Chapter 88: Nero’s Playroom
Note: for Milo’s fans, skip this Chapter because it contains explicit torture. I warned you.
***
Milo shivered violently, his teeth chattering so hard they ached. He looked up, his eyes adjusting to the single bare bulb hanging from a cord above him.
"Look who’s finally awake," a smooth, familiar voice drawled from the shadows.
Milo’s heart froze.
Nero stepped into the circle of light. He was dressed in a pristine gray suit, his hair perfectly combed, looking entirely at ease in the squalor of the basement.
Sean and Pablo stood two steps behind him. Sean’s eyes were calm as usual, fixed on Milo, but this time filled with pure hatred.
"N-Nero..." Milo choked out, his voice a raspy whisper. He tried to crawl backward, but his bound limbs made him slide clumsily across the concrete, scraping his hip against the grit.
Nero chuckled, a soft, malicious sound. He walked over and knelt down on one knee right next to Milo, entirely unfazed by the dirt.
He reached out and grabbed a handful of Milo’s hair, yanking his head back with brutal force to make him look up.
"You really thought you could run away from me, Milo?" Nero whispered, his fingers digging into Milo’s scalp. "You thought that because Salvatore put you in a nice suit and gave you a little toy gun, you were suddenly free? Look at you now. You’re right back where you belong. On the floor. Naked. Helpless."
"Please..." Milo cried, a tear cutting a clean line through the dust on his cheek. "Please don’t... Salvatore will kill you..."
Nero’s face contorted with sudden, vicious anger. He delivered a hard, ringing slap across Milo’s cheek, the impact cracking against the quiet of the basement.
Milo’s head snapped to the side, his split lip reopening, copper-tasting blood filling his mouth.
"Do not speak his name to me!" Nero hissed, his grip on Milo’s hair tightening until Milo let out a muffled shriek. "Salvatore doesn’t care about you. He threw you out like garbage the moment he thought you’d made a mistake. Felix told me everything. You’re nothing to him but a stray animal, and now you’re back in my palace."
Nero smirked. "Only me, NERO, who actually cares about you!"
Nero stood up, wiping his hand on a silk handkerchief. He looked down at Milo’s trembling, bruised body with a look of intense, possessive desire.
He missed the control. He missed the absolute power he held over this fragile creature.
"Sean," Nero ordered, his voice dropping into a dark, flat tone. "Hold his legs down. He’s been very disobedient, and he needs to remember exactly what happens to babies who run away from home."
Sean moved forward, his heavy boots thudding against the concrete. He pinned Milo’s bound ankles to the floor with the full weight of his knees, completely immobilizing him.
Milo screamed, a raw, desperate sound that bounced uselessly off the concrete walls. "No! Please! Stop! Salvatore! Salvatore!"
Nero walked over to a metal table in the corner and picked up a heavy leather crop. He walked back to where Milo lay, the leather catching the dim light of the bulb.
"Cry all you want, little bird. Don’t you realize Salvatore threw you away?" Nero murmured, a sick, vibrant smile spreading across his face as he raised the leather. "Nobody can hear you down here. Salvatore isn’t coming. You are mine again."
***
Felix felt his cheek burning, his lips bleeding. His body lay limp in the corner of Salvatore’s office. He was gasping for breath.
When he saw Salvatore’s hand rise again, he instinctively raised his own hand and closed his eyes, waiting for the pain to come.
"Stop, you’ll kill him!"
Felix looked up, staring at Roderick as he held Salvatore’s hand back.
"This bastard, how dare he steal my photo and hatch this evil plan behind my back!" Salvatore shouted.
He shoved Roderick aside to land a punch on Felix’s head.
Felix just held himself. He didn’t dare fight the man.
He was actually shocked at how Salvatore kicked and punched him like an animal. He couldn’t believe that the man did this just because of a photo and Milo.
Salvatore grabbed Felix’s collar, already soaked in blood, and forced Felix to stand.
"Where did you put the photo? WHERE IS IT?!" Salvatore screamed. "And once again, where did you take Milo? If you keep silent, I won’t care anymore. I’ll kill you right here!"
Felix coughed up blood. He held onto Salvatore’s hand, which was gripping his collar so tightly, begging him to let go. But the man only tightened his grip.
"I... I don’t know. I threw the photo onto the street. I don’t know why you need it." Felix’s voice faltered.
Before he could speak again, another punch flew into his face.
Felix’s body was flung backward, slamming hard into the wall.
Salvatore felt his rage reaching its peak. "You... you said you were my friend, and that you cared about me. Yet you didn’t know how precious that photo was to me?"
His voice was lower now, but the anger in it was heavier.
Felix swallowed hard. He was trembling violently. He’d never been in a situation where Salvatore treated him like an enemy.
He was terrified. And afraid he might lose that man forever.
"If you can’t get the photo back by tomorrow, I’ll really kill you. And now, where is Milo? Where the hell did you take him?"
Felix swallowed hard. He didn’t want to say it. No matter what happened.
But after so many blows from Salvatore, so many that he thought he might die, he finally gave in.
"N-nero. Nero Hartley..." Felix whispered before he passed out.
Salvatore felt his body on fire. His hands were bruised from all the punching. He looked at the unconscious Felix with hatred.
"Get him out of here! And get my car ready! Looks like someone doesn’t know his place," Salvatore commanded as he walked out of the office.
***
Meanwhile, in just a few hours, a lot had happened at the Hartley mansion.
The playroom of the Hartley mansion was a living hell for Milo. Nero called it the gallery, though Milo only knew it as the torture chamber.
But this time, the room was illuminated by harsh, professional-grade studio lights. A young photographer stood in the corner, adjusting his lens, ready to capture every shift in Milo’s expression as Nero requested.
Milo lay flat on the white marble floor, his body forced into a spread-eagle position. His wrists and ankles were held down by the heavy, gloved hands of Sean and Pablo.
He was completely naked, his skin pale against the stone. This time, it seemed Nero didn’t even bother humiliating him anymore. The man tortured him for revenge.
Milo anticipated his own death. He only regretted making Salvatore angry enough to cast him aside, which had led him back to this place.
He was just stupid and weak. There was no place in this world for people like him.
Nero stood over him, holding a glass of scotch in one hand and a thin, supple cane in the other. He looked down at Milo not only with anger, but also with the quiet interest of a man examining a new piece of furniture.
"See, Milo, the light is perfect, isn’t it? Look at your skin. So red and beautiful," Nero said, tracing the cane scars all over Milo’s skin.
He nodded to the photographer to take another shot.
He turned his attention back to Milo. He reached down with the tip of the cane and flicked one of his nipples.
Milo’s body jerked, his back arching off the floor, but Sean’s grip on his wrists was absolute. A short, sharp gasp escaped Milo’s lips.
He bit his tongue, trying to keep the sound inside. He knew the rules. If he cried or begged, the count would restart. If he screamed too loudly, Nero would add more strikes.
Nero began the count. The cane whistled through the air before landing across Milo’s chest, inches away from the nipple. The skin split instantly into a thin red line.
"Thirty-one," Nero announced.
Milo squeezed his eyes shut. His body trembled violently. His face was pale. The pain was a sharp, biting heat. He focused on the coldness of the marble beneath him, trying to distance his mind from his nerves.
"Thirty-two."
The cane struck the other side of his chest. The vibration of the impact traveled through the bone, stinging the fresh wounds.
Milo gasped. His fingers twitched, scratching uselessly at the stone under Sean’s grip. He felt the sweat starting to pool in the small of his back.
"Thirty-three."
This strike landed directly across his stomach. The pain was duller there, but it left a thick, purple welt that rose almost immediately.
"Thirty-four."
Nero aimed for the inner thighs. The skin there was sensitive, and the impact made Milo’s legs shake.
He felt the humiliation of his position, spread wide, exposed, and helpless while men watched and a camera clicked.
"Thirty-five."
The cane snapped against his ribs. Milo felt the air leave his lungs. He struggled to draw a breath, his chest heaving. He couldn’t hold back his tears.
So much pain. But he knew it was useless to beg.
Nero paused. He took a sip of his scotch, savoring the sound of Milo’s ragged breathing. He signaled to Sean.
"The powder," Nero commanded.
Milo looked horrified, his eyes widening. "P-please don’t..."
