Chapter 6 Matteo
THE CHESS GAMES became a routine.
Every evening at eight PM, I'd take the board to Stefan's room. Set it up on the table. We'd play in silence that had shifted from hostile to something else. Something almost comfortable.
Sometimes Stefan won—his endgame strategy was better than mine, more patient. Sometimes I did—I was better at aggressive openings, creating chaos he had to navigate. More often we ended in stalemate. Evenly matched. Neither of us willing to concede.
We still barely talked. A few words about the game, maybe. "Good move." "Didn't see that coming." "Rematch tomorrow." But mostly silence.
The kind of silence that felt intimate instead of empty.
I was losing myself in this. In him. In the nightly ritual of sitting across from Stefan Romano and communicating through chess pieces and weighted stares instead of words.
I knew it was dangerous. Knew I should be focused on extracting information or leveraging him against Giuseppe or doing literally anything productive instead of playing chess every night like we were friends instead of captor and captive.
But I couldn't stop.
My partners noticed.
We had a meeting about the RICO trial—Diana had filed suppression motions on the evidence obtained from Vincent's wire, arguing the warrants were overly broad. The judge would rule within two weeks. It was good news. Progress.
I barely registered it.
After Diana left, Sandro dismissed Elio and Luca but gestured for me to stay.
"How's the Stefan situation going?" he asked once we were alone.
"Fine. He's secure. No issues."
"That's not what I asked." Sandro leaned back in his chair, studying me with those calculating eyes that saw too much. "Are you getting information from him? Making progress on understanding Romano family operations? Learning anything useful?"
I hesitated.
"Matteo." Sandro's voice was patient. Dangerous. "Are you actually getting information or just playing house with Giuseppe's son?"
The words hit harder than they should have.
"I'm working on it," I said. "Breaking someone takes time. I need to establish trust first—"
"Trust." Sandro raised an eyebrow. "That's what you're calling it?"
"He's not going to give me anything useful if he thinks I'm just going to kill him afterwards."
"So you're keeping him comfortable. Fed. Playing chess with him every night." It wasn't a question. Sandro knew. Of course he knew. He had access to all the security feeds. "That's one strategy. But it's not working on intelligence gathering. It's working on something else."
I didn't have a good answer.
Sandro sighed. "I'm not telling you to stop. I made my decision when I said you could keep him. But be honest with yourself about what you're doing. And why."
I left his office feeling like I'd been stripped bare.
Elio caught me in the hallway.
"This is getting out of hand," he said without preamble.
"Stefan's been missing for over a week. Giuseppe has to be looking for him.
Asking questions. Putting pressure on mutual associates.
The longer this goes on, the more likely it becomes a war we can't afford.
Not with the trial starting in five months. "
"I know."
"Then do something about it. Either use him for leverage or let him go. Keeping him indefinitely isn't sustainable."
"I'll handle it."
"When?" Elio's frustration was clear. "When Giuseppe shows up with an army? When the FBI starts asking why we're holding a civilian hostage? When this blows up in all our faces?"
"I said I'll handle it."
I walked away before he could push further.
Luca found me in my office an hour later.
"We could use Stefan as leverage," he said, getting straight to the point like he always did. "Trade him back to Giuseppe in exchange for information about the FBI investigation. What they have. Who's cooperating. What their timeline looks like. It's the smart play."
It was the smart play. The strategic move. The thing a rational person would do with a hostage from a rival family.
"No."
"Why not?"
"Because I'm keeping him."
"For what purpose?" Luca studied my face. "You're not getting intelligence. You're not using him as leverage. You're just... keeping him. Like a pet. Or a trophy. Neither of which helps us with the actual problems we're facing."
"I know what I'm doing."
"Do you?" Luca's voice was mild but his eyes were sharp.
"Because from where I'm standing, you're making emotional decisions about someone you barely know.
That's not like you, Matteo. You're the one who stays cold.
Who makes hard calls. Who does what needs to be done regardless of personal feelings. "
"This is different."
"Obviously. The question is whether different is going to get us all killed."
He left me alone with that thought.
I sat in my office and stared at the security feed from Stefan's room.
He was reading. One of the books from the shelf—looked like a thriller based on the cover.
His hair was messy like he'd been running his hands through it.
The fresh t-shirt I'd given him had ridden up slightly, showing a strip of skin at his waist.
I wanted him.
The admission was getting harder to ignore. Every night I spent with him, every chess game, every weighted stare across the board—it all fed into the obsession growing in my chest like something alive. Something with teeth and claws and an appetite I couldn't satisfy.
I wanted to touch him. Taste him. Find out if he'd fight me or surrender. If that defiance would translate into passion or if I'd have to break through his walls piece by piece until he admitted he wanted this too.
Because he did want it. I could see it in the way his breath caught when I leaned too close. The way his pupils dilated when our hands accidentally brushed reaching for chess pieces. The way his pulse hammered visibly in his throat when I stared at him too long.
Stefan Romano wanted me as much as I wanted him.
He just hadn't admitted it yet.
At eight PM, I grabbed the chessboard and headed to his room.
Stefan was waiting. Sitting on the bed, already looking toward the door like he'd been counting down the minutes until I arrived.
Something in my chest tightened at the sight.
I set up the board without speaking. Black for me. White for him. He moved to the table and sat across from me.
We played.
Stefan opened aggressively tonight—queen's gambit, sacrificing a pawn for position.
I accepted the sacrifice and tried to consolidate my advantage.
He pressured my center. I defended and counterattacked.
We traded pieces carefully, neither of us willing to make the mistake that would cost us the game.
Halfway through, Stefan spoke.
"Why are you keeping me alive?"
His voice was quiet but steady. Not scared. Just curious.
"I'm still deciding what to do with you," I said, moving my knight.
"That's a lie."
I looked up. Stefan's green eyes met mine with an intensity that made something in my chest shift.
"You've had plenty of time to decide," he continued. "If you wanted me dead, I'd be dead already. If you wanted to send me back to my father in pieces as a message, you'd have done that by now. So what is this? What am I actually doing here?"
I was impressed he'd figured that out. Most people took much longer to realize they weren't in immediate danger. Stefan had been cataloging my patterns, reading my intentions, working out the truth underneath the threat.
"What do you think is happening?" I asked.
Stefan was quiet for a moment. His fingers traced the edge of a captured pawn. Then his eyes lifted to mine.
"Either you're keeping me as leverage against my father," he said slowly. "Or you want something else."
His voice dropped on the last part. Low and rough. Weighted with implications neither of us had spoken aloud until now.
My breath caught.
I leaned across the chessboard. Close enough to see the gold flecks in his green eyes. Close enough to count his heartbeats in the pulse jumping at his throat.
"What do you think I want?" I asked.
Stefan's pulse was hammering. I could see it. Could probably reach out and feel it if I pressed my fingers to his skin.
But he didn't back down. Didn't look away. Didn't hide behind fear or denial.
"You've been staring at me like you're starving since you caught me," he said bluntly. "Either you're planning elaborate torture or you want to fuck me. Maybe both."
The honesty shocked me.
I'd expected fear. Expected him to dance around the truth or pretend he didn't notice the tension between us. Expected denial or deflection or any of the self-protective lies people told themselves when facing uncomfortable truths.
Not this. Not blunt acknowledgment of exactly what was happening.
"You're perceptive," I managed.
"I'm not blind." Stefan's eyes held mine. "The question is what you plan to do about it."
We stared at each other across the chessboard.
The pieces were frozen mid-game. My queen threatening his king. His bishop controlling the diagonal. Both of us positioned for attack or defense depending on the next move.
Like us.
I could push. Could reach across this table and pull him to me. Could find out if his mouth tasted as good as I'd imagined. Could strip away the careful control we'd both been maintaining and let this obsession consume us both.
Or I could retreat. Could pretend this conversation never happened. Could maintain the fiction that I was just keeping him here for strategic reasons that had nothing to do with the way my chest tightened every time I saw him.
Stefan waited. Patient. Letting me choose.
"I don't know yet," I said finally. Honestly.
"Liar." His lips curved slightly. Almost a smile. "You know exactly what you want. You're just deciding whether to take it."
He was right.
I wanted him. Wanted to possess him in every way possible. Wanted to strip away his defiance and find out what he looked like when he surrendered. Wanted to prove that the darkness in me could be something other than destructive if directed at the right person.
But wanting and taking were different things.
Taking Stefan the way I wanted to would change everything. Would cross a line I couldn't uncross. Would transform this from captivity into something else entirely. Something more complicated and dangerous than simple kidnapping.
"You should be scared of me," I said quietly.
"I am scared of you." Stefan's voice was steady despite the admission. "But I'm also bored. And frustrated. And tired of pretending there's not something happening between us."
"This is Stockholm syndrome."
"Maybe." He tilted his head. "Or maybe I saw something in you at that auction. When you were watching me. When I thought for a second that you might actually do something. Save me." His eyes held mine. "Maybe I've been wanting this since then and I'm just finally admitting it."
My hands clenched on the edge of the table.
"Stefan—"
"I'm not asking you to let me go," he said.
"I'm not asking for freedom or safety or rescue.
I'm just saying I see what you're doing.
The staring. The chess games. The careful way you treat me like I'm something precious instead of a prisoner.
" He leaned forward slightly. "If you want me, take me.
If you don't, stop looking at me like you do. Pick one."
The challenge hung between us.
I should say no. Should maintain my control. Should remember that Stefan was Giuseppe's son and my captive and someone I had no business touching.
Instead, I stood up and moved around the table.
Stefan's eyes widened slightly but he didn't move. Didn't retreat. Just watched me approach with that mix of fear and anticipation that made my blood burn.
I stopped in front of him. Close enough to touch. Close enough that he had to tilt his head back to meet my eyes.
"You don't know what you're asking for," I said.
"Then show me."
His voice was steady. Certain. Brave or stupid or both.
I cupped his jaw with one hand. Felt his pulse racing under my palm. Watched his pupils dilate. Saw the exact moment his breath caught.
Then I stepped back.
"Not yet," I said. "When I take you, Stefan, it won't be because you're bored or frustrated or tired of waiting. It'll be because you choose it. Because you want me as much as I want you. Because you're ready for what that means."
I left before he could respond. Before I could change my mind and give in to the want clawing at my chest.
Outside his room, I leaned against the wall and dragged in a breath.
That had been too close. Too dangerous. I'd almost crossed a line I couldn't uncross.
But Stefan's words echoed in my head.
If you want me, take me.
He'd offered himself. Acknowledged the tension between us. Admitted he wanted this despite knowing how fucked up it was.
And I'd walked away.
Because I needed him to be sure. Needed this to be his choice, not just a response to captivity and isolation and Stockholm syndrome. Needed to know that when I finally gave in to this obsession, Stefan would be choosing me. Not just accepting me because he had no other option.
My phone buzzed. Text from Sandro.
We need to talk about Giuseppe. He's making moves. Tomorrow, 9 AM.
Right. The real world. The consequences of keeping Stefan. The war that was probably coming whether I was ready for it or not.
I typed back: I'll be there.
Then I looked at the closed door to Stefan's room.
Tomorrow I'd deal with Giuseppe and the fallout and whatever strategic nightmare I'd created by refusing to let his son go.
Tonight, I'd replay Stefan's words in my head and imagine what would have happened if I'd said yes instead of not yet.
If I'd closed the distance between us and found out if his mouth tasted as good as it looked.
If I'd stripped away his defiance and made him admit exactly how much he wanted this.
If I'd stopped fighting the obsession and let it consume us both.
Not yet.
But soon.
Because Stefan Romano had just changed the game.
And I'd never been good at resisting things I wanted.