Chapter 123: Please Take Me...
Salvatore lay flat on his back, his muscles locked into a rigid position. He breathed heavily.
Milo had shifted even deeper into his side, wrapping his arms tightly around Salvatore’s waist, his heated skin radiating a thick, feverish warmth against the man’s skin.
The room was dark, and Salvatore could feel the rapid, shallow puffs of Milo’s breath against his neck. He couldn’t move without dislodging him, and the sheer heat of the fever was starting to make his own chest damp with sweat.
He stayed. He didn’t push Milo away, and he didn’t slide out from under the heavy blanket. Instead, he carefully reached his free hand toward the nightstand, picking up his phone.
His thumb swiped across the screen, the bright glare illuminating the sharp lines of his face as he opened his messages.
He pulled up his chat with Roderick.
"Do the meeting without me tonight," Salvatore typed smoothly. "I am too tired to come down. Handle it yourself as I have told you."
Downstairs in the living room, Roderick’s phone buzzed in his palm. He read the text, his eyebrows rising slightly as he stared at the screen.
He knew Salvatore better than anyone. The Don was a man who would force himself out of bed even if he were bleeding from a gunshot wound or burning with a severe flu.
For Salvatore to cancel an important meeting regarding Macron simply because he was "tired" was an absolute lie.
Roderick didn’t say a single word about his suspicion. He knew what Salvatore had decided regarding Milo upstairs, and it wasn’t his place to interfere with the man’s private time.
Alben noticed the look on Roderick’s face and tossed his empty whiskey glass onto the side table with a loud clatter.
"What is it? Sal’s not coming down?"
"He’s not," Roderick said flatly, locking his phone and pocketing it. "He said he’s tired."
He could do the meeting, but he didn’t want to decide anything without Salvatore, so Roderick decided, "The meeting is postponed until tomorrow morning."
Alben let out a loud, irritated groan, leaning his head back against the sofa. "Better I come again tomorrow then. Damn Salvatore. Better he told me he needed time to fuck than asked me to come for nothing."
Roderick let out a short, quiet chuckle, crossing his arms as he leaned against the window frame. "It is rare to see him occupied with a man like this. Just let him have his time tonight."
"I don’t care, you know," Alben drawled, rolling his sleeves back down with a lazy, precise movement. "I just hate wasting my time when I could be at home, playing with my toys."
Roderick adjusted his cuffs, his gaze turning serious. "How is Nero? Still alive?"
"Of course he is," Alben said, a sharp, cruel smirk spreading across his lips. "I take care of him. He will not die in my hands anytime soon, especially when you consider how beautiful he looks when he is begging."
"Damn pervert. I’m sure you might take every handsome man in the city if you had the space," Roderick remarked dryly.
Alben laughed loudly, the sound echoing through the living room. "It’s a pity. I cannot play with a lot of cute men at the same time."
Joe stood up from his armchair, his face completely stern as he adjusted his shirt. He didn’t care about Alben’s conversation, and he certainly didn’t care about Nero Hartley.
"I am going home then."
Alben nodded, looking up at him. "Yes, better to come in the morning. Tomorrow night Salvatore will be busy with me at the exhibition. Do you want to come, Joe? I can register your name on the guest list right now. I am sure the host will let you pass."
Joe looked down at Alben with dead, frozen seriousness. "I am not interested."
"Oh, come on," Alben teased, waving his hand dismissively. "You don’t even have to participate. You can just sit and watch. Your life is too boring. Come on!"
"I am busy. Thanks," Joe stated flatly.
Alben sighed, his eyes back toward Roderick by the window. "He has zero appreciation for fun things."
He paused, his smirk widening as he looked at Roderick. "What about you, Rod? You want to come tomorrow?"
Roderick’s face went completely rigid. "Don’t you remember? I came once as Salvatore’s submissive, and no. Never again."
Alben burst into a sudden, loud fit of laughter, slapping his knee. "It was a good experience, right?"
"Not at all," Roderick growled, a rare flash of genuine anger crossing his features as he glared at Alben. "If I had known the dress code required me to be completely naked, I would have burned the invitation. You bastard, I will never forgive you for that."
"They gave you the clear instructions in the email," Alben laughed, his voice smooth and mocking. "It is your fault for not reading it."
"I didn’t even know that both of you were going to that kind of damn hell," Roderick muttered, adjusting his collar shirt with a frustrated twitch. "I thought it was just a normal meeting."
Joe’s laugh echoed suddenly. "You should know by now you can never trust them when it comes to that thing."
Roderick let out a heavy breath. "Well, I learned my lesson."
In the morning, Milo woke up alone. The right side of the master bed was cold and empty, the duvet pulled back. He lay still for a moment, listening to the quiet of the room, but Salvatore was nowhere to be found.
When he walked out into the corridor, Stella met him near the stairs. She informed him flatly that Salvatore had already left and had ordered that Milo stay at the mansion today to rest.
But Milo didn’t want to stay in his room. He walked down to his own suite, washed his face, and changed into a clean, dark suit, preparing himself to go to the company.
He waited in his room, but until 9:00 AM passed, Liam didn’t show up. It was incredibly strange; the man was never late.
Milo reached into his suit jacket and grabbed his phone—the mobile Salvatore had given him, which he rarely used. The screen was black. The battery had died completely.
Milo plugged it into the wall charger near the desk, waiting a few minutes until the power returned.
The moment the screen illuminated, a long string of notifications popped up. There were five missed calls from Liam and a single text message from an hour ago:
"Milo, I will not be coming today. Mr. Portello contacted me that you are sick and need total rest. I will forward the report to your email instead. Get well soon!"
Milo stared at the text, a small pout forming on his lips. He realized Salvatore had already arranged everything behind his back, just like usual.
While he appreciated the protective care, a part of him preferred to go to the office; he liked it there, and he genuinely liked seeing the polite smiles of the staff who treated him well.
He walked back to his bed, lying down flat on his back as he stared up at the ceiling. He lifted his hand, pressing his palm against his forehead. The skin was warm, the fever still lingering, but the throbbing headache behind his left eye had completely stopped.
He slid his hand down, his fingers brushing the smooth skin of his thighs through the fabric. The memory of Salvatore’s large, careful fingers checking his skin in the dark made a deep, hot blush spread across his cheeks.
He felt weak from the fever, but beneath the sickness, his chest felt incredibly warm.
Stella knocked on the door twenty minutes later, bringing a tray of fresh fruit and toasted bread into the room.
"Salvatore ordered that you eat your breakfast fully before you take the pill," she said, setting a small white pill down next to the water glass.
Milo sat up, offering her a shy, grateful smile. "Thank you so much, Stella. I can get the food myself next time, really. Thank you."
Stella smiled softly, her expression turning warm as she adjusted the curtains to let the morning sun in. "Get well soon, Milo. Salvatore was worried about you. You know how many times he reminded me to give you the medicine before he left the house?"
Milo’s smile widened, his heart giving a small, happy thud against his ribs. "I feel much better now, thank you."
The effect of the strong fever pill was immediate. Within thirty minutes of finishing his toast, a heavy, irresistible drowsiness washed over Milo’s mind.
He crawled beneath his own blankets and fell into a deep sleep that lasted throughout the entire afternoon.
When he finally woke up, the evening shadows were stretching across the bedroom. The fever had broken completely, leaving his skin cool and his head clear.
He changed back into a simple dark shirt and trousers, stepping out of the room to get some fresh air.
As he reached the staircase, he heard the sound of heavy steps. He looked up.
Salvatore was walking down the steps, dressed in a sharp, immaculate suit with a crisp white shirt and a silk tie. The Don looked imposing, his broad shoulders completely dominating the stairwell.
"Sir?" Milo called out, stopping near the landing.
Salvatore paused, his eyes scanning Milo’s face to check his color. "You look better. Rest well tonight."
Milo pouted, taking two closer steps toward the stairs. "Are you going somewhere?"
Before Salvatore could answer, Alben walked out of the office and closer to them. He was holding a lit cigar between his fingers.
He let out an amused laugh as he looked up at Milo. "He is going to meet a lot of handsome men at the exhibition tonight, Milo. Are you sure you don’t want to come?"
Milo’s head snapped toward Salvatore, his lower lip pushing out instantly in deep frustration. "You are going to the event? Without me?"
Salvatore shot a murderous, freezing glare at Alben, his jaw clenching so hard a muscle jumped near his ear. He roughly scratched his temple, letting out a sharp breath.
"You are sick, Milo. I cannot bring you there."
Milo pouted deeper, his hands clenching into his pockets as he looked down at his sandals, his face filled with sad, vulnerable disappointment.
"Come on," Salvatore muttered. "Don’t look at me like that. There is nothing fun there. It is just a crowd with heavy restrictions."
"Oh, it is exceptionally fun," Alben interrupted, taking a slow drag from his cigar with a malicious smirk. "They have arranged a full exhibition in the main hall tonight, sweetie. You will regret it if you do not come."
Milo gave Salvatore a sharp, dissatisfied look, his chest heaving.
"Alben, if you don’t shut your mouth, I will really cut your lips off," Salvatore growled, his gray eyes turning dangerous.
Alben just laughed, completely unbothered by the threat. "Alright, alright. By the way, Milo, I brought your old master along in my car. If you care to see him."
Milo’s face turned stark pale, a sudden jolt of horror running straight to his core. "Nero?"
"Don’t worry," Alben said smoothly, his tone teasing. "He will not bite you. He has been properly trained over the last week. He is a good boy now."
Milo looked up at Salvatore, his breathing turning shallow as the phantom fear tried to lock his throat.
Salvatore stepped into Milo’s space, his large frame blocking Alben from view.
"See? This is exactly why you stay here. It is safer for you to rest at home."
Milo shook his head frantically, his fingers reaching out to grip the lapel of Salvatore’s suit jacket with unyielding determination.
He was terrified of Nero, but he was more afraid of being left behind while Salvatore entered that ’fun’ world alone without him.
"I will not meet Nero, Sir. But I want to come with you. Please, take me..."
Salvatore looked down at Milo’s tight grip on his wool jacket, noting the clear, fierce focus in his hazel eyes.
The fever was gone, and he was standing straight. Salvatore let out a long, defeated sigh through his nose, realizing he had lost completely.
"Fine," Salvatore commanded flatly. "Go get dressed."
Milo’s face brightened instantly, a wide smile breaking across his lips. "Yes, Sir!"
"Wait," Salvatore said, catching Milo’s wrist before he could run. His eyes turned dark and intense. "There is a strict dress code for this event."
Milo’s brow furrowed, a sudden wave of nervous curiosity hitting his stomach. "What is it?"
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