Chapter 135: Jealous?
Salvatore leaned back in his chair, studying Milo’s face for a long moment before he spoke again.
"It’s good if you have a friend and want to play with him. But I need to know who he is and if he is safe to be around."
Milo’s shoulders loosened at the words, relief flooding his features.
"He is good," he said quickly, the excitement spilling into his voice before he could hold it back. "He works in marketing. He’s been kind to me since my first day. He never asks for anything. He just... talks to me like I’m normal."
Salvatore watched the way Milo’s hands had unclenched from his trousers, the way color had come back into his cheeks just from being allowed to explain. He saw all of it, and something in his chest tightened at how easily this stranger had earned that kind of brightness from Milo.
But he only smiled, calm and unreadable.
"I’m still not sure yet," Salvatore said. "I won’t risk your safety. But I have a good solution for you and him."
Milo looked at him, curious, waiting for more, but Salvatore only picked his phone back up and waved a hand toward the door.
"Go to sleep, Milo. Tomorrow you’ll see."
Milo left the office that night with a strange mixture of hope and confusion sitting in his stomach, unsure what "a good solution" could possibly mean, but too tired and too used to trusting Salvatore’s decisions to push for details.
The next afternoon, the boardroom on the top floor had been transformed.
Liam moved through it in his mask, as he was still sick, arranging trays of food along the long table and directing two other staff members as they hung simple gold letters spelling out a birthday message across the far wall.
A cake sat in the center, covered in white frosting with a ring of fresh berries around the base, exactly the kind of quiet elegance the estate achieved without trying.
Milo stood near the door, taking it all in, his lips curling into a satisfied smile. It wasn’t the movie theater. It wasn’t just the two of them. But it was something, and it was happening because Salvatore had decided it should happen, and that alone made Milo’s chest warm with something like pride.
When Franc walked in, led by one of the assistants under the pretense of a last-minute meeting, his confusion turned into open shock the moment the room shouted, "Happy Birthday!"
His eyes swept over the cake, the food, the small crowd of coworkers who had gathered, and for a moment he looked completely undone.
"What... what is this?" Franc asked, laughing under his breath, one hand pressed to his chest.
"Happy birthday, Franc," Milo said, stepping forward with a grin. "I told you, you should enjoy your day."
The celebration went on for over an hour. People sang, people ate cake off small paper plates, and someone made a short toast about Franc’s years with the company.
Franc smiled through all of it, thanked everyone individually, laughed at the jokes his coworkers made.
But underneath the smile, something was missing, some flicker of disappointment that never quite left Franc’s eyes, even as he blew out the candles.
Slowly, people began drifting back to their desks, the trays emptying, the noise thinning into a comfortable quiet.
Milo lingered near the window, watching the last of the guests filter out, when Franc came up beside him and pulled him into a hug.
"I’m really thankful," Franc said, his voice muffled slightly against Milo’s shoulder. "Nobody’s done something like this for me before."
"Oh, no worries," Milo said, patting his back lightly. "I hope you enjoyed it."
Franc pulled back, still smiling, though his eyes lingered on Milo a beat longer than necessary.
By now, half the office had noticed the two of them together, whispering to each other about how close the new boss had become to the marketing coordinator in such a short time.
"But I really wanted to go to the movie with you," Franc said, quieter now, just for Milo to hear.
Milo’s smile faltered slightly.
"I’m sorry. My boyfriend suggested we celebrate together with everyone instead."
"So you can’t go with me?"
Milo went quiet, unsure how to answer that in a way that wouldn’t sound as strange out loud as it felt in his head.
"Do you really have to ask permission for everything?" Franc asked, his tone somewhere between disbelief and concern.
Milo nodded.
"Yes. I’m used to it."
Franc looked at him then like he was trying to solve a puzzle that made no sense.
"You can’t even go out with a friend without asking first?"
"I think I can," Milo said carefully. "But only if my boyfriend allows it. He knows better than I do."
"That’s... that’s pretty strange, Milo. Are you okay with that? I think that’s kind of toxic, honestly."
Milo turned the word over slowly.
"Toxic?"
"It should be your decision," Franc said, stepping closer, his voice low and earnest now. "You should have the freedom to decide what happens in your own life. Not him."
Milo looked down at his hands, quiet for a moment.
"I don’t know. He makes me happy. I have trouble deciding things on my own, and he makes it easier for me."
"But you’re not a kid, Milo. You’re allowed to make your own decisions."
Milo lifted his eyes and looked at Franc, and after a moment, he smiled, though there was something sad behind it that Franc couldn’t quite place.
Nobody knew that before Salvatore, Milo had never been allowed to decide anything at all. Every meal, every outfit, every hour of his day had once belonged to someone else’s choices, someone far crueler than Salvatore had ever been.
Salvatore had given him room to breathe, had spent months teaching him how to speak up, how to want things and say so out loud.
And yet, in some quiet corner of himself, Milo was grateful that Salvatore still made the harder choices for him, still stood between him and a world that had never been kind.
Maybe that made him strange too. Maybe there was no way to explain that to someone who had never lived the way he had.
"Please talk to someone," Franc said gently. "It isn’t healthy for him to decide everything for you like that. You deserve to make your own choices."
"Thank you," Milo said softly.
He meant it, even if he wasn’t sure he agreed.
Across the room, tucked discreetly near the window, one of the cameras kept recording, feeding everything back to a small monitor miles away at the vineyard.
Salvatore stood in the middle of a long row of freshly prepared soil, a tablet in Roderick’s hands beside him. They were meant to be reviewing the new building.
Instead, Salvatore’s eyes kept drifting to the tablet propped against a crate, the live feed from the boardroom playing in the corner of the screen.
He watched Milo laugh at something one of the marketing girls said. He watched him lean over the cake with the others, watched the easy way his shoulders relaxed around a room full of strangers.
It was strange, watching Milo be so unguarded with people who weren’t him. He felt relieved that Milo could enjoy himself. He just hadn’t expected this.
Then the screen showed Franc pulling Milo aside, the two of them sitting close together near the window, their heads bent toward one another in quiet conversation.
Something tightened low in Salvatore’s chest, an unfamiliar pressure he didn’t have an immediate name for.
He watched Franc’s hand settle over Milo’s, watched the man lean in close enough that their shoulders nearly touched.
Salvatore cleared his throat.
"Who is that?"
Roderick, standing beside him, glanced up from the clipboard.
"What?"
"Why is he acting so close to him?"
Roderick looked at the screen properly now, squinting.
"What’s the problem? They’re just talking."
"Why does he need to hold his hand?"
"It’s normal, Salvatore."
"Did I ever hold your hand just to talk to you?"
Roderick huffed out a laugh.
"You don’t need to. But it’s normal. They’re friends."
"No," Salvatore said, his voice flat and certain. "It’s not normal."
Roderick laughed harder this time, shaking his head.
"You’re going to scare Milo if you keep this up. They’re just holding hands. Nothing is happening."
"I really hate this guy," Salvatore muttered, his eyes not leaving the screen.
Roderick sighed, setting the clipboard down against the crate.
"You can’t control him like he’s your dog, Salvatore. He’s allowed to have friends."
Salvatore didn’t answer right away.
He watched Franc’s thumb brush lightly over the back of Milo’s hand, watched Milo not pull away, and something cold and unfamiliar settled behind his ribs.
He had never in his life felt threatened by another man. He had never once worried about losing anything he wanted to keep.
But watching that hand resting over Milo’s, watching how easily Milo smiled at someone, made him terrified of how easily people could hurt the young man.
Though another part of his heart, Salvatore understood exactly what this feeling was, even if he’d never had a use for the word before.
He pulled out his phone and called Liam.
"Move the guy away from him," he said, his voice low and even, betraying nothing of what was sitting in his chest. "Or I will shoot him. Seriously."
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