Chapter 124: The Party
Salvatore just brought Milo to the room to change without saying anything. Once he saw Milo in a white shirt and black trousers, he reached into his pocket and pulled out a thick, heavy band of black leather. Secured to the front of it was a solid brass ring, polished and heavy.
A collar.
"Just wear this."
Milo’s breath caught in his throat, his eyes wide as he stared at the leather band. The object carried a heavy, dominant weight that made his pulse race. He didn’t say anything, his body tensing with sudden, charged nervousness, but he didn’t pull away.
"Stand still," Salvatore murmured. He stepped closer, his large hands moving around Milo’s neck.
The intimacy of the gesture was immediate, the room turning completely quiet as Salvatore personally adjusted the thick leather strap around Milo’s throat.
He fastened the brass buckle at the back with slow, meticulous precision, ensuring it was snug against the skin but not tight enough to restrict his breathing.
The weight of the brass ring rested right against the base of Milo’s throat. Milo’s face turned a bright, burning crimson, his eyes locked onto Salvatore’s sharp features.
"Now, the rules," Salvatore said as his hands remained on Milo’s shoulders. "Just don’t speak. Don’t panic, and trust me."
Milo nodded quickly. "Yes, Master."
The black car pulled out of the Portello mansion. Milo sat pressed against the leather seat, his fingers constantly brushing the heavy black leather band around his neck.
Salvatore pulled out his mobile phone, dialed a short number, and held the device to his ear.
"We will not pick you up. I have other plans. You can go back to sleep." Salvatore said into the receiver, his deep voice carrying no emotional weight.
He ended the call with a blunt swipe of his thumb and pocketed the phone.
Milo turned his head quickly, his hazel eyes wide. A sudden, sharp spike of jealousy tightened his chest. "You... you really were going to go with someone else tonight, Sir?"
Salvatore didn’t look up immediately, his thumbs typing. "Yes. Because I did not intend to bring you to a venue like this. But I must bring a sub to come."
Milo pouted deeply, his fingers twisting the fabric of his trousers. The realization that Salvatore had a pre-arranged man made him feel incredibly small.
"Is he handsome?"
Salvatore stopped typing. He turned his head slowly, his gray eyes locking onto Milo’s flushed face before a small, rare smile touched his lips. "I don’t see people that way, Milo. Now, better prepare your mind. I told you before we left that this is a strict environment. I hope you do not regret your decision."
Milo let out a long, heavy sigh, turning his face toward the window to watch the city lights blur past. He felt thoroughly upset, his chest burning with a jealousy that he didn’t know how to articulate.
He realized he was being entirely possessive, but the insecurity was too deep to ignore. Salvatore had never spoken about their relationship in terms of a permanent bond; they had only spent two nights together in the dark room, and to the man, it seemed like a standard arrangement of dominance and submission.
Milo felt completely insecure about his position. He looked back at Salvatore, who was already focused on his screen again, completely unbothered by the silence. Milo looked away, his throat tight.
Salvatore sensed the sudden drop in Milo’s energy. He set the phone down on his knee, his gray eyes tracking the rigid line of Milo’s shoulders. "What is it?"
Milo kept his eyes on the window. "Nothing, Sir."
"Trust me, Milo," Salvatore said, his voice dropping into that steady, heavy tone. "You will not have time to think about anything else once we are there. Your mind will be completely occupied."
Milo just nodded weakly, his hand rising to touch the leather collar again. "Yes, Sir..."
Salvatore reached out, his massive, calloused fingers sliding beneath the leather band near Milo’s jawline, checking the tension to ensure the buckle wasn’t chafing Milo’s skin. "Tell me if you feel uncomfortable."
"It’s fine, Sir," Milo whispered.
Thirty minutes later, the car passed through tall iron gates, entering the private courtyard of a high-end, exclusive estate hidden behind the old industrial district.
Milo became nervous just from seeing the gate.
The building was made of ancient stone, the windows completely shuttered against the night, with two large, suited security guards standing watch at the grand double doors.
When they stepped inside, Milo’s breath caught in his throat. The venue was an absolute, top-tier BDSM exhibition hall.
The air smelled heavily of wax, leather, and natural oils, the chandeliers casting long shadows across the stone floors. There were normal civilians here, every couple moving through the grand foyer dressed in strict accordance with the codes that made Milo’s jaw drop.
Milo became completely speechless, his heart dropping into his stomach as they reached the registration desk.
A tall, impeccably dressed host in a black suit bowed his head respectfully toward them. "Welcome, Mr. Portello."
The host’s eyes then shifted to Milo, noting the heavy leather collar around his neck. "Now, please, Mr. Hartley, can you remove your clothes?"
Milo froze, his hazel eyes widening in pure horror. The words hit his ears like a physical blow, a terrifyingly familiar command that sent a sharp jolt of adrenaline straight through him.
Remove your clothes.
It was the exact phrase Nero used to humiliate him.
He looked at Salvatore frantically, his body trembling beneath his shirt. He glanced at a couple presenting their card.
The submissive beside him, a beautiful, naked woman, immediately dropped to her hands and knees, crawling smoothly across the stone floor with a serene, compliant smile on her face as her master took the leash.
Naked. In front of everyone.
The host turned his focus back to Milo, his expression perfectly polite and professional, which only made the humiliation feel ten times worse.
Milo reached out with frantic, desperate speed, his fingers grabbing Salvatore’s hand, clutching the man’s large palm with unyielding strength.
Salvatore didn’t blink. He kept his arm solid, his gray eyes locking onto the host with flat, cold authority.
"He will not remove his clothes. I brought him here just to look around."
The host maintained his professional smile, though his posture stiffened. "I am certain the terms were made clear in the invitation, Mr. Portello. What you need to bring as a master is absolute. I cannot authorize entry past this point with a... fully clothed slave. It violates the safety and uniformity of the exhibition hall."
Salvatore knew the rules of these exclusive events. This specific exhibition was reserved for heavy, top-tier practitioners who enforced absolute compliance to maintain the atmosphere.
Some minor club events allowed civilian attire in the viewing galleries, but what Alben had selected tonight was entirely different.
Salvatore turned his head slowly, looking down at Milo’s pale, terrified features. "See? This is exactly why I told you to stay at home. It is not an environment for you. Let’s go."
Milo widened his eyes, his voice cracking through his panic. "Go?"
"We are going home," Salvatore stated flatly.
Salvatore turned, his large hand pulling Milo’s wrist to guide him back toward the exit doors. But Milo stopped, his fingers tightening against the Don’s sleeve.
He felt a massive wave of guilt hit his chest. Salvatore was already there, and he was too weak to follow the dress code.
Milo looked at the stone floor, his chest heaving. He was used to being naked in front of monsters anyway; Nero had stripped his dignity away years ago.
"Sir... please," Milo whispered, his voice shaking as he reached for the top button of his suit jacket. "We can go inside. I can do it."
He tried to unbutton his shirt with clumsy, trembling fingers, but Salvatore’s massive hand came down instantly over his wrists, stopping the movement with immovable force.
"Stop it," Salvatore growled softly, his gray eyes turning freezing cold as he stared into Milo’s face. "I don’t like people looking at what belongs to me. You are not stripping here."
Milo looked up at him, his throat tight with a mixture of confusion and guilt. "But... I want to see the inside. I don’t want to ruin your night, Sir."
"If you really insist on showing your skin to these people," Salvatore murmured, his voice a low, dangerous threat near Milo’s ear, "I can just strip you naked in the garden right now for everyone to see. Choose."
Milo pouted deeply, his face burning bright crimson. "Sir..."
He looked back at the host, who was waiting patiently with his hands folded behind his back. Several other high-ranking couples were filing into the lobby behind them, carefully looking away to respect the Don’s private space, but the delay was becoming obvious.
Salvatore turned his full attention back to the desk, his massive frame completely dominating the counter. His voice dropped into a low, terrifyingly calm tone that made the host’s chest tighten.
"You will let us pass, or you will not? I can easily insist on entry and ruin this entire party if I want to, but I am asking you politely as a gentleman. Decide."
The host went completely silent, his face losing a fraction of its color as he recognized the genuine threat behind the Don’s gray eyes. He hesitated, his fingers tapping the leather logbook.
"I am sorry, Mr. Portello... it is my job to enforce the terms set by the organizer. It will make the administration look compromised if I grant an exception to you. Please understand my situation, Sir."
Salvatore didn’t argue. He reached out, his thumb gently rubbing Milo’s flushed cheek once before pulling his hand away.
"Let’s go home, Milo."
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