Chapter 136: The Cursed One
Milo was still talking with Franc when Liam appeared at his side, his mask slightly askew from moving quickly across the room. He leaned down, his voice low enough that only Milo could hear him over the fading chatter of the boardroom.
"Milo. Mr. Portello wants you to step away from him. Now, please."
Milo blinked, caught off guard by the request, his eyes flicking briefly toward Franc before settling back on Liam. "Mr. Portello? But... why?"
"I don’t know," Liam said, glancing quickly over his shoulder like he expected someone to be listening even though the room had mostly emptied. "He just called and asked me to move you. He sounded serious. I’m scared now."
Milo felt a small knot form in his stomach, an old, familiar instinct rising up in him—the instinct to obey first and ask questions never. He’d learned a long time ago that when someone in charge gave an order, hesitation only made things worse.
But there was something different now, some small resistance in him that hadn’t existed before Salvatore had taught him it was allowed to exist.
"Did something happen?" Milo asked, his voice quieter now, uncertain.
"I don’t know," Liam admitted. "But you know how he gets. Best not to make him wait."
Milo nodded slowly, though the knot in his stomach didn’t loosen. He turned to Franc, who had gone very still beside him, clearly having caught enough of the exchange to understand something was wrong even without hearing all of it.
"I need to go," Milo said, offering a small, apologetic smile. "I’m sorry."
Franc’s brow furrowed, his easy smile from earlier completely gone now, replaced by something tighter, more guarded. His eyes moved from Milo to Liam and back again, searching for an explanation neither of them seemed willing to give.
"Go? Go where? Is everything okay?"
"It’s fine," Milo said quickly, though even he wasn’t sure that was true. "I just have something to do."
"Milo." Franc’s hand reached out, briefly catching his wrist before letting go just as fast, like he’d caught himself doing something he shouldn’t.
His voice dropped lower, genuine concern bleeding into it. "Are you in trouble? Did I do something?"
"No, no, you didn’t do anything," Milo said, shaking his head, though the worry in Franc’s eyes only made the knot in his chest tighten further. "It’s not about you. I promise."
Franc didn’t look convinced. He watched as Milo followed Liam toward the door, his expression caught somewhere between confusion and quiet, simmering worry, like he’d just witnessed something he didn’t fully understand but instinctively didn’t like.
He opened his mouth like he wanted to say something else, call Milo back, ask more questions, but he stopped himself, watching silently instead as Milo disappeared through the boardroom doors without looking back.
***
Roderick set the tablet down, glancing sideways at him.
"You good?"
"Fine," Salvatore said, though his eyes stayed fixed on the wet soil ahead of him, not really seeing it.
Roderick shook his head slowly, a small, disbelieving laugh escaping him. He’d known Salvatore for years, a man who never so much as raised his pulse over anything.
Salvatore didn’t get rattled. He didn’t chase, had no patience, never wanted to wait, and never wondered about anyone. At least, that was how Roderick saw Salvatore.
Yet here he was, threatening to shoot someone over a boy.
He was sure Salvatore wouldn’t really shoot anyone that easily. He was just in disbelief.
"You know he’s not even that good," Roderick said carefully, testing the waters. "Milo, I mean. He’s sweet, sure. But he doesn’t know our business. He can barely make a decision on his own half the time. And you’ve invested too much of your time in him."
Salvatore didn’t answer right away. He crouched down, running a hand along the soil.
"He doesn’t need to be good," he said finally. "That’s not why."
"Then why?"
Salvatore straightened, brushing the dirt from his palm.
"I just like him," Salvatore said. "He never asks for anything. He flinches every time I raise my hand. It just makes me sad. There’s something in him that I want to protect. He’s not remarkable to you. Good. But he means a lot to me."
Roderick studied him for a long moment, something in his usual dry humor softening.
"Alright," he said quietly. "I hear you."
Salvatore picked the tablet back up, glancing once more at the frozen frame of the boardroom feed before shutting the screen off entirely.
"We’ll pick him up," he said. "I’ll have lunch at home today."
"Now?"
"Now."
They walked back toward the car parked at the edge of the gravel road, Roderick sliding into the driver’s seat while Salvatore settled into the front seat, already scrolling through something on his phone that Roderick suspected had nothing to do with actual work.
As they pulled out onto the main road, Salvatore spoke again without looking up.
"Go around the block. To Milo’s old house."
Roderick glanced at him. "Why?"
"I want to see the progress. Milo will love to see it clean once it’s done."
"I think they’ll be ready soon," Roderick said, turning the wheel. "There’s not much left to do. Just cleaning and fixing a few parts of the structure."
"Yes, but if you don’t check on it, they’ll get lazy. They’ll take years to finish something that should take days."
Roderick let out a breath, his eyes flicking to the road ahead.
"Don’t you think his life is too complicated? It’s a little suspicious, don’t you think, how everything about his past keeps circling back to you. First the house. Now this."
Salvatore’s eyes lifted from his phone, sharp and immediate.
"What are you trying to say?"
"Just that I hope you’re not trusting him too deeply," Roderick said carefully. "We both learned that trust like that doesn’t survive in this world."
Salvatore turned to look out the window, watching the buildings blur past.
"I know that," he said. "But you can’t fake the kind of suffering I saw in him. He had no reason to fake it. He’s not going to kill his own family."
"Who knows," Roderick said with a short, humorless laugh. "I’ve seen plenty of stupid things happen in my time. It wouldn’t shock me if that was exactly what it was."
Salvatore said nothing to that, his jaw tightening slightly as the silence stretched between them, filled only by the hum of the engine and the occasional passing car.
They arrived at the old house a few minutes later. The vines that had once clung wild and unchecked to the walls were gone now, cleared away to reveal the pale stone beneath.
Workers moved in and out of the front entrance carrying bags of cement, and stacks of fresh stone sat piled along one side of the yard, waiting to be laid.
"Don’t take too long," Roderick said, pulling the car to a stop along the curb. "We didn’t bring anyone else today."
Salvatore nodded, stepping out and shutting the door behind him. He walked toward the gate, taking in the changes with something like quiet satisfaction, imagining Milo’s face when he finally saw the place restored.
Then he noticed something.
An old woman stood hunched near the low divider wall separating the property from the neighboring lot, her frame small and bent, wrapped in a dark shawl despite the mild afternoon.
Salvatore hadn’t seen her approach, hadn’t heard footsteps or the creak of the gate. She was simply there, watching him with pale, clouded eyes.
"Do you need something?" Salvatore asked, his tone even, though something about her stillness put him faintly on edge.
The old woman only smiled, slow and knowing.
"Don’t get too close to him," she said, her voice rasping like dry leaves. "Or you will die."
Salvatore sighed, more irritated than alarmed.
"What are you talking about?"
"I smelled him coming back," she said. "The cursed one. Poor boy. Nobody can stop what follows him."
Salvatore dismissed it immediately in his mind, chalking her up to some confused old neighbor, perhaps someone who’d lived beside that house long enough to lose her grip on reality.
He moved to step past her toward the gate, intending to end the conversation there.
Then he was stopped.
She was suddenly in front of him.
What the...
He hadn’t seen her move. One moment she stood by the wall, and the next she blocked the path directly in front of the gate, close enough that he could see the deep creases lining her face, the strange stillness in her clouded eyes.
Salvatore stepped back instinctively, his hand twitching toward his side, though he caught himself before reaching for anything.
Roderick moved quickly, grabbing the old woman’s arm to pull her aside. The moment his hand closed around her wrist, he stopped, frozen mid-motion, his face going pale.
"Damn," he said, his voice tight. "What is this? I can’t move."
The old woman turned her head toward Roderick slowly, an unsettling smile spreading across her face, before shifting her attention back to Salvatore.
"Who are you?" Salvatore asked, his voice hard now, all traces of irritation replaced by something more alert. "What do you want?"
"He is cursed," the old woman said, ignoring the question entirely. "The only son who owns this house. Anyone who gets close to him will face tragedy after tragedy. I only wanted to warn you."
Her voice dropped lower, almost gentle in its intensity. "Kill him while you still have the chance."
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