Page 22 of Daddy’s Firm Hands (Saddle Up)

STONE

I knew I fucked up the minute Milo let go of my hand at the rodeo. Then I said ‘If you think it’s best’ like a moron. The words felt heavy and final, like the downswing of an axe right before the strike. They were the blade that chopped Milo down, and I hated myself for saying them.

He’s staring out the dash window, his brows furrowed in thought.

I can still feel this broken bond between us, the hurt I caused him a chasm I have to cross.

Claiming I’ll protect him and burn down the world for him isn’t going to fix anything.

They’re just empty words and an opportunity to let him down again.

Milo isn’t some wide-eyed, naive twenty-something.

He’s a member of the most notorious mafia on the east coast, if not the country.

I live in the middle of Montana and I even know who Nueva Notte is.

He may be sweet and pliant under my touch, but he’s a dangerous man who’s tortured and killed people.

Words won’t be enough to fix us, but actions will.

I need to find a way to show Milo that he’s mine. To prove to him I’ll protect him.

We pull up to the winding road that leads us through the ranch to the main house. My phone rings, Doc’s name flashing across the navigation screen briefly before I answer it.

“Boss, they’re at Ironhide,” Doc shouts over raised voices and shuffling in the background.

“What’s going on?” We made a plan to keep the ranch safe. I’ve known Doc since we were in grade school and his father was my father’s foreman. His voice has never held such fear.

“The mafia men somehow surrounded the bunkhouses and the front paddock. We saw it on the cameras. They ambushed Shooter and I, demanding we give them Milo. They opened fire on the bunkhouse and grazed his ear.”

Milo’s face pales to a ghostly white as he frantically searches the winding gravel road to the main house, his head on a swivel. His body is so tense, I think it might snap.

“How much ammo do you have?” Stone asks.

“Not enough to take out the six guys we saw. There might be more.”

“Don’t engage if you can help it. Keep everyone in the bunkhouse. I’m armed and on the way.”

I disconnect the call, turning to see Milo’s wide brown eyes on me. I take his hand in mine, squeezing it partly to comfort him, but also to ease my own fear. To feel the warmth and softness of his skin, as a reminder that he’s still here with me. I’ll be damned if they get their hands on him.

Milo Romano is mine, and Nueva Notte will have to pry him from my cold, dead hands.

I make a U-turn, speeding down the road.

“Where are we going?” Milo’s voice is higher pitched in his confusion.

“I’m going to drop you off at a cabin I keep on the other end of the ranch. You’re going to stay there until I get you. I’ll handle this.”

His laughter is pitiful as he hangs his head in his hands. “Don’t be a hero, Stone. Turn the truck around and hand me over. They’ll slaughter everyone unless I go back with them.”

I break, blocking him from hitting the dashboard with my arm.

“You belong with me, Milo. I’d rather never ride a horse or feel the wind on my face again than give you up,” I growl.

“I know I do…” he trails off, sighing. A tear rolls down his face as he leans over the center console and takes my face in both of his hands.

Our lips meet, the kiss tender and slow. It isn’t all consuming or frantic, like he’s savoring it.

“The farther I run, the faster Mr. Vettore will chase me…until he finally catches me. We were always on borrowed time, Daddy.”

His eyes well with tears, and I know what he’s going to say.

It’s something I can’t stand to hear. I kiss him again, pulling him over the console and into my lap.

Each press of our lips is a brand, a reminder of who he belongs to.

A way for me to stop the words I know are about to tumble from my brave city boy’s mouth.

“I’m tired of looking over my shoulder and constantly running away from my fate. Piero is dead because of me. Elio is alone, because I left him to the wolves. Turn the truck around, it’s time to stop running.”

Milo is right. Rocco will search until he finds him, so we need to face this head on. I need to think of something, fast. Because no matter what happens at the barn house, I will not let him die.

“I’ll drive you to the bunk houses Milo, but I refuse to let you give yourself up. Do you trust me?” I ask him.

“With my life,” he responds without hesitation.

“Good. Because I have an idea crazy enough it might just work. We need to go back to the house.”

I turn the truck around, speeding down the road until I come up to the house. My gun in the glove box is fully loaded, so I shove it into my pocket.

“Wait here,” I order him, slamming the car door behind me. With one hand resting on my gun, I run to the front door, searching the darkness for any signs of people waiting for us. Thankfully, no one fires at me. They must think Milo is a hand staying in one of the bunkhouses.

As soon as I get inside, I do a complete sweep of the bottom floor. Once I clear it, I run upstairs to my gun room and grab as many weapons as Milo and I can carry. I even grab my shotgun by the door on the way out. Hopefully it’s enough to defend us if things go south.

Milo is still in the car when I come back, exactly how I left him, head down, shoulder slumped. My little brat lost all of his spark, and it scares me. He needs to keep his wits about him if we’re going to survive this unscathed. I can’t let him give up on himself, or on us.

“Milo…” I call his name with a little more softness than usual.

He turns to me, showing downturned, pouty lips and sad eyes.

I lean across the center console and kiss him gently.

“When we get there, I’m going to demand you stay with me.

I think my idea will be enough to get you out of this, but you gotta trust me. Okay?”

“You can try.” The somber tone of his voice feels like a nail being driven through my heart.

We drive toward the bunkhouses, my headlights illuminating the darkness.

The closer I get, the more our trespassers come into focus.

There are five men standing with assault rifles outside the barn houses.

Balaclavas cover their faces, and they’re all dressed in black tactical gear.

There’s a sixth man wearing a suit, with no weapons.

I’m assuming he’s Rocco Vettore, the big boss Milo mentioned.

I open Milo’s door for him and undo his seatbelt. For once, he doesn’t smile at my ‘overbearing bullshit’ or roll his eyes. He climbs down, defeat weighing down his usually confident posture.

“Daddy, no matter what happens, thank you. You made these past few weeks worth living.”

I grab his face in my hands, tilting it upward so he can see the determination in my eyes. “Don’t you dare say goodbye to me. My idea is going to work. If it doesn't, I'm not going down without a fight.”

I’ll shoot every last one of those motherfuckers until my corpse is riddled with bullets. If I can’t be with Milo on earth, I’ll meet him wherever we go after life. Whether it’s heaven, hell, or some place in between.

“You don’t know what these people are capable of. They won't just kill you… it’ll be a slow, painful death. I don’t want you to go through that for me.”

“It isn’t your decision.” I squeeze his hand.

He sighs, holding my hand as we walk toward them with slow steps.

I can see the hands peering out the window from behind the curtains, some with wide eyes, others with pure rage.

They don’t like to be cornered, especially in their own home.

And I can only imagine how they feel about Milo lying to them.

“Mr. Vettore, they’re here,” one of the men says as we get closer.

The man who turns around to face us doesn’t look the way I thought he would.

I expected to meet an older man with slicked back salt and pepper hair, like you’d see in the movies.

But he’s younger than me, with impeccable posture and not a gray hair in sight.

He wears an expensive navy suit with the jacket open to reveal a gun harnessed on his side.

He eyes Milo with an air of annoyance, shaking his head like he would at a spoiled little toddler throwing a tantrum.

“Milo, you dragged me all the way out to the middle of bumblefuck Montana to find you.”

“Yes, sir. I did,” he says, holding his head high.

“You botched a deal worth thousands of dollars. Made a mess that cost thousands more for the police to overlook. And left your brother in a puddle of his own blood in the middle of the street.”

Milo nods, accepting the accusations. Why isn’t he fighting? Yelling? Begging for his life?

“You’re coming home with me to discuss punishment. I don’t want to get blood all over this beautiful ranch,” he directs the last part to me, giving me a wicked smile. It’s even creepier because of how white and straight his teeth are.

I cut in before Milo can answer him. “With respect, Mr. Vettore, Milo stays with me.”

He scans me, from hat to boots before his smile drops into a cold mask. “Unfortunately, Milo belongs to Nueva Notte . He made an oath to follow our code, then he broke it. When he lands in New York, he’ll suffer the consequences.”

Mr. Vettore’s words slither out of his mouth like a snake, coiling themselves around Milo’s neck. The fear in his eyes betrays his fake calm. He knows what’ll happen when he goes back home.

“And I know who I want to oversee the punishment.” He gestures to one of the men with him.

The man takes his balaclava off, throwing it to the ground. His face is similar to Milo’s, but it’s not warm or full of life like his. It’s all cold edges.

“ Piero …” Milo gasps. His face pales as the dead man from the picture in Sunny’s report stands in front of us, very much alive.

“Yea, scamp. Turns out I wasn’t dead, just bleeding out. And you fucking ran away with your tail between your legs.”