Chapter 126: The Glass Room
Alben stepped into the room, his shirt unbuttoned at the top, a half-empty glass of gin in his hand. His eyes went straight to Milo, who was sitting upright on Salvatore’s lap.
Behind him, Nero crawled slowly, looking down like before. The thick leather leash still dragged along the floor as Alben hauled him forward.
Milo could see that Nero’s knees were bruised from the floor. He clenched his grip around Salvatore, uncomfortable with the scene.
"You two look very comfortable in here," Alben drawled, an amused smirk spreading across his face.
He walked directly toward the sofa, pulling the leash tightly until Nero was forced to kneel up on his hands and knees right beside the sofa.
"It’s nice here, right? I thought I’d bring the entertainment inside so we can celebrate your first night out, Milo."
Milo gulped and looked at Salvatore. His fingers clenched tighter into the fabric of Salvatore’s suit. He tried to look away, but the presence of Nero, the man who had controlled his life for years, made his throat go completely dry.
Alben didn’t wait for an answer. He set his gin glass down on the table, caught the leather leash with a firm grip, and yanked it upward.
Nero let out a muffled, choked gasp as the collar dug into his throat, his hands scrambling against the edge of the table for balance.
With a brutal move, Alben hoisted Nero’s naked body entirely onto the tabletop, forcing him flat on his stomach across the glass surface, right between the bottle, glass, and linen napkins.
"Please... don’t do this here," Nero said lowly, his voice trembling.
It was the first time Milo had heard Nero begging with that voice. He looked at Alben and wished the man wouldn’t do anything here because he didn’t want to see it.
"I told you I would bring you here. You said you would be good. Now you complain? Come on, let’s see how much progress we’ve made this week," Alben murmured, his tone entirely conversational as he reached into his pocket and pulled out a short, heavy leather crop.
Salvatore sighed. He seemed annoyed that his time with Milo had been disturbed by something he didn’t want to see.
"Can’t you do it outside?" asked Salvatore.
Alben shook his head quickly. "No, no. They already touched him a lot. It’s his first time, I don’t want him to have a heart attack. But I want to see him comply here."
Salvatore leaned his back against the sofa while his hands kept holding Milo.
Nero now lay completely bare on the table, his skin flushed and slick with sweat. He didn’t shout. He didn’t lift his head.
Milo thought for sure Nero was extremely embarrassed in front of him.
Nero’s eyes remained hollow and blank, staring directly at the glass near his face.
Alben raised the crop and brought it down hard across Nero’s body.
Crack.
"Argh!"
The sound was incredibly loud inside the glass room. Nero’s body jerked violently, a sharp, ragged gasp tearing from his throat as a thick red welt rose instantly on his skin.
Alben didn’t stop. He struck him again, then pulled Nero’s thighs apart with a rough hand, exposing him.
"Be good now..." He used the tip of the leather crop to prod him, forcing Nero to arch his back in humiliation as the marks began to overlap.
"Aahhh! P-please, it hurts!"
Milo tensed completely, a violent tremor running through his shoulders. The raw sight of the impact, combined with the wet striking sounds of the leather against bare skin, was too familiar.
He felt the exact same phantom pain flare up in his own thighs and back, his breathing turning rapid and shallow as the smell in Nero’s small room seemed to fill his nose.
"Sir... please," Milo whispered, his voice cracking with sudden, rising panic as he hid his face in Salvatore’s shoulder. "Please tell him to stop. I don’t want to see this. Stop him."
Salvatore sat perfectly still beneath Milo’s weight. His eyes tracked the red marks on Nero’s skin. He didn’t care about Nero’s suffering. He was there because of Alben.
But he felt the intense, frantic shaking of Milo on his lap. He felt Milo’s fingers digging into his arm, his breath stuttering with genuine distress.
Alben was enjoying it without caring if someone else was uncomfortable with it.
Salvatore didn’t say a single word. He didn’t waste his breath arguing with people who enjoyed public degradation.
Instead, he simply reached down, caught Milo securely by the waist, and stood up from the sofa, lifting Milo flat against his side as he prepared to leave the room.
"Where are you going?" asked Alben, stopping his movement.
"Enjoy your time. I don’t like seeing this."
"Oh, come on!" Alben then looked at Milo. "Milo, come on! Sit down! Didn’t you want to see your master?"
Milo shook his head frantically. He saw Nero’s face in pain, but he shuddered when he saw Nero looking at him with a murderous stare.
He flinched.
"Enjoy it yourself. I will take him outside," Salvatore answered.
As Salvatore stepped away from the table, Milo’s shirt brushed against the edge of the table.
In that split second, something inside Nero’s hollow mind snapped. Hearing Milo’s voice, the soft, terrified voice of the boy he used to rule, awakened a final, desperate surge of rage inside him.
Nero’s blank eyes suddenly focused, turning bloodshot and wild as he looked up from the table. He saw Milo standing right beside him, clothed, protected, and safe under the other man’s care, while he lay naked and bleeding on the wood.
With a sudden, frantic shriek, Nero threw his naked body forward across the table. He ignored the leash, ignored the crop, and lunged directly at Milo’s throat, his fingers curling into rigid, claw-like hooks as he tried to strangle Milo to death right there.
"You little piece of shit!" Nero screamed, his voice raw and cracked from weeks of isolation. "I will kill you! You bastard! How dare you make me like this!!!"
Milo froze in pure, paralyzed shock, his eyes wide with horror as Nero’s hands reached toward his throat.
But Salvatore’s reflexes were faster. He moved before Nero’s fingers could hold tighter. His right hand shot out like an iron vise, catching Nero by the front of his throat. With a heavy, brutal sweep of his left arm, Salvatore shoved Milo completely behind his back, shielding him from the attack.
With overwhelming force, Salvatore slammed Nero backward onto the table. The impact was massive; the bottles and wine glasses shattered loudly against the floor as Nero’s back hit the glass, the breath leaving his lungs in a violent grunt.
Salvatore kept his hand locked around Nero’s throat, pressing down with enough force to cut off his oxygen completely, his eyes turning entirely lethal.
"Move again," Salvatore growled, his deep voice dropping into a dark tone that made the air in the glass room freeze. "You will know what I can do, and you will not like it."
Nero choked, his fingers weakly clawing at Salvatore’s iron wrist, his wild eyes rolling back as the lack of air set in.
Alben stayed still, his leather crop resting at his side. He didn’t look angry that Salvatore had pinned his pet; instead, a lazy, disappointed smirk returned to his face as he looked at the man’s protective posture.
Then he looked at Nero.
"Really, I need to train him better."
Milo was trembling violently behind Salvatore’s shoulders, his hands clutching the man’s suit so hard his knuckles were white.
The loud shriek of Nero’s voice was still ringing inside his ears, triggering a severe wave of nausea in his stomach.
Salvatore didn’t answer Alben. He released his grip on Nero’s throat, letting the broken man collapse gasping onto the table, and turned around.
He caught Milo by the arm, his grip firm and steadying, and pulled him out of the room, walking through the hall.
Milo was completely silent. But they were heading out.
"Where are we going, sir?"
"Home."
Milo gulped but said nothing.
The drive back to the estate was entirely silent. The car moved rapidly through the dark city streets. Milo sat pressed against the far corner of the leather seat, his knees pulled tightly toward his chest as he stared blankly out the window.
His body was still shivering from the lingering adrenaline, his mind replaying the wild, bloodshot look in Nero’s eyes.
He was so weak.
He felt a massive, suffocating weight of guilt pressing against his chest. Today had been an absolute disaster, and it was entirely his fault.
He had insisted on leaving with the man, he had begged Salvatore to take him to the exhibition, and because of his naivety, the man had been forced to argue with the host, cancel his private event, and eventually handle a physical altercation with Nero.
Milo felt like an anchor, dragging the man down into unnecessary problems.
Salvatore sat beside him, his phone resting face-down on his knee as he watched Milo’s rigid, silent profile. He noticed the rapid, shallow intervals of his breathing.
"Calm down. You are safe with me," Salvatore said quietly, his voice a low, steady rumble in the dark interior.
Milo didn’t look up. He bit his lower lip, his voice a tiny, broken whisper against the glass. "I’m sorry, Sir. I made a lot of problems for you today. I should have stayed in my room like you ordered."
"You didn’t make problems," Salvatore said flatly, his tone businesslike. "Alben is an idiot. I knew the environment would be extreme for you. It is a learning experience anyway."
"But you had to leave the event because of me," Milo choked out, a single tear spilling over his eyelid. "You didn’t even get to enjoy your time because I was too weak to handle the situation. I am just... I am a burden to you."
Salvatore reached across the leather seat, his massive, calloused hand coming down firmly over Milo’s knee, settling there with a heavy, grounding warmth that instantly arrested the boy’s shivering.
"You are not a burden. Stop saying it. I hate it."
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