The Mafia's Stolen Prize (BL)

Chapter 98: Pieces of the Past

Sebastian Gallo sat at the small wooden desk in his house. The morning newspaper lay spread out before him. The bold black ink of the headline stared back at him:

Hartley Mansion Destroyed in Overnight Gas Explosion.

He rubbed his chin, his rough, calloused fingers tracing the lines of his jaw as he read the article for the third time.

The official report was simple, concise, and completely definitive. A catastrophic leak in the main gas line had triggered a massive blast, leveling the estate and killing everyone inside within minutes.

The police department had already closed the case, citing it as an unfortunate accident.

Gallo let out a slow, heavy sigh and folded the paper. He had worked with Portello and Hartley long enough to know that the incident wasn’t that simple.

He knew exactly who was behind it.

Salvatore had stood in his yard just days ago, calmly demanding that Gallo accept the position of head winemaker for the Portello estate again. The man had been so determined that Gallo was sure Hartley would fall.

Now he knew the reason.

Actually, he was grateful that he had accepted the offer, otherwise, he might be dead by now as well. He was simply amazed by the sheer, terrifying efficiency of it all.

Salvatore had resolved the entire issue seamlessly, eliminating his enemy in a single stroke. Yet Gallo couldn’t fathom what had actually triggered such a violent display of force.

Salvatore was a calculating man. He didn’t burn down empires over shipping routes or vineyard staff. Something far more significant must have occurred to make the Don that furious.

He glanced back at the newspaper, but by the next day, the article had already been pushed to the bottom of the third page.

A new, larger scandal involving a high-ranking politician’s financial fraud had taken over the front-page headlines, completely burying the remnants of the Hartley name from public attention.

The world moved on, but the underworld remained entirely still.

The complete destruction of the Hartley family sent a massive shockwave through the city’s criminal network. Among the devils of the underworld, Salvatore Portello’s name was suddenly on everyone’s lips.

Before the Hartley incident, many of Portello’s older allies had underestimated Salvatore. They saw him as a young man struggling to rebuild his family’s empire, and several of them had openly sided with Niccolo or kept their distance, waiting for the Portello name to fade away completely.

Now, the atmosphere had shifted. The sheer brutality and speed of the Hartley massacre proved that Salvatore was entirely unpredictable when provoked.

He hadn’t merely fought them; he had wiped out their legacy, their assets, and their very name in less than forty-eight hours.

The criminal families who had previously dismissed him began to show a sudden, stiff respect. They didn’t like him, and they didn’t trust him, but they absolutely did not want to cross the Portello family. freeweɓnovel.cøm

They fell into line, securing Salvatore’s borders out of pure, unadulterated fear.

That night, inside his office, Salvatore sat behind his desk, a fresh glass of whiskey resting near his hand, though he hadn’t touched it.

Roderick stood on the opposite side of the desk, looking serious. freeweɓnovel.cѳm

"Mangion, the police chief received the second delivery this afternoon," Roderick stated. "He confirmed that the investigation into the Hartley property is permanently closed. The forensics team has already cleared the debris for city demolition. But he’s asking for an additional cut from the eastern docks transit to... you know, ensure the internal affairs detectives don’t look into the closed case."

Salvatore didn’t blink. He kept his eyes on the desk.

"Just give him whatever he wants. Keep his mouth shut. They just want money."

Roderick nodded. He flipped to the next page, his expression turning slightly curious.

"I ran the background check you requested on Sebastian Gallo."

Salvatore leaned back in his chair, his gray eyes fixed on Roderick’s face. He looked calm, but his eyes sparkled with curiosity.

"Tell me."

"He has a wife and two sons. They’re still alive," Roderick reported. "They live in a small house near the lower valley. One son works as a mechanic; the other is still in high school. There’s nothing significant or unusual about their financial history. He’s been a quiet, hardworking man his whole life. What exactly are you trying to find out about him?"

Salvatore remained silent for a moment. He tapped his thumb against the armrest of his chair.

"He has a brother, as I recall. Where are they now?"

Roderick nodded.

"Yes, he had an older brother. But according to the records, his brother, his brother’s wife, and their son died in a severe road accident a long time ago. The case was closed."

Salvatore’s eyes narrowed slightly. He stared past Roderick, his mind drifting back to his own childhood inside the mansion, back when his father was still running the family.

He remembered the old vineyard gatherings, the scent of fermenting grapes, and the families who used to visit the main house during harvest season.

"As I recall, they had two sons," Salvatore said, his voice dropping to a lower, more deliberate tone. "I know my father used to speak with them when they came to the courtyard. As I recall, they had two boys."

Roderick fell silent, his brow furrowing as he noticed the specific intensity in Salvatore’s posture.

"Well, the official death registry only lists one child in the vehicle during the accident. If there was a second son, he isn’t listed under the Gallo household assets or the insurance claims. I don’t know the details. I’ll find out."

He paused, looking at Salvatore steadily. "What exactly do you want to know, Sal? Is this related to the vineyard restoration?"

Salvatore didn’t answer the question. His thoughts remained fixed on the image of a boy who had been left at the Hartley mansion.

If his memory of his father’s old conversations was correct, Salvatore might have already met Milo when the boy was just a baby, wrapped in a blanket in the back of a vintage supply truck.

He remembered lifting the baby himself.

The cute baby with big, beautiful hazel eyes.

The memory stirred something inside him. He wasn’t ready to accept that the baby was actually Milo.

"Just check on them," Salvatore commanded, his tone final and cold, leaving no room for further discussion. "I want to know where the rest of that family went. Find the original accident report and the hospital admission records for that family."

Roderick recognized the shift in Salvatore’s mood. He bowed his head slightly.

"I’ll handle it myself. I’ll report back to you soon."

"Good. Thanks," Salvatore said.

Roderick nodded. He turned and walked out of the office, the heavy door clicking shut behind him.

Salvatore stood up from his desk and walked toward the large window, looking out over the dark fields that led toward the training grounds. He reached into his pocket, pulled out a cigarette, and lit it, inhaling the heavy smoke to clear his mind.

The pieces of the puzzle were falling into place, but they left a bitter taste in his mouth. Sebastian Gallo wasn’t just a talented winemaker who had ended up under a Hartley contract by accident.

He was the uncle who had signed his own nephew over to a monster for who knew what benefit.

His respect for the old man had faded slightly.

But he still needed him.

He had to rebuild his family’s vineyard.

Salvatore exhaled a long cloud of gray smoke against the glass pane. He thought about Milo, who was currently sleeping.

He remembered Milo saying he’d rather his uncle forget about him. Milo had chosen to stay silent because he believed it was easier to be forgotten than to force a man to remember him.

Salvatore’s grip on the cigarette tightened until the paper crinkled.

He had told Milo that what Gallo did was separate from the business, that the vineyard required the old man’s expertise.

But as he watched the distant shadows of the guards moving along the stone walls, Salvatore knew that the truth couldn’t stay buried forever.

Once Roderick brought him the final information he needed, Salvatore would have to decide exactly how much of the past he was going to reveal to the fragile boy who was currently sleeping under his protection.

He finished the cigarette, crushed the ember into a glass tray, and left the office, walking down the long, silent corridor toward the guest wing to check on Milo one last time before morning came.

Once he arrived at Milo’s room, he pushed the door open, stepping into the dim room where the only light came from the faint silver glow of the moon filtering through the heavy drapes.

Salvatore walked to the side of the bed and looked down.

Milo was fast asleep, his breathing light and even. The tight white bandages still covered his hands, resting quietly on the clean blanket.

Salvatore sat down slowly on the edge of the mattress, his gray eyes following the gentle rise and fall of the young man’s chest.

His mind was weighed down by fragments of the past.

The memory of a small, swaddled bundle with large, beautiful hazel eyes in the back of an old winery supply truck.

It seemed impossible, yet the timing and the records pointed to a brutal reality.

He reached out, his rough, calloused fingers pausing just an inch above Milo’s hair, not wanting to disturb him.

He didn’t know why he was so angry at the thought that Sebastian Gallo had traded this child away like an unwanted asset, leaving him to be broken by monsters for years.

How could Gallo not even check on him?

How could Gallo not know how badly Nero had treated him?

"Milo, could it be that we shared the same fate... to find each other in the end?"