The next day, Milo woke up early to wash up and shave. He put on his workout clothes before heading out to the backyard.

He was ready!

No matter what happened today, he wouldn’t break down!

He expected Salvatore to be there, but he couldn’t find him. Instead, he found Roderick.

The man was standing with a phone in his hand. He hadn’t joined the main group of guards who were doing their drills. Instead, he led Milo to a separate corner of the field.

"You know what you have to do today. Salvatore made an exception for you so you don’t have to do your routine exercises. But you will finish your 200 push-ups," Roderick said, his voice neutral.

"We have time until lunch. You can break them up however you need, but I’m staying here to count."

"Yes, sir," Milo nodded, his throat tight. He was grateful that he had time to finish them, not all at once.

He started immediately. He did sets of fifteen, then ten. Roderick told him to rest for a few minutes in between.

The man was surprisingly patient. He even brought Milo a bottle of water and a piece of fruit halfway through, telling him to sit and catch his breath, even take a nap.

By 1:00 PM, Milo was down to the final ten. His arms were trembling so violently he thought his elbows might snap, and his chest felt like it was on fire, but the rhythm was different today.

He wasn’t panicking and was more focused. When his chest hit the grass for the two-hundredth time, he stayed there for a full minute, gasping, before pushing himself up to his knees.

He felt a strange sense of accomplishment. His muscles were tight and sore, but he hadn’t collapsed. He did it at his own pace, nobody rushed him.

"You’ve finished," Roderick noted. "Go change your clothes and have lunch. Good job."

Milo stood up, wiping sweat from his eyes with his sleeve. "Thank you, sir."

As Milo turned to head back to the mansion, Roderick took a step forward.

"Wait, Milo. Salvatore gave you the key, didn’t he? It’s been two days now. You can just give it to me." Roderick held out his palm, asking Milo to hand over the key.

Milo stopped. He felt the weight of the golden bullet in his pocket. He looked at Roderick, the man who had been kind to him all morning, who had given him water and let him rest. Every instinct in Milo told him to be polite and hand it over.

But then he remembered the "200" he had just finished. He remembered the smirk on Salvatore’s face.

"I... I will give it to Mr. Portello myself," Milo said, his voice shaking but firm.

Roderick raised an eyebrow. "Why? You can trust me."

Milo bowed his head respectfully, but he didn’t reach for his pocket. "I’m really sorry, sir. But I will give it to him myself. I don’t want to do more push-ups. Mr. Portello said two days, starting yesterday morning. That means I keep it until tomorrow morning. I don’t want to fall into the trap again."

Roderick stared at him, his expression shifting into one of deep disappointment. "So you’re just saying no to me? You’re refusing me?"

Milo felt a wave of guilt. He hated making people unhappy. "I’m sorry. I really am. But I’m sticking to it."

Roderick sighed, shook his head, and walked away without another word.

Milo watched him go, feeling guilty. But he was sure that what he’d done was the right thing. For the first time, he felt confident in himself.

The moment Roderick’s back was turned and he was out of Milo’s sight, a small, satisfied smile played on his lips.

Night fell over the estate. Salvatore returned late, his footsteps could be heard as he walked into the foyer with Joe. They talked the whole way.

Roderick met them near the stairs. "Everything okay?"

"Yes," Salvatore said. "We fixed a lot of things. How’s our little chicken? Did he survive?"

Roderick let out a short, dry laugh. "It was quite interesting, actually. You really gave him a good lesson. All day, he refused everyone who tried to take that key. Even me."

A spark of amusement flashed in Roderick’s eyes. "I had Marco try a different tactic this afternoon. He went to him in the garden, acting panicked, telling the boy that if he didn’t hand over the key, our enemy would use it as an excuse to launch an attack and everyone in the mansion would die. He really laid it on thick."

Salvatore paused, looking interested. "And?"

"Milo started crying. Unbelievable, that boy," Roderick chuckled. "He was sobbing, begging Marco not to make him give it up. He told Marco he was sorry everyone was going to die, but he couldn’t do more push-ups. Then he literally turned and ran away. He kept the key, though."

Salvatore chuckled, a genuine sound of approval. "Good."

At 10:00 PM, Teo came to Milo’s room. "Milo? Are you sleeping? Salvatore wants to see you in the office."

Milo was still awake, he looked at Teo and his stomach did a somersault. He stood up, adjusted his shirt, and checked his pocket to make sure the key was still there.

"No, I’m still awake. Okay, I’m coming now. Thanks, Teo."

Teo nodded, smiled slightly, and left the room.

Milo walked to the office, the door was open. He found Joe just finishing a conversation with the Don.

"Just tell me about the situation tomorrow," said Salvatore.

Joe nodded and walked out.

Joe glanced at Milo briefly, his expression was unreadable. He didn’t say a word, leaving Milo alone with Salvatore.

Salvatore stood up from the sofa.

Milo stood near the door, now it was just him and Salvatore. He was already prepared in case the man asked for the key. He would never, ever give it to him, no matter what happened.

But Salvatore didn’t ask for the key. He simply told Milo to follow him.

"Follow me," he said.

Milo followed him out of the office, now fully alert. He wouldn’t fall into any trap.

He thought they were going for dinner, but instead of heading toward the dining room or the stairs, they walked through the corridor to the back of the building.

There was a spot near a set of stairs leading down.

Milo looked around. He never expected to see such a basement inside the house.

They descended a set of old, narrow stone stairs. Milo felt the air grow colder and damper with every step.

The walls down here weren’t finished with marble or wood, they were raw, jagged stone, looking more like a mine than a mansion. The smell was earthy and stagnant.

Milo’s pulse quickened. His mind raced through every dark possibility. Why were they going underground?

He looked at Salvatore’s broad back and felt a surge of terror. He hoped the man wasn’t planning to kill him here.

Salvatore said nothing, which only made the tension worse. The automatic lights flickered on as they passed, casting long, dancing shadows against the rough walls. At the end of a long corridor, they turned right. Salvatore opened a thick, heavy door.

Inside, the room was long and brightly lit. At one end were several paper targets shaped like humans, many of them riddled with holes. At the other end was a counter with various black cases.

"I want to teach you how to shoot," Salvatore said.

Milo let out a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding. It was a shooting range.

Salvatore handed Milo a pair of heavy noise-canceling headphones and a sleek, black handgun. "This is a 9mm. It’s heavy if you’ve never held one before. Hold it with both hands."

Salvatore stood behind Milo, adjusting his stance. He moved Milo’s feet apart and told him to lean forward slightly. He showed him how to align the sights with the head of the target down the range.

Milo could feel Salvatore’s strong arms around him, feel the man’s warm breath beside him. His heart was pounding so fast right now.

He should focus, but his mind was instead savoring Salvatore’s touch. On his hands, especially.

Milo pulled the trigger for the first time. The sound, even through the headphones, was a sharp, physical jolt. The recoil sent his arms flying upward, and the bullet went nowhere near the target.

"Again," Salvatore said patiently.

Milo tried three more times. Each time, the bullet hit the back wall or the floor. The gun felt much heavier than it looked, and his hands, already tired from the push-ups, were beginning to shake.

Salvatore stepped in closer, his chest brushing against Milo’s back as he reached around to steady Milo’s grip.

"Take your time. Don’t fight the recoil. Let the gun move, then bring it back. Calculate where the last one went and adjust your aim."

Milo took a deep breath. He focused on the paper target at the end of the room. He pulled the trigger. The bullet grazed the edge of the paper.

"Better," Salvatore said. "We’re staying here until you can hit the target."

Milo didn’t mind. For the first time, he was being taught a skill. A real skill. Even though it was his first time, he felt excited to hold the gun and fire it without hurting anyone.

It was fun.

After nearly an hour, Milo finally found his rhythm. He squeezed the trigger, and the bullet punched a clean hole right through the center of the target’s forehead.

Milo beamed, looking back at Salvatore. "I didn’t know it could be this fun."

Salvatore chuckled. "And yet you’ll still cry and wet yourself when you shoot real people."

Milo’s smile vanished. He looked at the gun in his hand. "I... I have to shoot real people?"

"I don’t teach you so you can play around," Salvatore said, taking the gun from Milo and clearing the chamber. "You’re a guard. My life, and the lives of everyone in this house, may one day depend on you. What do you think?"

Milo gulped. "I don’t know... I’ve never hurt anyone."

"Soon you’ll realize," Salvatore said, "in this world, you either pull the trigger or you get hit by the bullet. You have to do it, whether you want to or not."

Milo looked at the target one last time. He felt the weight of the responsibility settling on his shoulders. But as Salvatore patted him on the head, a brief, firm gesture of pride. Milo felt a surge of warmth.

"Good work today," Salvatore said. "We’ll do this once a week."

Milo went to bed that night feeling exhausted but useful. He didn’t feel like the useless toy Nero always told him he was. He fell into a deep, peaceful sleep, the golden key still safely tucked under his pillow.

The next morning, however, the peace was shattered. Milo walked down to the kitchen for breakfast after his workout, but he stopped at the entrance to the dining room.

He looked at the man standing behind Felix.

Jojo?!