Alben’s House

The glass balcony doors of the townhouse let in the cold, sharp morning light, which fell directly across the floor where Nero lay.

He had been naked for days now. The silver chains around his wrists and ankles were heavy, cold, and dug into his skin. He looked at his body with disgust, it was covered in bruises, ugly tattoos, and dried blood.

He tried to sit up. The floor was extremely cold. It was so ironic, he lay naked, chained beside a large, luxurious bed.

But at least he was alone.

Alben didn’t like having many people inside his private space. There were no guards or security. Only an older cleaning woman came by once in a while.

Even she usually ignored the chained, bruised man locked in the secondary living area, as if he were just an expensive piece of furniture.

Nero stared up at the high ceiling, his eyes hollow and completely devoid of life. He felt as though his soul had been scooped out of his chest, leaving nothing but a cold, empty cavity.

His body was in pain, covered in dark purple bruises, broken skin, and swelling. But the physical pain was nothing compared to the suffocating grief pressing down on his ribs.

He looked outside with a vacant gaze. He didn’t understand why he couldn’t shake off the heavy weight in his chest. It was so suffocating.

Dad...

Andro was gone. His father—the only person who had ever truly anchored him, the man who had shielded him from the world—had been blown to pieces right before his eyes.

It was not a peaceful way to die at all. That was why he felt so sad, upset, and helpless.

The old man’s voice kept ringing inside his skull, a repetitive, maddening echo.

Andro had warned him. Many times, his father had told him to stay away from Salvatore Portello.

"Salvatore is different, Nero. Don’t touch him. Leave the boy alone."

But Nero had been too arrogant. He had been entirely blinded by his family’s wealth, his private security detail, and the massive network of alliances his father had spent twenty years maintaining.

He had truly believed that his power made him untouchable, that a young Don like Salvatore wouldn’t dare risk a war over a broken toy like Milo.

But... he was wrong.

In a single night, that illusion had been incinerated. The wealth, the guards, the mansion, and his father’s life had vanished into a cloud of fire and debris.

Nero had been foolish enough to think he could manipulate the situation, that he could execute Salvatore’s men and take what he wanted.

Now, let alone killing the Don, he couldn’t even stand up without the heavy silver chains dragging him back down. He couldn’t even see the man’s face.

He finally understood that they belonged to entirely different worlds. Salvatore didn’t care about balance, contracts, or long-term alliances. When crossed, the Portellos simply erased the problem from the earth.

Nero hated knowing how easy it was for the man to do it.

Nero was too late to learn the lesson. His pride had cost his father’s life, and that was the one thing he could never fix. The only thing he regretted.

A single, hot tear rolled down the side of Nero’s broken nose, mixing with the dried copper-colored blood on his lip.

"Dad..." he whispered into the quiet room, his voice nothing more than a pathetic rasp.

The sharp click of the door lock made his entire body tense. His survival instinct, faint but persistent, forced him to look toward the entrance.

Alben walked into the room, dressed in his dark silk sleeping robe, his hair slightly tousled from sleep. He held a bottle of beer in one hand, looking completely relaxed.

He was simply checking on his pet. He walked over, his bare feet making no sound on the floor, and set the bottle down on a side table.

"Good morning, sweetie," Alben drawled, his voice carrying that lazy, playful edge.

"How was your sleep?" He knelt down beside Nero, his robe parting slightly to reveal his chest. He reached out, his long fingers locking tightly around Nero’s chin, forcing his head up to examine him.

"Oh, why are you crying? What happened? I’ve been feeding you well. Damn, you look so pale. Do you feel sick?"

Nero didn’t try to twist away. His jaw clicked weakly against Alben’s grip, his spirit completely surrendered. He didn’t have the strength or the will to fight the larger man anymore.

"Just kill me," Nero whispered, staring blankly into Alben’s sharp, dark eyes. "Please. Just kill me."

Alben smirked, his thumb brushing roughly against Nero’s swollen lower lip until the split skin began to bleed again.

"Oh, no. I won’t let you die, sweetie. You know it’s not my style to keep a naked pet in my house—it’s a lot of maintenance, and you make a mess on the floor. But Salvatore was very strict. He insisted that I treat you the exact same way you treated his little chicken. So, here we are."

"I don’t care," Nero choked out, a fresh wave of tears blurring his vision. "I have nothing left. Just kill me."

"No, I’m not going to kill you," Alben said, his voice dropping into a soft, terrifyingly pleasant murmur. He released Nero’s chin and patted his bruised cheek twice, hard enough to sting.

"You know, you could try to enjoy it. Think about how you treated Milo. Think about the control, the submission. Maybe if you look at it from his perspective, you’ll start to enjoy it too."

Nero looked down at the floor, his chest heaving with shallow, ragged breaths. He had spent years forcing Milo to his knees, taking absolute pleasure in the boy’s terror, his screams, and his complete helplessness.

He had viewed Milo as property, a machine designed to react to pain for his amusement. He had never once realized that being on the receiving end of that total vulnerability would be this agonizing, this deeply humiliating.

He had never expected the weight of the chains to feel so heavy, so suffocating.

"Well, stop making that sad face," Alben said, standing up straight. The sudden movement made Nero flinch, his shoulder muscles jerking automatically as he braced for a kick or a strike from the heavy cane Alben kept by the wall.

Alben didn’t reach for the cane. Instead, he stood over Nero, untying the silk belt of his robe. "You need your morning exercise, sweetie. Lie down. Open up."

Nero stayed still for a fraction of a second, his mind screaming in protest.

Shit... he murmured internally, his hands clenching into tight, useless fists against the floor. 𝐟𝚛𝕖𝚎𝕨𝗲𝐛𝚗𝐨𝐯𝐞𝕝.𝐜𝗼𝗺

He looked at the hard line of Alben’s jaw and knew that hesitation only resulted in pain.

Slowly, his dignity completely shattered, Nero rolled onto his back. He reached down with his bound hands, grabbing his own ankles, and pulled his knees back toward his chest, exposing his raw, bruised lower body to the cold air and the bright light streaming through the balcony doors.

"Don’t do this," Nero begged, his voice cracking as he looked up at the standing man. He hated the high, whiny pitch of his own words. "Please. I’ve never been a bottom. Don’t humiliate me like this."

Alben let out a loud, genuine laugh, shaking his head as he let the silk robe slide off his shoulders and drop to the floor.

His body was lean, marked by old combat scars, and completely unfazed by the cold. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a small tube of lubricant, popping the cap off with his teeth.

"Yesterday you enjoyed it. Remember how you moaned?" Alben said, his eyes turning dark and completely focused as he stepped between Nero’s parted knees.

"You cried like a baby, but your body still followed the orders. You’ll enjoy it today too."

Alben poured a thick dollop of the cold gel directly onto his fingers, then smeared it roughly across Nero’s torn, swollen entrance.

Nero gasped, his hips jerking upward as the cold liquid stung the small fissures from the previous afternoon. He gripped his ankles harder, the silver chains rattling loudly against the floor as Alben used his fingers to stretch the tight, resistant muscle.

"Relax," Alben murmured, his tone entirely casual as he leaned his full weight over Nero’s chest.

He didn’t show a shred of tenderness. He grabbed Nero’s right thigh, pinning it flat against his ribs, and drove himself forward in one heavy, unyielding thrust.

Nero’s mouth opened in a wide, breathless scream, the sound caught in his throat as the blunt force tore through the unhealed tissue.

His back arched off the floor, his head thrashing against it as Alben began to move with a hard, rhythmic, mechanical violence.

"S-slowly!" Nero gasped. The friction was immediate, a sharp, burning heat that radiated straight up into his lower spine.

Alben didn’t look at Nero’s face. He kept his eyes on the motion, his hands gripping Nero’s hips so tightly that his fingers left dark, immediate marks in the pale skin.

Every thrust drove the heavy silver chains into Nero’s flesh, the metal links clicking in a steady, rhythmic cadence against the floor.

Nero squeezed his eyes shut, tears streaming down his temples into his hair. The room reeked of sweat, lubricant, and fresh blood.

He couldn’t block out the sound of Alben’s low, heavy breathing or the wet, tearing friction between his thighs.

He was being used exactly the way he had used Milo, maybe worse, from his perspective.

The assault continued for several minutes under the bright morning sun. Alben didn’t slow down, his pace remained completely predictable and brutal until he finally tightened his grip on Nero’s waist.

Alben stayed still for a moment, his chest heaving against Nero’s ribs, before pulling away with a wet, heavy sound.

He didn’t offer a towel or a word of comfort. He reached down, picked up his silk robe from the floor, and slid it back over his shoulders, tying the belt with a swift, clean motion.

Nero collapsed onto his side on the floor, his legs trembling violently as he curled back into a fetal position.

He pressed his face against his bare arm, his shoulders shaking with silent, broken sobs.

Alben walked over to the side table, picked up his beer, and took a long sip. He looked down at Nero’s shivering form with a completely detached, satisfied expression.

"See? You survived," Alben said, his voice light and cheerful as he walked toward the door. "Get some rest, sweetie."

But before he opened the door, he looked at Nero.

"And if you don’t know yet, you were declared dead. You signed your will over to me. And your body was found in your burning house."

Nero looked up, trembling violently.

Alben smiled. "We need to give you a new name. At least no one will be looking for you. You’re safe here forever."