Chapter Twenty-One

Milo’s heart fell like it was overflowing. It swelled with overwhelming relief as he clung to Torres in the cramped toilet cubicle. The nightmare of the charity gala evaporated, replaced by the comforting solidity of Torres’s presence. Tears spilled unbidden from Milo’s eyes, soaking into the shoulder of Torre’s shirt.

Torres’s brow furrowed with concern as he gingerly stroked Milo’s hair. “What’s wrong, princesa?” he asked, his voice uncharacteristically gentle.

Milo tried to stifle his tears, but they only flowed faster at the tenderness in Torres’s touch. He pressed his lips together, unable to find the words to express the suffocating despair that had consumed him since returning home.

“You have your freedom now,” Torres pointed out, his tone perplexed. “Your wealthy lifestyle, your elegant clothes…” He trailed off, studying Milo’s tear-streaked face. “How can you be unhappy with all the things you have? Your whole life is back, just like you wanted.”

Milo’s throat constricted, rendering him mute. He knew he should be grateful for his restored privileges, for the luxury that surrounded him once more. But it wasn’t freedom.

Torres’s arms tightened around him, and Milo melted into the embrace, drawing strength from the man who had become his anchor in a world turned upside down. He couldn’t articulate the depths of his despair, but instinctively, he knew that Torres would understand. Torres would rescue him from this suffocating existence, just as he had protected him within the brutal confines of the prison.

Milo’s shoulders shook as he clung to Torres, words spilling out of him in a torrent of anguish. “It’s not my life anymore,” he choked out. “It never was. My father…he controls everything. He has me completely under his thumb.”

Torres’s brow furrowed, his eyes searching Milo’s face. “What do you mean?”

Milo drew a shuddering breath, his gaze dropping to the floor. “It was my father who told me to take the fall for his fraudulent business dealings. That was what got me sent to prison in the first place. He said it was the only way to protect the family, to keep the business intact.”

Torres’s expression hardened. “And you trusted him?”

Milo nodded miserably, shame burning in his cheeks. “I’ve always done what he told me, without question. I never stopped to think if it was the right thing to do. I was too afraid to stand up to him, to risk losing everything. He said he’d protect me,” he added, feeling his eyes sting with tears again. “But he didn’t, and now I’m out I’m just as much of a prisoner as I was at Vanguard.”

Torres’s brow furrowed, his gaze intent on Milo’s face. “What do you mean, princesa?”

Milo swallowed hard, his throat tight with emotion. “My father controls every aspect of my life. I’m not allowed to leave the grounds without an escort, and even then, I’m watched like a hawk. I have no access to money, no way to contact the outside world. Even the servants are spies for my father, reporting back to him on my every move.”

He shook his head, a bitter laugh escaping his lips. “I thought coming home would mean freedom, but I’ve just traded one prison for another.” He swiped at his damp cheeks with trembling fingers, his gaze rising to meet Torres’s concerned eyes. A lump formed in his throat as he forced the words out. “The worst part is…at least in prison, I had you.”

Torres’s brow furrowed, but he remained silent.

“I knew you would take care of me,” Milo confessed, his voice catching. “You protected me when no one else would. When I was with you, I…I felt safe.” He swallowed hard, blinking back a fresh wave of tears. “But now I’m trapped again, and you’re not here.”

Milo’s shoulders slumped, a sob tearing from his throat as his fragile composure crumbled. He clutched at Torres’s apron, burying his face in the coarse fabric as his body shook with the force of his anguish. “I wanted to come see you,” he choked out between ragged breaths. “When you got out, I wanted to be there, but my father wouldn’t let me leave.”

Fear coiled in Milo’s gut, a cold dread that gripped him with icy tendrils. What if Torres thought he’d abandoned him? What if Torres believed Milo had simply forgotten about him, content to slip back into the privileged life he’d once known? The thought was unbearable, and Milo clung more tightly to Torres, desperate to convey the depth of his emotions.

“Please,” he begged, his voice muffled against Torres’s apron. “You have to believe me. I never forgot about you, not for a single second. I wanted to be with you, but I couldn’t…” He trailed off, lifting his head to meet Torres’s inscrutable gaze. “Can you forgive me?”

Torres stared at him, then his expression shifted. “Shut up,” he said softly, hauling Milo in close. “Shhh, t’s okay.”

Milo melted into Torres’s embrace, the solid strength of the other man’s arms wrapping around him like a protective shield. Torres’s body was warm and firm, his muscles hard and unyielding beneath the coarse fabric of his shirt. Milo breathed in deeply, inhaling the musky, masculine scent that was uniquely Torres. It filled his nostrils, heady and intoxicating, and Milo felt a wave of yearning wash over him. He had missed this, missed Torres, with an intensity that took his breath away.

For a month, Milo had been in a glittering hell, his every move watched and controlled by his father’s minions. But now, in Torres’s arms, he felt truly safe for the first time since leaving Vanguard. Torres’s embrace firm, a silent promise of protection. Milo clung to him, his fingers fisting in the fabric of Torres’s apron as he tried to convey the depth of his longing through touch alone.

To Milo’s shock, Torres leaned in close, his lips brushing against the shell of Milo’s ear as he murmured, “Come on, putita. Let’s get out of here.”

Milo pulled back, his eyes wide with incredulity as he searched Torres’s face for any hint of jest. But Torres merely quirked an eyebrow, a small smile playing at the corners of his mouth as he unlocked the cubicle door.

Before Milo could protest, Torres had taken his hand, tugging him along in his wake. Milo’s breath caught in his throat at the sensation of his hand engulfed in Torres’s bigger, stronger fingers. When he looked down at their hands, his skin was almost luminescent against Torres’s richer complexion.

“Where are we going?” Milo asked, stumbling slightly as he struggled to keep up with Torres’s longer strides.

Torres glanced back at him, a mischievous glint in his eye. “Oh, princesa,” he said fondly. “I’m kidnapping you.”

***

Angelo felt a surge of adrenaline as he towed Milo through the throng of well-dressed guests toward the staff exit. His senses were on alert, nerves buzzing with exhilaration as he tried to keep out of sight of Milo’s father.

Milo clung to him, breathless as he begged for forgiveness. “God, you don’t know how sorry I am,” he said, his voice cracking with emotion. “Please don’t leave me behind, I can’t bear it.”

Angelo felt something break open inside him, a dam of emotion he’d been holding back for too long. “I won’t,” he promised. “I’m not going anywhere.”

The admission hit him like a punch to the gut, stealing his breath. He needed Milo, needed him like he needed air to breathe. The realization was terrifying and exhilarating all at once.

Suddenly, Milo stopped dead in his tracks, his eyes widening in shock. Angelo followed his gaze and felt his own heart stutter.

A woman in a shimmering gown stood before them, her eyes fixed on Milo with a mixture of love and confusion. Her gaze shifted to Angelo, and he saw the dismay and disgust flickering across her delicate features.

“Milo, what’s going on?” she demanded, her voice tight with worry. “Who is this man?”

Angelo recognized her—Milo’s sister. He swallowed hard, his grip on Milo’s hand tightening instinctively.

Milo looked between them, his face pale and stricken. “Serena, I can explain,” he began, but his words faltered under the weight of his sister’s gaze. Angelo felt Milo’s hand tremble in his own and he gave it a reassuring squeeze, silently urging him to speak.

“This is Torres,” Milo began, his voice shaking. “He took care of me in prison. He protected me, kept me safe. And I…I love him.”

The words shuddered through Angelo, shockwaves of emotion coursing through his body. Milo loved him. Still. After everything.

Serena’s eyes widened, her gaze darting between them. “Milo, you can’t be serious,” she said, her voice tight with disbelief. “He’s an ex-con, for God’s sake!”

Milo’s grip on Angelo’s hand tightened, his jaw clenching with determination. “So am I,” he said, his voice growing stronger. “Remember? Or are we just going to keep pretending that never happened?”

Serena shook her head. “That’s different. Milo, come with me. Come away from him. Father—”

But Milo was stubborn. “Serena, please! You don’t know what it’s like. Dad controls everything. He’s keeping me prisoner. And it’s worse now, because at least in prison I wasn’t alone.”

Angelo felt a surge of sympathy for Milo, his heart aching at the desperation in his voice. He wanted nothing more than to throw Milo over his shoulder and carry him away from all of this. But he knew it wasn’t that simple.

“Please, Serena,” Milo begged, his eyes shimmering with unshed tears. “I’m not free. I’m still trapped, just in a different kind of prison. Let me go. Let me be with Torres.”

To Angelo’s surprise, he saw Serena’s eyes fill with tears, her expression softening as she reached out to embrace her brother. Milo clung to her, his shoulders shaking with silent sobs.

“I want you to be happy, Milo,” Serena said, her voice thick with emotion. “If this is what you want, if he makes you happy, then I support you.”

But when Serena’s gaze shifted to him, Angelo saw the flicker of doubt and mistrust in her eyes. He couldn’t blame her. In her eyes, he must look like nothing more than a Latino career criminal, a man who had taken advantage of her brother’s vulnerability in prison.

The thought made Angelo’s stomach twist with remorse. He had treated Milo badly, had used him horribly. He silently vowed to himself that he would never treat Milo like that again. Still, he deserved Serena’s anger now, so he braced himself for it. But to his surprise, her eyes softened, and she gave him a small, tentative smile.

“Take care of him,” she said quietly. “Promise me you’ll keep him safe.”

Angelo nodded. “I will. I swear it.”

Serena’s smile widened, and she glanced back over her shoulder at the crowded ballroom. “I’ll distract Dad,” she said, her voice low and urgent. “You two get out of here while you can.”

“Thank you,” Milo whispered, his voice barely audible above the din of the gala. Torres nodded at Serena, his heart pounding as he gripped Milo’s hand and pulled him into the crowd, weaving between elegantly dressed guests and waiters balancing trays of champagne. They slipped out through the staff entrance, emerging into the cool night air.

Milo turned to him, his eyes wide and breathless. “Where are we going?” he asked, his voice trembling with excitement.

Angelo lifted Milo’s hand to his mouth, pressing a tender kiss to his knuckles. His heart swelled with joy and relief, a weight lifting from his shoulders. With Milo by his side, he felt like they could go anywhere, do anything. The world was theirs for the taking.

“Somewhere safe,” he murmured, his voice low and reassuring. “Don’t worry about anything, princesa. Leave it to me.”