Chapter 19 Emilio #2
The drive to Inferno gave me time to think. About Marco's warning. About the DA's strategy. About the fundamental shift in how I approached truth.
I'd spent my entire career believing in facts. In evidence. In provable truth. The law was supposed to be objective. Based on what could be demonstrated rather than what people claimed.
But with Sandro, I was operating on faith. Trusting him when he said he'd covered our tracks. Believing him when he promised everything would be fine. Accepting his version of reality even when my instincts screamed that we were one subpoena away from disaster.
It should terrify me. This leap into blind trust. This abandonment of my need for concrete proof.
Instead it felt like freedom.
Like finally letting go of control and accepting that some things couldn't be managed or predicted or defended with perfect preparation. Some things just required trust.
I parked in Inferno's private lot and took the elevator to Sandro's apartment. He was waiting when the doors opened. Still in his suit from the business dinner. Tie loosened. Sleeves rolled up. Looking rumpled and human in ways he usually kept hidden.
"Hey," he said quietly.
"Hey."
We stood looking at each other. Then he crossed the distance and pulled me into his arms. Just held me. Didn't say anything. Didn't try to fix anything. Just offered his presence and his warmth and the steady beat of his heart under my ear.
"I hate this," I admitted against his chest. "I hate not knowing if we're going to get caught. I hate operating on faith instead of facts. I hate that I've become someone who's willing to lie if necessary."
"I know." His hands moved on my back. Soothing. "But you haven't lied yet. And with luck, you won't have to."
"And if my luck runs out?"
"Then we'll deal with it together. Like we deal with everything." He pulled back to look at me. "You're not alone in this, Emilio. Whatever happens, we face it together."
I kissed him because I needed to. Needed to taste him. Needed to feel the solid reality of him against me. Needed to prove to myself that this was real and worth the risk.
He responded immediately. Deepened the kiss. Walked me backward toward the bedroom without breaking contact.
"No talking about the trial tonight," he murmured against my mouth. "No strategizing. No worrying. Just us."
"Just us," I agreed.
We made it to the bedroom. Barely. Sandro pushed me down onto the bed and covered my body with his. Kissed me until I couldn't think about anything except the way he felt. The way he tasted. The way he made everything else fade into irrelevance.
"I need you," I said when he finally let me breathe. "Right now. No foreplay. Just you inside me."
"Emilio—"
"Please. I need to feel you. Need to know this is real." I grabbed his shirt. "Everything else is uncertain. But this—us—this is real. Right?"
"So fucking real." He kissed me hard. "But I'm not rushing this. You need to feel me? I'm going to make sure you feel every inch. Slowly. Until you can't think about anything except how good I make you feel."
He stripped me methodically. Kissing each piece of skin he revealed. By the time I was naked, I was trembling with need. He pushed my legs apart and settled between them. Still fully dressed. The contrast of his suit against my bare skin was obscene and perfect.
"Look at you," he murmured. "So desperate for me. So perfect."
"Sandro, please—"
"Shh. I've got you." He finally started undressing himself. Slow. Deliberate. Making me watch as he revealed his body piece by piece.
When he was finally naked, he grabbed the lube from the nightstand and slicked his fingers. "Spread your legs wider. Let me see you."
I obeyed. Felt exposed and vulnerable and absolutely electrified.
His first finger pushed inside and I gasped. "That's it. Take it. You're so good at this. So perfect for me."
He worked me open with practiced efficiency. Two fingers. Three. Stretching me. Finding angles that made me curse and beg. He knew exactly how to touch me now. Exactly what I needed.
"Ready?" he asked.
"Yes. God, yes. Please—"
He rolled on a condom and positioned himself. Pushed in slowly. So slowly I felt every inch. Every bit of stretch. Every moment of perfect fullness.
"Fuck," he groaned when he was fully seated. "You feel incredible. Always so tight. Always so perfect."
"Move," I demanded. "I need you to move."
He did. Started with slow, deep thrusts that hit every nerve. Made me see stars. Made me forget my own name.
"This," he said against my ear. "This is real. This is us. Everything else is just noise."
He was right. This was real. The way he filled me. The way he moved. The way he made me feel like I was the only thing in the world that mattered.
"Harder," I begged. "I need more."
He gave me more. Changed the angle. Thrust harder. Faster. Found my prostate and hit it with every stroke.
"Touch yourself," he ordered. "I want to feel you come around me."
I wrapped my hand around my cock. Stroked in rhythm with his thrusts. The dual sensation was overwhelming. Perfect. Exactly what I needed.
"That's it. So good. Come for me, Emilio. Let me feel it."
My orgasm hit like a freight train. White-hot pleasure that wiped out every thought. I came across my stomach and chest while my ass clenched around him. Heard him curse. Felt him thrust harder.
"Fuck—Emilio—"
He came with my name on his lips and his teeth on my shoulder. Marking me. Claiming me. Proving this was real in the most primal way possible.
We collapsed together. Both breathing hard. Both completely spent.
After a moment he pulled out carefully. Dealt with the condom. Cleaned us both up with gentle efficiency. Then pulled me against his chest and just held me.
"Better?" he asked quietly.
"Much better." I pressed my face against his neck. "I'm sorry. For spiraling. For doubting."
"Don't apologize. You're allowed to be scared. This is scary." He kissed the top of my head. "But I meant what I said. We're in this together. Whatever happens, we face it together."
"I love you."
"I love you too." He tightened his arms around me. "Now get some sleep. Tomorrow we go back to worrying about the trial. Tonight we just exist together."
I fell asleep in his arms feeling safe despite everything. Despite the DA's strategy. Despite Marco's warning. Despite the very real possibility that everything could still fall apart.
But for tonight, we had this. Had each other. Had the certainty of our bodies and our connection and our choice to be together.
Everything else was noise.
***
I woke to my phone buzzing on the nightstand. Early morning light filtered through the windows. Sandro was still asleep beside me, one arm thrown across my waist possessively.
I grabbed my phone. Text from Diana: Need to talk. Come to office ASAP.
My stomach dropped. Diana didn't send urgent messages unless something was wrong.
I extracted myself from Sandro's arms carefully. Found my clothes. Got dressed as quietly as possible.
Sandro woke anyway. "Where are you going?"
"Diana needs me at the office. Urgent." I buckled my belt. "Probably nothing. But I should check."
He sat up. Rubbed his face. "Call me when you know what it is."
"I will." I kissed him quickly. "Go back to sleep. It's barely 6 AM."
"Not likely now." But he settled back against the pillows. "Be careful."
I took the elevator down and drove to Diana's office. She was waiting in the conference room with coffee and a laptop. Her expression was serious.
"What's wrong?" I asked.
"The DA filed a motion this morning. They want to call you as a witness in Vitale's trial." She turned the laptop to show me. "They're arguing that your relationship with the defendant is relevant to establishing his pattern of manipulation and corruption."
I read the motion. Felt my blood run cold.
"Can they do this?"
"They're trying. I'll fight it. But Emilio..." She looked at me seriously. "If the judge grants this motion, you'll be on the stand. Under oath. And they'll ask you directly when the relationship started."
Everything Marco warned me about. Everything I'd feared. All of it coming true.
"What do I do?"
"You tell the truth. Or you refuse to answer and take the Fifth. But either way, this just got a lot more complicated."
I pulled out my phone and called Sandro.
He answered immediately. "What happened?"
"The DA just filed a motion to call me as a witness. They want to ask me about our relationship. About when it started."
Silence.
Then: "I'm calling an emergency meeting with Diana. We're handling this. Today."
"Sandro—"
"Trust me, Emilio. I said I'd protect you. I meant it."
The call ended.
I looked at Diana. "He's calling you."
"Figured he would." She poured herself more coffee. "This is going to be a long day."
I sat down heavily. Thought about faith versus evidence. About trust versus proof. About the choice I'd made to love someone who operated in a world where truth was flexible and loyalty was everything.
I'd chosen Sandro over safety. Over certainty. Over the comfort of evidence-based reality.
Now I was about to find out if that choice would destroy me.
Or if, somehow, love really could be worth the risk.