where he was, watching with curiosity as three other guards entered behind Roderick. They were carrying large bundles of wooden sticks of various heights and thicknesses.

They dumped them in the middle of the floor. The pile grew until it was nearly half a meter high. It looked like a mess of garden waste.

Milo moved to the side, pressing himself against a cupboard to stay out of the way.

Roderick and the guards stood by the pile, waiting.

Salvatore walked closer to the sticks, a thoughtful expression on his face. He looked at Milo, then back at the wood.

"I want to throw these away," Salvatore said, looking at Milo again. "I don’t need them. I told Roderick to take them to the dumpster, but look at them. It’s so messy, right? If we just throw them out like this, they’ll scatter everywhere."

Milo blinked. He didn’t understand why they would care about how trash looked in a dumpster. But he just nodded slowly.

Salvatore turned to Roderick. "Rod, I want these sorted by height. Exactly the same length. Then tie them with rubber bands in bundles of ten. I want you to finish it today so we can throw them out tonight."

Roderick let out a loud, sharp breath. He didn’t even hesitate. "No, thank you. I’m busy."

Milo’s jaw nearly dropped. He stared at Roderick. He had never seen anyone refuse their boss’s orders so casually.

"What? It’s easy," Salvatore said, his tone almost teasing.

"What’s the point?" Roderick replied. "They’re going in the trash. Why would I waste my time sorting garbage? No fucking way."

Salvatore sighed. "Well, okay. Get out."

Roderick walked out.

Milo just stared.

Salvatore looked at the three men there.

He turned to the first guard. "How about you? Do you want to do it?"

"I’m out," the guard said, shaking his head. "Not my job."

The second guard laughed. "Nah. I’m not doing that."

The third guard didn’t even speak; he just shook his head and looked at his watch.

Milo stood in the corner, his mind reeling. In Nero’s house, if a guard had refused an order like that, they would have been beaten or fired.

But here, they just said "no," and Salvatore let them.

"Okay," Salvatore said, waving his hand. "Get out, all of you."

The guards walked out of the room, closing the door behind them. The room was quiet again.

Salvatore looked at the mountain of sticks. Then he looked at Milo. "So. Will you do it?"

Milo looked at the sticks. There had to be thousands of them. He looked at Salvatore, then back at the pile.

"Do I need to tie ten together?" he asked, his voice a whisper.

"Sort them by height. Make sure they match perfectly. Tie them with a rubber band. Ten in each bundle," Salvatore repeated. "I need it finished today. It has to be ready to go out tonight."

Milo gulped. He didn’t see the logic in it, but he didn’t know how to say "no." He didn’t think he was allowed to say no.

"Yes, Sir," he said softly.

Salvatore didn’t say another word. He reached into his desk drawer, pulled out a large pack of rubber bands, and tossed them onto the pile of wood.

"Good luck." Salvatore walked out of the room.

Milo stood alone in the office. He looked at his dirty, sweaty clothes and his dusty feet. He sat down on the floor, his knees cracking.

He picked up the first stick. Then the second. He began to compare their lengths, laying them out in rows on the expensive carpet.

The task was tedious. It was exhausting. After the first hour, his fingers felt numb from the rough wood and the snap of the rubber bands. His back began to throb from sitting in a hunched position.

Every time he finished a bundle of ten, he looked at the pile and realized he had barely made a dent.

Why is he making me do this? Milo wondered. He felt a sense of dread.

Was this his real job? Was he being punished for helping Bernard?

He felt a headache starting to form behind his eyes. He felt small and pathetic, sitting in the middle of a room, sorting trash while his body screamed for rest.

That evening, Salvatore had a meeting. On the way, in the car, Roderick looked at him through the rearview mirror.

"He’s going to be in there until midnight, for sure," Roderick said. "Did he really say yes?"

"I told you. He’s really unbelievable."

"But are you sure you’ll let him do that? It’ll take days," Roderick said sympathetically.

Salvatore pulled a cigarette from a silver case and lit it. He watched the smoke curl out of the partially open window.

"We’ll see. He needs to get used to saying no. Or people will make his life a living hell."