Chapter 81: Milo’s Uncle
Roderick divided the field into zones using orange cones and gave each team three minutes to find their starting positions.
Salvatore and Teo were on the same team. Milo was a bit disappointed about that. He wanted to be on the same team as both of them.
But he said nothing. At least he was on the same team as Roderick.
Milo crouched behind a low concrete barrier on the east side with the other guards and Roderick.
It seemed everyone was targeting Roderick and Salvatore.
Roderick had put on his mask. He seemed ready to kill everyone. Milo could sense the man’s seriousness.
But it should be a fun game, right?
Across the field, Teo was already visible. He had positioned himself behind a storage crate and was peering over the top of it with intense focus.
He was a bit disappointed that Roderick hadn’t let him be on the same team as Milo. The man had said they had to be ready no matter who the enemy was.
And now, he had already forgotten about that and just wanted to win.
Salvatore would give the winning team 500 each.
Even though it wasn’t a lot of money, it made them want to win even more. Who would turn down free money?
Milo saw Teo looking and pointed at him with two fingers, then pointed back at his own eyes. A very clear message.
Milo just smiled.
Salvatore’s team had disappeared into the far section. Nobody could see where they were.
Roderick fired a shot into the air. "Go."
The field immediately erupted with noise.
The first shot that hit Milo came from the left, and he hadn’t seen it coming at all.
Damn! That stung!
It had just started, and he had already been hit.
The paint spread blue across his upper arm, and he turned to find the shooter. But he saw no one, then moved quickly behind a different barrier.
He worked his way forward. He hit one guard in the shoulder and another in the leg and felt genuinely pleased about both of them.
Salvatore’s rule: don’t get hit three times, or you’re out, you have to leave the field. If everyone on the team was out, they lost.
Two more. Milo moved carefully.
He was moving faster than he expected, weaving between positions and staying low.
Then he came around the side of a large wooden crate and nearly walked right into Salvatore.
They both stopped. At a safe distance.
Milo raised his gun.
Salvatore raised his faster and shot him in the chest.
Milo looked down at the bright red paint spreading across his shirt.
"Nooo!!"
Salvatore lowered his gun, laughed, and said nothing. His mask was pushed up on his forehead, and he looked completely unfazed.
Milo shot him in the shoulder before he could move away.
Salvatore looked at the blue mark on his clothes. He looked at Milo.
Milo didn’t lower his gun. He smiled widely.
Salvatore smiled. Then he shot him again, this time in the arm.
Milo died. He groaned.
But he didn’t stop. He moved to the right and shot him twice more, once in the ribs and once grazing the edge of his mask.
"You died!" Milo screamed.
"You bastard. You died first!"
Salvatore stepped back behind the crate, and Milo followed him around to the other side. They ended up standing three feet apart, shooting at each other until both of them had paint splattered across most of their upper bodies.
They looked like enemies fighting each other, neither of whom could die.
Roderick called the end of the round from somewhere across the field.
Teo appeared out of nowhere and jumped onto Salvatore’s back. "We won! We won!"
He had a single blue mark on his left shoe and nothing else. It wasn’t clear how he had managed that, or maybe everyone had just been too careful since he was a kid.
Milo looked at his own paint-covered shirt. He giggled. He wasn’t sad at all that his team had lost.
The guard beside him patted his shoulder sympathetically.
"Damn! How many times did you die?" the man chuckled.
"He shot me before I could think," Milo said.
"That’s why he was focused on you. We couldn’t find him."
Milo said nothing. Anyway, he was proud he had shot Salvatore too, but it had been too easy. He was afraid Salvatore had just let him shoot him like that.
They cleaned up and went inside. The kitchen was packed within minutes, guards coming in still pulling off masks and wiping paint from their hands, all of them talking at once.
But it seemed everyone had enjoyed it.
Luke had set out brunch without being asked, correctly reading the group’s energy.
Milo sat down at the long table and ate. He was hungry in that deep, real way that comes after actual physical exertion, and the food was good. He didn’t pay attention to how much he was eating until he was nearly finished with his second plate.
Salvatore sat at the end of the table. He still had a faint blue mark on his jaw where a bullet had grazed him. He was talking to two guards beside him and wasn’t looking in Milo’s direction.
Then he did. He noticed that Milo had almost finished his second plate.
"Don’t eat too much," Salvatore said from the end of the table.
Milo looked up and chewed more slowly.
"You want to explode?" Salvatore added. He just didn’t want that young man to get sick from eating too much after physical activity.
The table grew slightly quieter. Not silent, but quieter. Milo became aware of several people glancing back and forth between him and Salvatore, their expressions strained to remain neutral.
"I’m fine," Milo said, understanding what those looks meant. He didn’t want to fuel any more rumors.
"You’re sick. Eat slowly," Salvatore said.
"I’m better now, Sir." He swallowed the food and took another bite.
Salvatore looked at him for another moment, then looked away and continued his conversation.
Milo focused back on his plate.
He heard someone near him quietly clear their throat. He didn’t look up. He could feel the attention of several people nearby without needing to see it.
He took a smaller bite.
He saw the guards grinning at him.
He coughed. Damn, what were they thinking?!
Salvatore made everything worse as he grabbed his arm and patted his back.
"See? Be careful!"
Milo coughed more.
"Drink something." Salvatore handed Milo his glass of water.
He was leaning very close. Milo could clearly see the remaining blue paint on his jaw from this distance. And the smell of musky sweat too.
Milo reached for the glass and drank. His face felt warm. He stared at the table.
Salvatore went back to talking with everyone as they ate. He didn’t realize the effect of his actions at all.
The table stayed quiet for about three seconds, and then everyone started talking again. But many of them were just teasing Milo with their grins.
Milo finished his water and didn’t take any more food. His heart was pounding hard.
After eating, they returned to their routine.
Milo was so happy to have had the experience of shooting at real people, even if it was just a game. He hoped Salvatore would organize more games like that again.
After lunch that day, Salvatore found him in the hallway.
"Come with me," he said, and walked toward the back entrance without waiting.
Milo was confused. He was just wearing casual clothes now. He should have worn his dress shirt everywhere; he regretted it.
"No need to change, just come with us."
Milo said nothing and followed the man.
Roderick was already outside. They took a car, just the three of them and a guard, out through the back gate and down a road Milo had never been on before.
They drove down the road and stopped in a large field. The land on either side was flat and dry, with rows of thin, bare plants stretching in long lines toward the tree line.
The vineyard. Though it was dry, it was clean.
The car parked near a low building that was partially covered in scaffolding.
Milo saw some men working on the roof. Others were moving materials near the entrance. The ground around it looked messy.
Milo got out and looked around him.
Something about the place looked familiar to him. But he couldn’t place it. What memory was it? The lines of dry vines, the shape of the building, the way the light fell across the flat ground in the afternoon.
He had no reason to know this place. But it gave him a pang in his heart.
He stayed near the car while Salvatore and Roderick walked ahead, talking among themselves. He could hear the words but wasn’t following their conversation.
He was looking at the building, the field. He tried hard to remember what kind of pain it was.
His chest hurt. It certainly wasn’t from the paintball bruises. It felt so tight inside him. But he had no explanation for his own feelings.
He followed them slowly down toward the building.
Salvatore was talking as he walked. "I asked Felix to bring Gallo here."
Roderick glanced at him. "Is he willing? Last time he wouldn’t come with me."
"He said he was already inside. It’s good for him to see the place. He was here for years. It might help him decide."
Milo was a few steps behind them. He heard the name and his chest tightened further, in a different way.
Gallo.
He didn’t know why that name affected him. He had heard it once before, when Salvatore spoke to Roderick earlier. But he had understood it only as the name of a man Salvatore was trying to bring back to the vineyard. A winemaker.
But now it sounded different.
Salvatore went down the steps into the building. Roderick followed.
Felix was just inside the entrance, standing with his arms crossed, watching the interior with a blank expression.
He looked at Milo when he appeared and looked away. His face changed drastically, becoming sour.
The man with the old man inside.
Milo didn’t look back at Felix. His attention had shifted to the other man.
Old. Broad shoulders that had narrowed with age. White hair. He was moving slowly through the interior of the building, looking at the walls, the floor, the ceiling, with his hands at his sides.
Milo stopped in the doorway.
The man turned slightly, and the light from the opening above caught his face.
Milo’s breath left him. His eyes widened.
How could it be... his uncle was here?
