Salvatore’s mansion.

The morning air was cold as Salvatore walked through the hallway. He could hear the heavy thud of boots on the grass outside. The guards were doing their daily exercises.

Usually, this sound made him feel in control, but today, his mind was elsewhere. He kept thinking about Milo.

He tried to tell himself it wasn’t his business. Milo had made his choice. Salvatore had offered him a place to stay, yet he had crawled back to Nero Hartley.

It was a foolish decision, but it was Milo’s life. Salvatore had enough problems of his own. He had an empire to rebuild and enemies to eliminate. He shouldn’t be worrying about a broken man who was too afraid to run.

He passed the kitchen and saw the staff working. He noticed they were still nervous around him. Since Salvatore had killed his uncle, Niccolo, the house felt different.

They were all Niccolo’s staff. After the old man died, Salvatore gave the servants a choice: leave or stay and be loyal.

Many had left. The ones who stayed were quiet and kept their heads down. They were neutral people who just needed a job and money.

He gave them a choice, but not the chef. He had fired the previous chef. Instead, he had hired Luke, a man who ran a small business and whom he knew well. Luke wouldn’t try to poison him.

Salvatore didn’t mind their fear. In his world, fear was safer than love. He couldn’t trust anyone. He had learned that from watching his parents die. He had learned that from every year he spent surviving in the Portello family.

"Salvatore!" Felix’s voice broke the silence.

Salvatore stopped and turned around.

Felix was running down the corridor, his face red and his breath coming in short gasps. Two other men were right behind him.

Salvatore sensed disaster. "It’s still early. I hope you aren’t bringing me bad news."

Felix stopped in front of him, leaning over with his hands on his knees. "It’s too late. Ronald is dead."

Salvatore fell silent. He tried to process it.

"What?" He felt a sharp surge of heat in his chest. "What do you mean? Speak clearly."

"Police found him in his car this morning," Felix said, looking straight ahead. "He was shot in the head."

Salvatore’s hands clenched into tight fists. He had just seen Ronald last night. He had sent the man on a routine task. He felt anger boiling.

"Who did it?" Salvatore asked. His voice was dangerously low.

Felix shook his head. "Joe is looking into it now. But we all know. It has to be Macron."

Salvatore didn’t say another word. He turned and walked toward the front door.

Roderick, who had heard the shouting, came running from the dining room. He didn’t ask questions.

He saw the look on Salvatore’s face and grabbed his car keys.

"Close the case," Salvatore ordered as they walked to the car. "I don’t want the police or the media involved. It will only slow things down. I want to find whoever did this and kill them myself."

Ronald had no family. Salvatore had known him very well for years. There would be no one to object to his order.

They drove to the private hospital where the body had been taken. Roderick kept his eyes on the road and his hand near his gun. Moving around the city was dangerous now.

Macron was watching from somewhere.

But Salvatore didn’t care about the risk. He felt insulted. Killing his men was a direct message to him. He couldn’t stay hidden in his mansion like a coward.

"That bastard. Where is he?" he muttered.

The funeral was held that same afternoon. It was a quick, private service at the small cemetery the Portello family owned. There were no long speeches.

The servants from the mansion came to the burial. Many of them had liked Ronald. He was one of the few guards who was actually nice. Many of them were quietly crying into their handkerchiefs.

Luke stood in the back, staring at the ground. Even the guards who usually looked tough were silent and somber.

Salvatore stood at the edge of the open grave. He watched as the wooden casket was lowered into the ground. His mind was filled with plans for revenge. He kept thinking about where Macron might be hiding.

But then, a specific memory pushed through the anger.

He remembered Milo. He remembered that young man’s words.

"Sir, he is going to die in a few days."

Salvatore had laughed at him. He had told the boy to go to sleep. He didn’t believe it. He thought Milo was just making up stories to stay in the mansion.

But Ronald was dead.

Could this be a coincidence?

He hadn’t died from a long illness. He hadn’t died in a car accident. He had been murdered days after Milo predicted it.

Salvatore watched the dirt fall onto the top of the coffin. A chill spread through his stomach. It wasn’t fear, but a deep sense of unease.

He didn’t believe in anything illogical. He didn’t believe in people who could see the future. He believed in guns, money, and power.

But there was no logical way Milo could have known. Ronald was a healthy man. He was a good fighter. There were no threats against him specifically.

Salvatore looked at Roderick, who was standing next to him. "Rod."

"Yes, Boss?"

"When Milo was here... did he talk to anyone else about Ronald?"

Roderick shook his head. "No. Well, I’m not sure. Why?"

Salvatore didn’t answer. He looked back at the grave. If Milo could really see death, then everything Salvatore knew about the world was wrong.

But what could he do now? What would Milo have done if he had believed his own words? Nothing.

Salvatore was lost in thought. Could Nero have known about Milo’s ability and used it? Deliberately sent the young man to him?

Was that why Milo insisted on sleeping with him?

Did someone have to sleep with Milo so the young man would know that person was going to die?

Salvatore didn’t know. But he was curious enough and intrigued by Milo.

Salvatore felt a sudden need to see the boy. He wanted to grab him by the shoulders and demand to know how he did it. He wanted to know if the boy was playing a trick.

But Milo was with Nero now. Suddenly, he remembered the young man begging him to let him stay. He remembered the bruises on Milo’s body and the way he flinched at every loud noise.

The funeral ended. The servants started walking back to the cars, whispering to each other. Salvatore stayed by the grave for a long time.

"Boss, we should go," Roderick said softly. "It’s not safe to stay out in the open for too long."

Salvatore nodded, but his eyes were fixed on a random spot, as if he were trying to clear his mind.

"Rod," Salvatore said as they walked back to the car. "I want you to check on Hartley."

Roderick looked surprised. "Hartley? Why do we care about them right now? We have Macron to deal with."

"Just do it," Salvatore said firmly.

He got into the back seat of the car and stared out the window. He kept seeing Milo’s eyes. They were hazel and innocent.

Salvatore realized that he didn’t just want to know if Milo was a seer. He wanted to know if the boy was still alive.

If Milo could see Ronald’s death, then he definitely knew what was coming for everyone else.

Salvatore leaned his head back against the seat and closed his eyes. He thought about the way Milo had looked when he was cleaning the chimney, covered in soot, working hard, just to be "useful." He was a boy who wanted to live.

Why the hell should he care?!

He didn’t know if he believed in the "death sight" yet. But he knew one thing: he couldn’t stop thinking about the boy who had predicted the death. He had to know the truth.