Chapter 130: The Gallo’s House
Milo stood on the gravel of the construction site, the dull, continuous vibration of the heavy machinery humming through the soles of his shoes. He stared at the deep clay trenches, his mind processing Salvatore’s words.
For years inside the Hartley mansion, Milo had been treated as an object, a piece of broken property kept in the dark to be used and discarded at a master’s whim.
He had never known what it felt like to be counted. To have a powerful man look at him and see a future, not just a body to possess, but a partner to govern multi-million-dollar structures beside him. It was an intensely satisfying, overwhelming feeling.
He didn’t know how to express his feelings. He was just happy.
Salvatore pulled his phone from his pocket, his thumb swiping across the glass screen to open an email file. It was the file Roderick had brought that morning.
Salvatore opened the attachment, his eyes scanning the dense text. It was a summary of the Gallo family lineage, detailing every property transaction under the name of Pietro Gallo, Milo’s father, before his uncle, Sebastian, had sold the boys away.
Salvatore pocketed the phone, his eyes locking onto Milo. "Do you want to visit your house, Milo?"
Milo blinked, his jaw dropping slightly as his head tilted in total confusion. "My house?"
"Let’s go," Salvatore commanded flatly, already turning toward the idling car. "Let me see what we can find there. Or if your uncle managed to sell the land off as well."
Milo followed the man back to the car, his mind struggling to keep pace with the abrupt shift. One minute they were standing over a massive market blueprint talking about their new joint commercial project, and the next, Salvatore was directing him to a new place.
His house. Hartley mansion?
"I don’t want to go to the Hartley mansion, Sir," Milo whispered nervously. The memory of the place still made a sharp wave of nausea rise in his throat.
"It is not the Hartley house," Salvatore stated, his tone carrying an absolute, quiet finality. "It is your house. Pietro’s property."
Milo was silent. Pietro is his father’s name, right? They were going to his old house?
They drove, leaving the industrial sectors behind and moving deep into the rural outskirts. They entered a small, quiet village that sat exceptionally close to the Portello vineyard.
Milo looked out the window, his chest tightening as he recognized the surrounding landscape. They even passed the half-finished brick walls of the new warehouse and the wide fields that the farmers were preparing for planting.
Salvatore studied the map on his screen, tracking the local roads. "I never knew your family lived in this area. It is only three blocks from our winery."
The village was growing busy, with modern, newly constructed houses beginning to crowd the old gravel avenues. The car slowed down, turning onto a dead-end lane before stopping directly in front of an old house.
Milo’s breath caught behind his teeth. He pressed his forehead against the cool glass of the car window, a sudden, sharp jolt of familiarity hitting his chest.
They were now in front of an abandoned house. The building was nearly invisible, completely buried under a thick, tangled mass of wild green vines and overgrown weeds.
Milo didn’t quite recognize it, but the feeling was suffocating.
Then, when Milo’s gaze drifted toward the far corner of the garden, his hands began to shake.
An old, rusted iron swing set stood crookedly in the high grass, the chains tangled around the top bar. Milo recognized it instantly.
It was his favorite swing.
He could suddenly hear the phantom sound of his mother’s voice laughing behind him, her hands pressing against his shoulder blades to push him higher, while his brother ran through the dirt nearby.
The happy memory felt thick and suffocating, lodging tight in his throat because it was followed immediately by the darkness that had come after.
It’s his house. His parent’s house?
"Let’s go," Salvatore said softly, opening his door.
The guards moved with rapid efficiency, the men instantly spreading out across the gravel lane to secure the area, their presence pulling the curious attention of the neighbors who peeked through their curtains.
Two guards walked ahead, using heavy wire cutters to clear a path through the dense, wild briars choking the small iron gate.
Milo stepped out of the car, his knees slightly weak as he followed Salvatore through the cleared gap. The house wasn’t a grand estate like the Portello mansion, but it wasn’t a laborer’s cottage either.
It was a decent, two-story stone house with a wide garden that had once been meticulously kept.
The front door was swollen shut. That could have been from years of rainwater, but a guard drove his shoulder into the wood, breaking the lock with a sharp crack.
Salvatore stepped inside first, his shoes kicking through the thick layer of gray dust and dry leaves that covered the floor.
The interior was entirely frozen in time. Everything looked still in place, complete, like a normal house. The furniture hadn’t been liquidated.
Milo walked slowly through the musty, damp air, his fingers brushing against the dirty walls. He looked into the small dining area, recognizing the wooden table where they used to eat, the faded wallpaper peeling away in long, dry strips.
He felt an intense, crushing sadness settling behind his ribs. He remembered his parents’ bedroom, and he remembered his room upstairs where he used to sleep.
"Do you remember this place?" asked Salvatore.
Milo nodded. "A bit. Not clearly, but it seems I remember many things here."
Salvatore walked through the living room, his eyes tracking the debris. He stopped in front of a cupboard in the corner, his gaze locking onto a silver frame that was buried under a thick layer of cobwebs.
Salvatore reached out, his large hand brushing the dust away from the glass before lifting the frame. It was an old, clear photograph, preserved perfectly beneath the glass away from the damp air.
Salvatore’s jaw clenched, his eyes narrowing with a sharp, freezing intensity as he studied the faces in the picture.
Milo walked closer, his heart hammering against his ribs as he looked over the man’s forearm.
He recognized them. His parents.
"That’s my parents," said Milo softly, his voice trembling.
"It’s your parents?"
Milo nodded.
Salvatore stared at the image. Beside the couple Milo claimed were his parents, was his parent.
"They are my parents."
Milo widened his eyes. "Both of them?"
"Yes," Salvatore muttered, his voice a low, dangerous rumble that carried an unyielding grimness. He turned the frame over, using his pocket knife to pry the backing away.
Salvatore took the photo carefully. He lost his last photo of his parents. Who knew he could get it from Milo’s house?
"I want to keep it with me," said Salvatore.
Milo looked at the photo and nodded. "I might find my parents’ photos somewhere else."
They explored the house.
Salvatore didn’t understand why Sebastian didn’t sell the house. If the man sold Milo, he should have loved money, and he would have sold everything left.
But it seemed the house was untouched.
Salvatore looked at the photo on the wall. Two boys smiled.
"It’s your brother?"
Milo stopped and looked at the photo. He nodded. "I think so."
He felt an urge of guilt. "My uncle sold me to Hartley because I brought bad luck. They were afraid to take care of me. I remember very well what he said that night. I thought he was just joking, before he really left me to Nero."
"What bad luck?"
"I think I made a big mistake. I told everyone that my parents and even my brother were so pale that they might die soon. And that day, I don’t remember what happened exactly, but my uncle told me my parents and my brother died."
Salvatore looked at Milo and grabbed his arm to hug him tightly. "Don’t think it’s your fault. You have something great that nobody has. It’s a gift. You warned them, and you couldn’t do anything about it."
Milo felt the warm chest against his face again. So peaceful.
"Yes, but because of that, my uncle was scared of me and sold me."
"Don’t worry. It’s your journey, and because of that, we met now. I’m grateful that I found you."
Milo smiled. "I will try to be useful for you, Sir."
"I’m sure you will. We will clean this house, and you can visit here as you like."
Milo released the hug and looked around. "I never knew I had a big house."
"I think you were rich as well. Let’s see what we can find later."
After exploring the whole house, Salvatore reached out, his massive hand coming down firmly over the back of Milo’s neck, rubbing the skin.
"We are done here. We go back to the mansion."
"Today I will not go to the company?"
"No, I told Liam not to bother you today."
"But last time Liam told me we had a meeting today."
"They can manage to do it without you. Don’t worry."
The drive back to the mansion was entirely silent. Milo sat pressed against Salvatore’s side, his hands folded tightly in his lap as he stared blankly out at the grey fields.
He felt completely unmoored, his old identity as a discarded Hartley slave completely shattered, replaced by the heavy, historical weight of the Gallo and Portello names.
When the car finally pulled into the main courtyard of the mansion, the rain was coming down in thick, steady sheets.
The guards were ready with umbrellas beside the car. Salvatore stepped out first, guiding Milo quickly up the grand stone steps to keep him out of the damp cold.
He hugged Milo tightly. "Go to my room, Milo."
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