Chapter 93: The Favorite
Felix stared at Nero Hartley’s shattered body on the living room floor, his knees going weak.
The traitor... Alben’s words were so threatening. He felt so guilty and scared that even those words felt like an attack on him.
Did they want to kill him because he was the traitor?
Felix couldn’t breathe. The coppery tang of old blood filled the room, clashing sharply with the sweet scent of Alben’s chilled juice.
Alben leaned back, his silk robe parting slightly as he crossed his legs, a sharp, mocking smirk fixed on his face.
"Ben," Felix choked out, his voice cracked and raw from his swollen jaw. "Do you want to kill me?"
Alben smiled at Felix, tilting his head with genuine, dark amusement. "I don’t know what the hell went through your head, Felix. You confronted Salvatore? You sent Nero’s men right into a trap Sal set? Seriously, Felix! I knew you were desperate, but I didn’t think you were suicidal."
"No! I never wanted to confront him!" Felix shouted, the movement sending a painful jolt through his bruised jaw.
He stepped back, gesturing frantically toward the floor. "It was all Milo’s mistake! That bastard! If he hadn’t come to the mansion, everything would still be normal. Salvatore would still listen to me!"
Alben set his juice glass down on the side table with a soft clink. "You know it’s not his mistake when you’re the one who’s jealous, Felix. The kid didn’t ask for any of this. I just don’t understand how you could do something like this. You know how Salvatore handles leaks."
Felix trembled violently as the weight of Alben’s words settled over him. He looked into Alben’s cold, unblinking eyes and realized there was no safety here.
Alben wasn’t staying neutral to protect him. Felix took a step back toward the door, his hands shaking at his sides. He genuinely believed that if Salvatore ordered it, Alben would shoot him right here on the rug.
"Please, Ben," Felix whispered, his confidence completely evaporating. "Help me. Talk to him."
Alben let out a long, heavy sigh, looking down at Nero’s bruised torso. "You want to stay here with him?"
Felix looked down at Nero, who was shivering against the floorboards, the heavy silver chains clinking weakly with every shallow breath. "Are you crazy?"
"Oh, I don’t mind having both of you here!" Alben chuckled, his tone light but entirely devoid of warmth. "My house has plenty of rooms, and Salvatore is currently very busy with his cute chicken."
"Bastard! Help me, please!" Felix pleaded, taking a desperate step forward. "You are the only one who can talk to him. You know the history I have with Salvatore. I saved his life many times. Please, just talk to him for me."
"What can I do?" Alben stood up slowly, the silk robe pooling around his ankles. His playful demeanor vanished, leaving only the flat, pragmatic reality of a criminal lieutenant.
"Just go away. Run as far as you can from this city. I can only give you that advice. Salvatore won’t waste his time hunting you across the world, but he’ll kill you the exact second he sees your face."
"That’s the problem! I don’t want to leave him!" Felix’s voice rose, tears of frustration and pain blurring his vision. "Please. Tell him I really regret it. I want to stay by his side. I never wanted to betray him, Ben. You know me. I’ve been loyal to Salvatore for years."
Alben chuckled, shaking his head. "I don’t know. I really don’t know. What you did was just so stupid. You took his property, framed an innocent kid, and even helped his enemy take away his precious chicken? I can’t say anything to salvage that. You’re done."
Felix looked down at the floor, his chest tightening until he could barely breathe. Hopelessness settled over him like a shroud.
He looked at Nero, who let out a faint, wet whimper from the floorboards. The absolute destruction of the Hartley family—the fire, the ruined state of Hartley—had all happened because of Milo.
The realization hit Felix harder than any physical blow. Salvatore had destroyed his major alliance for a boy he’d met less than a month ago!
"You want to stay or what?" Alben asked lazily. "I need to play with my new toy now. I need to treat him, or he’ll die by tomorrow."
Felix clenched his hands into tight fists, his nails digging into his palms. Nero was his friend from their university days.
It was incredibly uncomfortable and humiliating to see a Hartley reduced to a naked, chained dog on a living room rug.
But he knew how erratic and cruel Alben could be when left to his own devices.
"Ben, please," Felix said, his voice dropping. "Don’t kill him. He just wanted Milo back. That’s all. Milo was his property."
"It’s his problem," Alben said, walking over to a wooden cabinet and pulling out a heavy medical kit and a roll of thick white tape. "Salvatore asked me to kill him in that basement. It’s a good thing I asked Sal to let him stay at my house instead. I like having cute things."
Alben walked past Felix. He stopped at the open front door and pointed out toward the quiet street. "Go as far away as you can. Before Joe tracks you down."
Even Joe would kill him? Felix didn’t believe it would come to this.
Felix couldn’t say anything else. His mind was completely blank, overwhelmed by the rapid succession of betrayals and failures.
He turned and walked out of the house, his head spinning. He walked down the brick steps into the morning sun, not even noticing the dull aches and pains radiating through his recovering body.
There was no way out. He had been permanently cast aside by Salvatore. He couldn’t imagine a life outside the man’s shadow, without the status, without the man he had spent years obsessing over.
He walked down the sidewalk like a ghost, wondering how a useless boy had managed to destroy everything he’d built.
Inside the house, Alben tossed the medical kit onto the dining table. He walked back to the living room, reached down, and grabbed the heavy silver chains wrapped around Nero’s torso.
With a grunt of effort, he hauled Nero’s naked, bleeding body off the rug and lifted him onto the dining table, the chains scraping loudly against the polished wood.
Nero whimpered, his wired jaw clicking as he tried to turn his head away from the bright dining room lights.
"Let me go..." His voice was completely hoarse, little more than a scraping rattle in his throat.
Alben opened the medical kit, pulling out a bottle of antiseptic, a pair of surgical pliers, and a thick wooden splint.
"Thank your God that you met me, Nero. I can fix anything. You don’t need a professional doctor. I can fix you right here."
Nero flinched as Alben walked closer, the shadow of the larger man completely blocking out the light.
Nero’s swollen, purple eyelids cracked open slightly, registering the glint of the metal forceps in Alben’s hand.
"What... what are you doing?"
Alben didn’t answer with words. He reached out with his left hand, his grip locking onto the back of Nero’s head to pin him to the wooden table.
With his right hand, he grabbed the bridge of Nero’s shattered nose, forcing the displaced bone back into alignment with a brutal, heavy twist of his fingers.
Nero’s body went completely rigid. A high, inhuman scream of pure agony tore from his throat, the sound echoing sharply off the high ceilings of the house.
"Oh, stop being so dramatic," Alben said, entirely unfazed by the screaming as he reached for the white medical tape to secure the wooden splint across Nero’s nose.
"I’m just trying to treat your wounds so you won’t die by tomorrow. We still need you to process your family’s bank accounts, and I need you awake to sign the transfers."
Alben was so excited to build another factory for himself.
***
Portello’s mansion.
It was still morning, and the air was crisp and completely silent. Salvatore stood by the large window in Milo’s bedroom, a fresh, unlit cigarette between his fingers.
He hadn’t slept for more than two hours in the small armchair beside the bed. But he had managed everything over the phone.
He just needed to make sure no police officers or detectives touched the Hartley estate.
Then the door opened quietly, and Dr. Andrew walked inside, carrying his bag.
Inside, he took out fresh gauze, sterile syringes, and a small amber bottle of corticosteroid drops.
Salvatore walked over to the side of the bed and spoke to him.
Milo was still sound asleep, his face was pale, but the bright red chemical blotches from the irritant had faded to a dull pink.
His hands were securely wrapped in thick white bandages to prevent his fingernails from scratching his skin, and his breathing was slow and deep under the effects of the heavy sedative.
"How is his condition today?" Salvatore asked, his voice low and raspy.
Dr. Andrew knelt beside the mattress, gently pulling back the gauze over Milo’s left ear. He used the otoscope to peer inside the canal, checking the tissue carefully before shifting to the right side.
"The corticosteroid drops are doing their job. The tissue inside the canal is no longer bleeding, and the swelling has receded enough for the ear canal to be fully open. The risk of tissue necrosis is entirely gone."
Salvatore let out a slow breath, his shoulders dropping slightly. "Anything else?"
Andrew used a cotton swab to apply a fresh layer of soothing cream across Milo’s jaw and neck. "The welts are clean. No signs of bacterial infection. I’m going to administer a milder sedative now. He will wake up in about four hours."
"What do we need to do when he wakes up?" Salvatore asked, reaching down to gently touch the edge of the clean blanket over Milo’s chest.
"He might panic, just calm him down. His ears will still feel muffled and itchy due to the residual cream inside the canals," Dr. Andrew explained, packing his tools back into the tray. "You must ensure he doesn’t scratch his ears. Keep his hands bandaged for one more day. Give him warm liquids, keep the room dark, and don’t allow any loud noises near this wing. His eardrums are highly sensitive right now."
Salvatore nodded, his gray eyes fixed on Milo’s peaceful face. "I’ll handle it myself."
"Don’t worry, I’ll come back tomorrow to check on him again."
Salvatore nodded. "Thank you so much."
Dr. Andrew smiled. "Well, is he your new bodyguard? He seems to get into much more trouble than anyone else."
Salvatore chuckled. "My men would die from a bullet wound, you wouldn’t have a chance to save them. This one is quite... let’s say, different. I let my guard down for a second, and he ends up like this."
Dr. Andrew chuckled. "Well, I hope I don’t have to come back for him with another problem."
Salvatore shrugged. "I hope so. I don’t like seeing him like this."
Dr. Andrew smiled and left.
Salvatore sat back down on the edge of the bed. He watched the steady rise and fall of Milo’s chest. The anger that had driven him to burn down the Hartley estate was gone, replaced by a quiet, protective determination.
He reached out, his calloused fingers carefully brushing a strand of brown hair away from Milo’s forehead, waiting patiently for the young man to open his eyes.
"Get better soon. I’ll buy you whatever you want when you wake up."
