The Mafia's Stolen Prize (BL)

Chapter 90: The Devil’s Retribution

Alben stepped over the corpse, a gun held casually in his right hand. His usual lazy, bored expression had been replaced by a cold, sharp alertness.

He took in Milo’s bleeding, powder-covered body, the silver case of uncut irritant, and Nero standing by the bar cart. The little chicken Salvatore had protected was now lying naked and helpless on the floor.

Alben looked at Nero and smirked. "Even the devil wouldn’t do something like this."

Nero looked at Alben. He had already braced himself for the possibility that Salvatore might come for Milo, but he never expected that man would actually come and kill his men. In his own house! Right in front of him!

"What are you doing?!" Nero lost his composure, glaring at Alben with murderous intent.

Alben just chuckled. "SAL! YOUR CHICKEN IS HERE!!" he screamed again, this time louder.

The response was immediate. The hallway outside erupted with the heavy, rhythmic thud of combat boots.

Salvatore stormed into the basement, followed closely by Joe. These men weren’t dressed in their usual suits, they looked more like executioners.

Salvatore’s black wool coat billowed behind him, and the pistol in his grip was steady.

Joe moved in perfect synchronization, covering the flank, his eyes fixed on Sean and Pablo.

"Don’t move a fucking muscle!" Joe commanded, his voice a low, gravelly rumble.

Nero’s face twisted from shock into a desperate, feral snarl. He was a man accustomed to absolute authority within his own walls, and the sudden invasion shattered his sense of security.

He hadn’t expected any of this. Why would Salvatore threaten him, his own ally, like this, just for a pet like Milo?

But after all, he was already prepared. He just smiled because this time, he was the one who would kill them all. He didn’t care about anything else. It wasn’t just about Milo anymore, but about his pride as well.

He hated Salvatore with all his heart.

Nero stepped back.

"Sean! Pablo! Kill them! Don’t care about anything else! Just kill them all!" His voice cracked as he scrambled behind him to reach for his pistol.

Sean and Pablo were already armed after what happened at the hotel. They were determined to protect Nero at all costs.

But Sean wasn’t like Pablo, who had experience with guns. His movements were sluggish, he was still recovering from the shock.

Alben didn’t give them a chance to move, not even Salvatore. He raised his gun with practiced ease and pulled the trigger twice in rapid succession.

The deafening cracks of the gun filled the small basement.

Nero’s eyes widened. "PABLO!"

The first bullet tore through Pablo’s shoulder, spinning him around. The second hit him in the chest, lifting him off his feet and slamming him into the photographer’s tripod.

The camera shattered against the stone floor as Pablo collapsed into a motionless heap.

Sean was shocked, but he moved quickly. He tried to aim at Alben, but Joe was already on the move.

Joe didn’t bother shooting from a distance; he stepped into Sean’s space, grabbed the barrel of Sean’s gun with his bare hand, and twisted it upward until the bone in Sean’s wrist snapped with a loud, wet crack.

"AARRGHH!" Sean let out a muffled whimper.

Joe didn’t pause. He brought the butt of his own weapon down hard across the side of Sean’s head. Sean crumpled to the floor, his eyes rolling back as he completely lost consciousness, bleeding heavily into the dirt.

Nero gasped. "NOOO!"

Sean... his Sean... was dead?

Joe didn’t stop. He shot Sean’s unconscious body in the head twice.

Nero’s mouth fell open. No way, no fucking way!

His body trembled violently. He looked at Salvatore, then Alben, then Joe, and the many guards who had followed them.

Who was evil enough to kill an unconscious man so brutally?

Why the hell did they bring so many people? Just for Milo?

"ARE YOU FUCKING CRAZY?!" Nero’s voice echoed through the basement.

Nero finally wrapped his fingers around the gun’s grip, but before he could raise the barrel, Salvatore was there.

Salvatore had already spotted Milo. His blood boiled so fiercely that he lost control. He knew exactly that he couldn’t lose control on the battlefield, but he did anyway.

That fucking monster needs to be killed. Salvatore vowed to kill Nero.

Salvatore moved with terrifying speed. He kicked Sean’s corpse and the tray out of the way, sending the bottles of expensive scotch crashing onto the concrete.

He was in a rage.

He reached out and grabbed Nero by the front of his pristine shirt, lifting the smaller man nearly off his feet before slamming him hard against the rough stone wall.

The impact forced the air from Nero’s lungs in a violent gasp, and the gun slipped from his fingers, clattering uselessly to the ground.

Salvatore didn’t hesitate. He delivered a brutal, close-range punch directly into Nero’s stomach.

Nero doubled over, his eyes bulging as he retched. His trembling hand reached for his gun, but Salvatore grabbed him by the hair, yanked his head back, and smashed his fist into Nero’s nose.

The bone shattered instantly, spraying dark red blood across Nero’s expensive silk tie. free𝑤ebnovel.com

Nero’s scream was inhuman, loud and ear-splitting.

"Didn’t I tell you not to touch my men?" Salvatore hissed, his voice dropping low.

"How many times do I have to tell you before your tiny brain can grasp my words?" He threw Nero to the floor, then brought his heavy boot down onto Nero’s ribs.

The sound of cracking bone echoed through the room.

"STOP! STOP IT! YOU’LL KILL ME!" Nero let out a high-pitched, pathetic whine, curling into a fetal position as he clutched his side. His body trembled violently.

Salvatore shifted his weight, drawing his pistol again and aiming it directly between Nero’s eyes. His finger tightened on the trigger.

He didn’t care about anything. He’d calculated everything well, and there was no point in keeping Hartley on his side.

He just wanted to erase the man from the face of the earth.

"Sal, wait, wait," Alben said, stepping forward and placing a firm hand on Salvatore’s shoulder. His tone was unusually steady. "Don’t waste a bullet on this piece of trash. Look at your chicken. I’ll take care of him."

Salvatore’s chest heaved as he stared down at Nero’s bleeding, ruined face. For three seconds, the room remained entirely still, the only sound being Nero’s ragged, wet breathing.

Slowly, Salvatore lowered the barrel of the gun. He turned his head toward the center of the room.

Milo was still tied to the floor, his legs spread wide and his left arm bound tightly with heavy rope. The release of his right arm had only made things worse.

Now that the immediate threat of Nero’s cane was gone, his nervous system was entirely consumed by the maddening, electrical irritation of the itchy powder. He couldn’t focus on anything happening around him.

He was too consumed by his pain and suffering.

Salvatore stood up and walked quickly toward Milo. His heart ached at the sight of Milo’s condition.

Milo was writhing against the stone, his skin a bright, blotchy red covered in white dust. His right hand was a blur of frantic, desperate movement.

His fingernails were already clogged with blood as he clawed at his neck, his jaw, and the outer rims of his ears, tearing his own flesh in a futile attempt to stop the deep, internal burning.

Milo mumbled and sobbed, his voice completely broken. His eyes were glassy and unfocused, blind to the fact that Salvatore was standing right beside him.

He let out a guttural, animal-like shriek as his fingers dug into his cheek, drawing fresh crimson lines down his skin.

Salvatore dropped his gun into its holster and fell to his knees beside Milo. The cold, calculated mask of the Don vanished completely, replaced by raw, immediate panic.

"Milo. Stop! Don’t scratch!"

He grabbed Milo’s right wrist, pinning it away from his face. Milo fought against the grip with surprising, frantic strength born of pure desperation.

"Let me go! It’s itchy! Please, it’s inside my head! I can’t scratch it!"

"Get these ropes off him! Now!" Salvatore shouted to the guards surrounding them.

One of the guards produced a tactical knife from his vest, slicing through the coarse fibers around Milo’s ankles and left wrist in three clean strokes.

The moment his limbs were free, Milo didn’t try to stand. He instantly brought both hands to his head, his fingers scrabbling violently at his ear canals, trying to dig deep enough to reach the burning dust Sean had poured inside.

"No! Don’t scratch it!" Salvatore ordered, grabbing both of Milo’s wrists and pulling them away by force.

Milo’s body arched off the floor, his muscles twitching violently as his skin reacted to the friction of the powder. He was covered in a mixture of sweat, blood, and white chemical dust.

Salvatore didn’t waste any more time analyzing the situation. He slid his arms under Milo’s naked, trembling body, lifting him off the concrete in one smooth motion.

The contrast between Milo’s pale, blood-streaked skin and Salvatore’s heavy black coat was stark.

Milo immediately tried to twist in his arms, his head thrashing against Salvatore’s chest as he tried to rub his burning ears against the wool of the coat.

"Alben, kill everyone here! All of them!" Salvatore commanded in a rage.

Alben knew what he had to do.

Salvatore carried Milo up the narrow stone steps, his grip unyielding despite Milo’s frantic twisting.

Milo was weeping openly now, the tears mixing with the white powder on his face, causing the irritant to dissolve and seep deeper into his pores.

The itch was transforming into a pure, localized chemical burn.

They reached the nearest room, a cold, tiled space with a concrete basin and a large rubber hose attached to a heavy brass valve.

Salvatore stepped directly into the basin, ignoring the water that immediately soaked through his expensive leather boots.

He set Milo down on the concrete edge, maintaining a tight, crushing grip on both of the young man’s wrists with one hand. With his free hand, he grabbed the hose and yanked the valve open.

Cold water blasted from the nozzle.

"This is going to hurt, Milo, but you need to stay still," Salvatore muttered, his face grim.

He directed the stream of cold water directly onto Milo’s chest and shoulders. The moment the water hit the powder, Milo let out a high-pitched, panicked shriek that echoed off the tiles.

The wet chemical intensified the pain for a fraction of a second before the sheer volume of the water began to wash it away in milky white streaks down the drain.

"Hold his head!" Salvatore shouted over the noise of the rushing water.

A guard who had followed him stepped into the basin, his boots splashing as he grabbed Milo’s chin, forcing his head to the side.

Salvatore adjusted the nozzle to a gentler spray, directing the cold water directly into Milo’s left ear canal, flushing out the white grains Sean had poured inside.

Milo choked on his own tears, his body convulsing against Salvatore’s chest as the water cleared the deep, unreachable irritation.

"Please... it hurts..."

"I know. Keep still," Salvatore murmured, his voice dropping into a quiet, steady tone.

He turned Milo’s head and repeated the process on the right ear, ensuring every grain of the uncut irritant was thoroughly washed down the drain. freewebnσvel.cѳm

He continued to rinse Milo’s entire body, using his own hand to gently wipe away the remaining residue from the raw welts on Milo’s thighs and back, ensuring Milo’s nails couldn’t do any more damage.

By the time the water ran completely clear, Milo was shaking from a combination of shock and hypothermia.

The bright red blotches on his skin were cooling, but physical exhaustion had finally taken over. He stopped fighting. He let his head drop heavily against Salvatore’s wet shoulder, his breath coming in ragged, tiny gasps.

Salvatore turned off the valve. The sudden silence in the tiled room was absolute, broken only by the sound of dripping water.

He reached for a clean towel hanging from the rack, wrapping it tightly around Milo’s shivering shoulders.

He lifted Milo out of the basin, holding him close against his wet wool coat. He looked at the guard, his eyes dead and focused.

"Get the car. We’re going back to the mansion. Call Andrew and tell him to be waiting in the driveway with a sedative."

The guard nodded and ran ahead of Salvatore.

Milo was so weak, yet he thought he could see many corpses along the way.

Was he dreaming?