A week later.
For Milo, the days had blurred together into a slow, monotonous routine of eating, resting, and sleeping. His body felt fit again, the burns on his neck and jaw had faded into faint pink marks, and the dark purple welts on his back had settled into dull, manageable bruises.
Yet, Salvatore refused to let him return to his duties. He wasn't allowed on the training field with the other guards, and he wasn't allowed to help around the house or fetch coffee.
Every time Milo tried to stand by the door to assist, Salvatore would give him a flat, cold look and order him back to his room.
Milo felt less like a guard and more like a fragile porcelain object that the Don had locked away in a cabinet to keep from breaking.
The protection felt scary to him.
He was afraid he might fall in love.
Or maybe he had already fallen in love.
His ears still felt strange. The deep, watery roar had gone after Dr. Andrew's treatments, but his hearing hadn't fully returned to normal.
