Chapter 138: The Colors
Salvatore found Roderick in the security room, checking the cameras.
Roderick didn’t look up right away. He’d worked for Salvatore long enough to know the sound of his boss’s footsteps, the particular weight of them on the gravel, and he assumed this was just another check-in before the night began.
It wasn’t until Salvatore stopped directly beside him, arms crossed, his jaw set in a way Roderick recognized as trouble, that he finally glanced over.
"Rod," Salvatore said, and something in his tone made Roderick straighten up from the monitors entirely.
"Today, you can stay home."
The words hit oddly. Roderick blinked, waiting for the rest of the sentence, the joke, the catch. When none came, his brows knit together, and his hand fell away from his belt.
"Why? We need to meet Joe. You know they tried to terrorize him. I’m sure they’re connected to Macron."
Salvatore’s expression didn’t change, but something behind his eyes flickered. Calculation, maybe, or worry carefully folded away.
"I know," he said. "And it’s why I don’t want you to come with me."
"But why? Why are you keeping me from the job? What exactly happened? Are you hiding something?"
The questions came fast, almost tumbling over each other, Roderick’s voice climbing with a mixture of confusion and hurt pride.
He’d been at Salvatore’s side for years, through worse nights, and being shut out now, without reason, sat wrong in his chest.
Salvatore exhaled slowly, his shoulders dropping just slightly, the only outward sign that this conversation cost him something. He couldn’t tell Roderick, and he didn’t want to.
"Trust me, Rod. Just listen to me. I don’t want you to do anything this month."
"But why?"
"I have nothing to explain to you."
The finality in it stung more than Salvatore probably intended. Roderick’s arms crossed over his chest, a defensive wall going up, his eyes narrowing as he searched his boss’s face for some crack, some explanation hiding beneath the silence.
"Well, if you keep me away, it means you want to fire me. Did I make a mistake?"
Salvatore sighed, a long, tired sound that seemed to come from somewhere deeper than his lungs. He dragged a hand down over his face, as though he were trying to wipe away the whole conversation, but he couldn’t avoid Roderick.
"If I wanted to fire you, I would have kicked you out already. You know you’re not only my guard but also my close friend. This time... just listen to me."
Roderick’s mouth opened, another protest already forming, but Salvatore lifted a hand between them and shook his head once, sharp and final. The gesture said more than words could have.
Salvatore finally broke the silence himself. "When Joe gets here, tell him to wait for me. I’m in my room."
"With Milo?" Roderick asked, and despite the tension still hanging between them, a small smirk tugged at the corner of his mouth.
"Yes. I can’t work before I see him. He made me mad."
"About the guy in the office? You’re still jealous?"
"I’m not jealous," Salvatore said, a fraction too quickly, his jaw tightening. "I just don’t like it."
Roderick raised both hands in mock surrender, the smirk widening into something almost fond. "Well, whatever."
"Is Alben coming today or not? I haven’t heard anything from him," Salvatore said.
Roderick fell silent. He looked at Salvatore as though he wanted to tell him something, but he brushed it off.
"I don’t know. You know he’s still obsessed with Hartley’s asset. Do something about it. Seeing his obsession right now, I’m sure he could kill Milo."
Salvatore smiled. "He’s not that crazy."
"Just... try to anticipate it. I know you value Milo too much."
"What happened? Did Alben tell you something?"
Roderick cleared his throat. "No. But I’ve never seen him obsessed with something like this. I’m just afraid..."
Salvatore looked at Roderick. "Are you guys fighting?"
He remembered Roderick’s wounded face from a few days before.
Roderick felt his cheeks redden as he didn’t like lying to Salvatore. But he didn’t want to create more problems now.
"I’m not at the age to fight anymore."
Salvatore said nothing and simply walked away.
Inside Salvatore’s room.
Milo shivered. Why hadn’t Salvatore come yet?
Just then, he heard the door open and click shut. His body tensed with excitement and nervousness.
Salvatore walked into the dark room, having already removed his shirt. His broad chest and the intricate ink of his tattoos were fully visible.
He looked at Milo on the floor. He just smiled.
He didn’t reach for the leather cuffs yet. Instead, he walked over to Milo and crouched down in front of him, using two fingers to force Milo’s chin up.
"Feel cold? Need me to switch off the AC?" asked Salvatore.
"N-no, Master. I’m fine..."
"Okay. Tell me if you feel cold. Before we begin tonight, we are putting in a new rule," Salvatore stated, his eyes locking onto Milo’s with seriousness.
"I need to know your boundaries. You need to tell me, and we will make it easier."
Milo blinked, his throat dry.
"We will use colors. We can use them when we play," Salvatore explained, his deep voice low and steady. "If you say Green, it means everything is perfect, and I can push you harder. If you say Yellow, it means the sensation or the pain is reaching your limit, and I need to slow the pace or change the tool. But if you say Red... it means freeze. It means I stop everything, and the play is completely finished, no questions asked. Do you understand me?"
Milo stared at him, his jaw dropping slightly as his heart gave a massive, emotional thud. For years, Nero had used his screams as fuel, ignoring every plea for mercy until his body broke.
To hear a man—a master who ruled an entire city with violence—hand him a specific code that could instantly halt his own desire was a concept so profoundly respectful it made Milo’s chest ache with adoration.
He just wished he could really trust Salvatore. But until now, he had nothing to worry about.
"So... if I say Red, it will stop completely?" Milo whispered, his voice trembling.
"Yes," Salvatore murmured, his thumb smoothing over the boy’s lower lip. "It is your safety line."
Milo nodded. "Yes, I understand. But what if I can’t speak?"
"Don’t worry. I will always give you another option, like blinking twice when you want to stop."
"Understood."
Salvatore rubbed Milo’s hair. "Now, what is your color right now?"
"It’s... green," Milo breathed immediately, a small, fierce smile breaking through his shyness. "Entirely green, Master."
"Good boy." Salvatore smiled, straightened up, and reached into the bedside drawer to retrieve the thick leather cuffs.
He buckled them securely around Milo’s wrists, checking the tightness twice with his thumb before guiding the young man to lie flat on his back across the soft mattress.
Salvatore slid between Milo’s knees, his heavy thighs separating the boy’s legs fully. He poured a generous pool of warm oil into his palms, rubbing them together before pressing them flat against Milo’s lower stomach and inner thighs.
Milo flinched hard, his hips jerking upward against the sheets as a raw gasp left his mouth, his old defensive reflexes firing under the sudden contact.
"I just put the oil on. Stay still," Salvatore said softly, his large hands applying heavy, crushing pressure to Milo’s hips to hold him down.
He worked the oil deep into the skin, his heavy thumbs massaging the sensitive areas until Milo’s muscles finally went completely slack, a continuous string of low, broken groans escaping his lips.
Salvatore kissed Milo’s lips deeply, passionately, and gently.
Milo couldn’t help but release a soft moan.
"Don’t be scared. We won’t do much today. I will fuck you deeply like last time."
Milo’s breath quickened, and he nodded. He gasped as he felt the man’s finger inside him, trying to ease it in.
"Ahhh..."
"I will put in more fingers now."
Milo’s body tensed. He held Salvatore’s arm tightly.
"Try to relax, Milo. Is it still painful?"
Milo opened his mouth and shook his head. His breathing grew faster.
He screamed when Salvatore fucked him with his fingers.
"M-master..."
"Relax..."
Salvatore reached down, unbuttoning his trousers and releasing his full, rigid erection. It was thick, heavy, and slick with the residual oil from his hands.
"Remember, you can always tell me your color."
Milo nodded again. His breath hitched.
Salvatore positioned the blunt tip directly against Milo’s tight, waiting opening, his fingers gripping the boy’s hip bones with an unyielding, possessive force that left white marks on the flesh.
"Hold onto my arms," Salvatore commanded.
Milo reached out with his bound wrists, his fingers clutching the thick muscles of Salvatore’s arms as the Don pushed forward, entering him. After moving in and out slowly several times, he stroked his cock until it filled him completely.
Milo shrieked, his back arching violently off the mattress as his opening stretched to its absolute limit to accommodate the massive size.
The pain was sharp and blinding, tears immediately leaking from the corners of his eyes as his internal muscles locked around the intrusion.
"Color, Milo," Salvatore growled against his neck, pausing his movement entirely to let the young man’s body adjust.
"G-green..." Milo choked out, his fingers digging frantically into Salvatore’s skin as he forced his breathing to slow down. "It’s green, Sir... please don’t stop."
Salvatore let out a rough, ragged breath, his gray eyes darkening with pure dominance as he began to move.
He pulled back slowly before driving deep inside him again and again, establishing a fast, raw, and fiercely passionate rhythm that made the heavy belt buckle of his trousers slam rhythmically against Milo’s lower back.
A loud, wet friction echoed through the room with every deep thrust.
Milo lost all remaining control of his voice. He sobbed and screamed into the cushions, his head spinning in a chaotic blur of intense pleasure and absolute surrender.
Every deep thrust hit his core with surgical precision, sending violent waves of heat straight to his stomach. He was entirely possessed, completely claimed by the heavy weight of the man ruling his body.
"Master! Master! Ah... more... please!" Milo cried out, his voice thick and fractured.
Salvatore’s breathing turned into heavy, ragged growls, his thrusts becoming short, hard, and frantic as his own release reached its absolute limit.
He gripped Milo’s waist with punishing force, driving deep one final time before locking his hips tightly against the young man’s glutes as his orgasm ripped through his frame.
Salvatore growled roughly against the nape of Milo’s neck, a raw, deep sound of pure adoration and dominance, releasing deep inside Milo’s warmth.
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