Chapter 80: The Game
Salvatore stood calmly, smoking as he watched Milo.
Milo grumbled each time he missed the target. The last time he had held a gun, he had felt confident in his ability to shoot. But now it seemed like he needed to start all over again.
Salvatore didn’t say anything. He didn’t scold him, just let him do whatever he wanted.
He hadn’t expected Milo to be here at all, not at this hour, not with that look on his face, that tight, determined expression that didn’t quite hide how shaken the young man still was.
But on the other side of it, he could see how serious Milo was, and that made him grin quietly to himself. Especially each time Milo let out one of those heavy, frustrated sighs.
Time passed quickly, and it was already an hour. Milo had actually hit the target many times by then. But he didn’t stop.
"All right, enough," said Salvatore.
Milo lowered the gun and looked at the man. "Did I make any progress?"
"Yes," said Salvatore. "You’re doing better."
Milo relaxed his posture, but there was still something worried in his face. Salvatore noticed it immediately.
He walked closer to Milo and looked at him carefully. "What’s wrong? Are you this afraid because of what happened today?"
Milo looked down. He didn’t want to admit how scared he truly was. He wanted to be brave, he had been trying so hard to feel brave, but for now, he had to accept his own weakness.
"Yes," he said quietly. "I was so shocked. I didn’t realize that being a guard was this dangerous."
He had thought that being a guard meant standing by, running drills, doing exercises, perhaps the occasional patrol.
The real job was something else entirely. Much more dangerous. And he hadn’t understood that until today.
He hadn’t known what Salvatore actually faced in his life. He had never expected to see a bomb go off right in front of him.
"Does this happen often?" Milo asked.
Salvatore tossed his cigarette to the ground and stepped on it. "Nobody knows when something like that will happen. But I’ve gotten used to it. Before, I was the one setting the bombs and everything. Now I’m on the other end."
Milo swallowed hard. That man had set bombs?
Salvatore smirked at Milo’s expression. "You thought my life was easy and comfortable just because I made you feel that way?"
Milo looked down, his cheeks flushing. He realized how much Salvatore had protected him, and how that protection had allowed him to forget what kind of world they were actually living in.
"That’s why I want to be stronger," Milo said. "I can’t keep asking you to protect me."
Salvatore reached out and patted Milo’s head once. "That’s why I train you. Now at least you’ve felt it yourself, that you want to be stronger. That’s a good motivation. The best advice I can give you is this, always be aware of your surroundings. Don’t die. That’s it."
Milo looked up at him. "But as your guard, I’m supposed to protect you. What if you were the one in danger?"
"That’s exactly what I mean about being aware of your surroundings. Once you get used to it, you’ll always sense when something bad is about to happen. And then you’ll be able to protect the people around you, and yourself."
Milo felt a heaviness settle in his chest. "I don’t know if I can. I’m too scared."
"If you’re scared, you can’t be a guard."
Milo swallowed again. "But, I... I don’t want to leave here."
He already loved everyone in the mansion. He had grown attached to this strange, difficult place and the people in it, especially Salvatore.
He didn’t want to leave, not now, maybe not ever.
"I’ll become a strong guard!" Milo said, and there was a brightness in his voice that surprised even himself.
Salvatore smiled. "There’s something I should tell you. The car that exploded today had Marcus and Reynold inside."
Milo’s eyes went wide. There had been so much chaos in the immediate aftermath. The two men had left quickly and he hadn’t thought about where they went.
"Are they..." Milo asked carefully. "Did they die?"
Salvatore nodded. "Yes."
Milo felt his heart pound hard against his ribs.
Salvatore watched him. After everything that had happened, after everything he had witnessed in Milo over these past weeks, he believed in the young man’s ability now.
"Can you see it on me?" Salvatore asked suddenly, his voice quieter. "If I were going to die, could you see that?"
Milo looked at him, surprised by the question. "Yes," he said after a moment. "I’d be able to see it. But I can’t see it right now. Your face is bright. Full of life."
Salvatore was silent for a moment. Then he smiled again, just slightly. "Then I suppose I don’t need to worry."
Milo looked down. But then he felt Salvatore’s large hand cup his cheek, and he looked up.
"You’re still unwell," Salvatore said, his brow furrowing. "What’s going on with you? You need to tell me when you’re not feeling right."
Milo said nothing. The discomfort had been with him long enough that he had stopped noticing it as something unusual.
It was just part of him now, like background noise. He had learned to function through it.
But he also knew, somewhere in the back of his mind, that it grew worse each time he told Nero, about someone whose death he could sense coming.
He didn’t fully understand the connection, whether his body was the cause or simply the messenger. But it happened every time. Even now.
Salvatore felt something strange inside him. His dirty mind was already at work, imagining how beautiful Milo would look under the rope on his bed.
But as soon as the image appeared, he shut his eyes, trying to erase it.
What kind of man would use such a young man for fantasies?
Damn.
Salvatore took a step back and drew a slow breath.
Milo blinked, startled by the sudden distance. Had he done something wrong? Had he said something? He replayed the last few seconds and found nothing.
But Salvatore only looked at him steadily. "Go back to your room. Take the pill and get some sleep. You have training tomorrow morning, and we’ll have something else to do of as well."
Something else to do?
***
The next morning Milo was up before five.
He cleaned himself carefully, shaved, and went through his routine.
Before six he was already on the field, stretching alone in the grey early light while the grass was still damp underfoot.
When the first other guards came out, he was already warm. When the run started, he was at the front of the group instead of his usual position at the back.
He pushed through every part of it. His cheek was still a deep bruise and his back ached with each stride, but he kept his pace and he didn’t fall behind.
He was still the last one to arrive.
Salvatore watched from the side door, as he sometimes did in the mornings. He said nothing. But he noticed everything, the straightness of Milo’s posture, the determination.
When the morning session ended and the guards were catching their breath with their hands on their knees, Salvatore walked to the center of the field and looked around at all of them.
"Eat your breakfast and come back. We’re playing a game after this."
Nobody knew what that meant. Looks were exchanged, questions passed in low voices between pairs of guards.
"Back here in an hour!" Salvatore added, and then walked inside before anyone could ask him anything.
The group broke apart. Milo followed the others toward the pantry, turning the word over in his head.
Game.
He didn’t know what kind of game Salvatore had in mind.
He hoped it wasn’t a live-or-die kind.
A guard fell into step beside him. "What kind of game do you think he means?"
Milo shrugged. "Ah... I really don’t know."
He became aware that several of the others were looking at him. He glanced around, confused.
"You’re the closest one to him," said Ramon. "Maybe he told you and you’re keeping it quiet."
Milo shook his head quickly. "No! He didn’t tell me anything! And I’m not that close to Mr. Portello."
"Oh, come on. You’ve shared a bed and slept in the same room as him."
Milo felt his face go red as a tomato. He tried to form a response, but the words wouldn’t come.
The guards laughed at the look on his face.
"It wasn’t like that!" he said, but no matter what he said, it was clear they weren’t going to believe him, and that only made it worse.
***
An hour later, behind the east building, a crate had been opened and its contents laid out in a careful row.
Paintball guns, protective masks, spare canisters of ammunition, all of it gleaming faintly in the morning light.
Salvatore stood beside the equipment with Roderick and a few guards.
The group took one look at the table and the tension broke. Paintball. Actual paintball. Faces that had been wary and tired a moment ago shifted into grins.
Milo felt a wave of relief wash through him. He could shoot people without worrying about actually hurting them. That alone felt like an enormous gift.
"We’ll split into two teams," Salvatore said, after walking through the rules, lingering on the details for Milo’s benefit, since everyone else had played before. "Roderick will sort you. You have ten minutes to organize, and then we start."
Someone laughed first. Then a few more. Then it became general noise as the guards surged toward the equipment with more enthusiasm than they’d shown all morning.
Teo appeared from seemingly nowhere and grabbed the hem of Salvatore’s trousers.
The man looked down. "What? You want to play?"
Teo nodded with enormous eyes.
"Then go pick up a gun."
Teo bounced on his heels with delight and ran straight for the table.
A moment later he was back beside Milo, tugging his sleeve. "Milo! I want to be on your team!"
Milo picked up one of the guns from the crate and turned it over in his hands. It was lighter than he had expected.
Beside him, one of the older guards knocked his shoulder with a grin. "First one to hit Salvatore or Roderick wins!"
"Wins what?" Milo asked.
"Nothing." The guard shrugged cheerfully. "But it would be amazing."
Milo looked across the field to where Roderick stood reading through the team list.
Milo pulled the mask down over his face.
Then Roderick called out the teams, and Milo discovered that he and Teo had been placed on opposite sides.
Teo stared at Milo from across the divide with the look of someone who had been deeply, personally betrayed.
