Chapter 120: Good Morning Sir
Salvatore was about to go to his own room, but he was certain Milo would already be there. So he headed straight there instead.
Salvatore walked directly into the room without knocking, his expression intense as he scanned the empty bed before following the sound of running water.
He smiled, relieved that Milo was indeed in the room. Then he tried to push the bathroom door open. It wasn’t locked. He was sure Milo never locked the door.
His large frame now completely blocked the light. He looked inside and frowned when he saw Milo shaving his body.
Hearing the door open, Milo startled, his hand freezing with the razor an inch from his leg. "Sir...?"
Salvatore didn’t say a single word. He stepped onto the floor, reached out with his large hand, and snatched the steel razor directly from Milo’s fingers, setting it down firmly on the sink.
Before Milo could even ask what was happening, Salvatore reached down, scooped Milo’s naked body off the floor, and carried him out into the bedroom.
He sat down heavily on the edge of the sofa, pulling Milo directly onto his lap.
"Good morning," Salvatore said, his voice a deep, rough rumble against Milo’s bare shoulder.
Milo swallowed hard, his face instantly turning a bright, burning crimson as he balanced on the man’s thighs, the white shaving cream still coating his leg. "G-good morning, Sir."
Salvatore looked down at the smooth, pale skin of Milo’s legs, his brow furrowing. "You have no hair there. Why do you need to shave it? From now on, stop this. Just shave your balls, that’s more than enough. Understand?"
Milo widened his eyes, his lips parting to argue. "But, Sir—"
He didn’t get to finish the sentence. Salvatore leaned forward, his large hand reaching up to grip the back of Milo’s neck firmly, and pressed his lips against Milo’s mouth.
The kiss was sudden, intense, and incredibly warm, completely cutting off Milo’s breath and erasing the words from his mind.
Salvatore pulled back after three seconds, his gray eyes locking onto Milo’s stunned face. "Do you understand me now?"
Milo gulped, his entire brain stalling from the sheer impact of the kiss. His heart pounded a frantic rhythm against his ribs, and his face was so hot he was certain it was purple.
He could only nod quickly in absolute submission. "Yes, Sir."
Milo let out a small, dazed smile as Salvatore finally released his neck. He didn’t understand why the man was acting with such sudden, intense possessiveness so early in the morning.
Salvatore’s eyes remained fixed on Milo’s face, which was still frozen in a daze from the sudden kiss.
"Today I need to go to a meeting," Salvatore said, his voice dropping to a low rumble that broke the silence of the bedroom. "I’ll pick you up for lunch, and we’ll go together."
Milo blinked, trying to clear the sudden, breathless fog from his mind. He shifted slightly on Salvatore’s lap, his hands still clutching the man’s shoulders for balance.
"Where?"
"We’ll meet a lot of purple people," Salvatore said flatly. His gray eyes darkened, the casual warmth from the kiss vanishing behind a cold seriousness. "I need you to see if one of the people there will die. Because I want to kill them."
Milo’s throat went dry. Hearing the man state his intent so plainly made his chest tighten. "Oh... are they bad people?"
"Macron, my cousin, is my biggest enemy right now," Salvatore explained, his tone carrying a heavy, unyielding gravity. "The ones we’ll meet later are the ones who know exactly where that bastard is hiding. If you look at them and can’t see any sign of death, it increases the likelihood that they might actually want to cooperate with me."
Milo looked at the sharp line of Salvatore’s jaw, processing the words. He thought about it for a few seconds, his brow furrowing as he noticed something.
"But... what if they run away? I mean, just because they don’t die doesn’t mean they’ll cooperate with you, Sir. Just my opinion."
Salvatore looked at him intently. He didn’t dismiss Milo’s point. "I know. I just want to know if they’ll die. That’s all. It’s much easier for me to decide once I know their fate."
Milo stared at the fabric of Salvatore’s shirt, his fingers clenching the cotton as a sudden, heavy wave of anxiety washed over him. He looked down, his lips pressed into a thin line.
"What happened?" Salvatore asked, his hand rising to touch the back of Milo’s neck, his heavy thumb grounding him.
Milo shook his head slowly, his voice dropping to a small, fragile whisper. "No... I was just afraid that... maybe someday you’d leave me."
Salvatore looked at him, his expression completely unreadable. "Why does that bother you? If something happens to me, you can have everything here."
Milo pouted, his hazel eyes snapping up with a fierce, sudden defiance that completely ignored the man’s status. "No! What are you talking about? I don’t want any of those things, Sir. I don’t want the money or the houses. I just need you."
Salvatore’s lips curved into a small, genuine smile, the raw seriousness of Milo’s declaration breaking through his usual composure.
He looked at how intensely focused Milo’s face was. "I won’t die that easily, Milo. I’ve been through a lot in my life. I might have come close to death many times, but I’m still here."
Milo let out a long, shaky sigh, resting his forehead against Salvatore’s collarbone to hide his face. "I’m just so afraid. I can’t imagine myself without you."
"You’ll be happy with me or without me," Salvatore murmured, his hand beginning a slow stroke down Milo’s bare, wet back. "Life doesn’t stop just because one person leaves."
"No," Milo insisted, his voice muffled against the man’s skin. "I don’t want to live without you."
"Well, sadly, everyone will die," Salvatore stated with blunt, pragmatic reality. "Sooner or later. You have to be ready for that reality."
Milo didn’t answer with words. He simply shifted his weight and wrapped his arms tightly around Salvatore’s neck, hugging him with a desperate, heavy force that pulled their chests flush together.
Salvatore let out a short chuckle, his hands resting on Milo’s bare hips. "You’re completely naked and wet, Milo."
"You’re the one who lifted me out of the shower and brought me here," Milo pointed out, his voice soft but stubborn near Salvatore’s ear.
The man’s chuckle turned into a low, amused rumble. "You’re brave enough to talk back to me now."
Milo smiled against the crook of Salvatore’s neck; the familiar scent of tobacco and soap washed away the last traces of his nightmare. "Don’t call me a little chicken again, Sir."
"Nope," Salvatore muttered, his grip around Milo’s waist tightening slightly. "I like it."
At that exact second, the heavy bedroom door swung open with a sudden, sharp click.
"Milo! Are you—?" Stella’s voice cut through the air as she strode into the room.
She had come to check whether Milo would be eating his breakfast in the main dining room with Salvatore today or not.
She stopped dead in her tracks two steps into the room, her mouth opening in absolute shock. Her eyes scanned the scene.
Milo, completely naked and damp, was sitting directly on Salvatore’s lap, his arms wrapped tightly around the man’s neck.
The next second, the door slammed shut with a resounding boom that echoed down the long corridor outside.
Stella didn’t even say sorry; she backed out of the room so fast the hinges rattled.
Milo’s mouth fell open, his face instantly turning a stark, terrified pale before flushing into a dark, explosive crimson.
He scrambled off Salvatore’s lap so fast his feet nearly slipped on the carpet, standing flat-footed on the floorboards.
"Sir... Sir..."
Salvatore stood up calmly, unhurriedly smoothing down the front of his trousers as if nothing unusual had occurred. "Get ready. We’ll have breakfast in ten minutes."
Milo looked at him in complete disbelief, his heart pounding a frantic rhythm against his ribs. "But... Stella just looked right at us! She saw everything!"
"What can you do about it now?" Salvatore asked, his tone flat and entirely unconcerned.
"They... Everyone is going to talk about it, Sir!"
"Let them think what they want," Salvatore said, his gray eyes shifting toward the closed door with a cold, protective sharpness. "They should know better than to open a bedroom door without knocking first. I’ll have Roderick remind them."
Milo looked at the man, a silent, frustrated thought crossing his mind: ’You just walked into my bathroom without permission, too.’ But he kept his mouth shut, knowing better than to argue with the man.
Ten minutes later, Milo hurried down the grand corridor toward the dining room. He had showered in record time, his skin still hot from the water, and he was dressed in a sharp, dark suit. His hair was still slightly damp near the collar.
When he reached the threshold of the dining room, he stopped, his hand freezing on the frame. Salvatore was already seated at the head of the long table, but he wasn’t alone. Three guards in their training uniforms were standing by his right side.
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