Chapter 10 Matteo #2
"They will recognize you. That's the point.
" I sat beside him. "Right now, rumors are probably already spreading.
Giuseppe's son disappeared two weeks ago.
People talk. By making your presence here official—by showing them you're with me voluntarily—we control the narrative.
We make it clear you chose this instead of letting people assume you're a hostage or dead. "
"And if word gets back to my father?"
"It will. That's also the point. Let Giuseppe know you're alive and you've chosen his enemies. Let him know that if he comes for you, he goes through me."
Stefan was quiet for a long moment. "You're very possessive."
"Yes."
"And you're telling everyone in the club that I belong to you."
"Yes."
"That's..." He trailed off. "That should bother me more than it does."
I cupped his face. "Does it bother you?"
"I don't know." His voice was honest. Confused.
"Part of me wants to be claimed like that.
Wants everyone to know I'm yours. That I belong somewhere.
That someone actually wants me enough to tell the entire world.
" He paused. "But part of me is scared that this is just another version of being controlled.
Another man deciding what I am and where I belong and who I can be. "
"This is different."
"Is it? Or am I just telling myself that because I want it to be true?"
It was a fair question. One I didn't have a good answer to.
"The difference is choice," I said finally. "Giuseppe controlled you. Dictated your life. Gave you no options. I'm offering you a choice. If you don't want to go to the club—if you don't want me telling people you're mine—tell me. I'll respect that."
"But you'd be disappointed."
"Yes," I admitted. "I want everyone to know you're with me. Want them to see you choose me publicly. But I want you to choose it. Not just accept it because you think I expect it."
Stefan studied my face. "And if I say no?"
"Then we figure out another way. Keep you here longer. Introduce you gradually. Whatever makes you comfortable."
"What do you want me to say?"
"I want you to say what you actually want. Not what you think I want to hear."
He was quiet for a long moment. Then: "I want to go.
I want to see the club from your side instead of as a spy.
I want people to know I chose you. That I'm yours.
" He swallowed hard. "Even if that makes me fucked up.
Even if it means I'm just replacing one controlling man with another. I still want it."
"Stefan—"
"I know it's not healthy," he continued.
"I know I should want independence and freedom and to define myself outside of any man's claim.
But I've spent my whole life being nobody.
Being decoration. Being Giuseppe's pretty youngest son who doesn't matter.
" His eyes met mine. "When you say I'm yours, when you tell people I belong to you, it makes me feel like I matter.
Like I'm worth protecting. Like I'm more than just decorative. "
My chest felt tight.
"You do matter," I said. "You're worth protecting. And you're so much more than decorative, Stefan. You're brilliant and brave and strong in ways you don't even see yet."
"Then prove it." His voice was challenging. Vulnerable. "Take me downstairs. Tell everyone I'm yours. Make it real."
***
That night, I brought Stefan down to the main club for the first time since I'd caught him two weeks ago.
He was nervous—I could feel it in the tension of his body as we descended the stairs. The club was packed, music pounding, beautiful people dancing and drinking and conducting business in shadowed corners.
"Stay close to me," I said, my hand on his back. Possessive. Protective. "Don't leave my side."
He nodded.
We made our way through the crowd toward the VIP section. People noticed us immediately. Recognized Stefan. I could see the whispers spreading. The shocked expressions. The phones coming out to text or call or spread the news.
Good. Let them talk.
Sandro, Elio, and Luca were already at our usual table. Emilio was there too, sitting close to Sandro with that comfortable intimacy they'd built. He looked up when we arrived and offered Stefan a small smile.
"Stefan," Emilio said. "Pleased to meet you."
"You too." Stefan's voice was steady despite the nerves I could feel radiating off him.
I kept Stefan close as we sat. My arm around his shoulders. My hand on his thigh. Every gesture screaming possession to anyone watching.
Stefan noticed. "Everyone's staring."
"Let them." I pulled him closer. "They're learning a new reality. Stefan Romano isn't Giuseppe's anymore. He's mine."
Over the next hour, I made sure the message was received.
I introduced Stefan to key employees. Made it clear he was under my protection. That anyone who touched him—anyone who threatened him, disrespected him, or even looked at him wrong—answered to me personally.
The message spread through the club like wildfire.
By the end of the night, everyone knew. Stefan Romano was off-limits. He belonged to Matteo DeLuca. Touching him meant war.
I watched it sink in. Watched Stefan realize what I'd done. How thoroughly I'd claimed him in front of everyone.
His expression was complicated. Gratitude mixed with something that looked like fear. Belonging mixed with awareness that he'd just let me define him in front of witnesses.
When we finally went back upstairs, Stefan was buzzing with adrenaline.
"That was intense," he said, pacing the room. "Everyone was staring. Talking. Taking pictures probably. By tomorrow, every family in New York will know I'm here. Will know I chose you."
"That's the point."
"I know. I just—" He ran his hands through his hair. "I've never felt like that before. Like I belonged somewhere without having to perform. Like I was exactly where I was supposed to be."
"You can stop performing here," I said. "You can just be yourself."
"I'm not sure who that is anymore." He turned to face me. "I've spent so long being what other people needed. Giuseppe's pretty son. The Romano family's acceptable face. The trophy at charity events. I don't know who Stefan is when he's not playing a role."
I crossed to him and pulled him close. "Then we'll figure it out together."
He kissed me. Desperate and grateful and overwhelmed.
"Thank you," he whispered against my mouth. "For tonight. For claiming me. For making me feel like I matter."
"You do matter. More than you know."
Stefan kissed me first. Hard and desperate. Like he needed to prove something to himself. To me. To the world that had just watched me claim him.
"I need—" He broke off. Kissed me again. "I need you."
"I've got you." I pulled him closer. "What do you need, Stefan? Tell me."
"I don't know." His hands fisted in my shirt. "I just—tonight, everyone was staring. Everyone knew. And I should feel exposed. Vulnerable. Like you just put a target on my back by making it public." He looked up at me. "But I don't. I feel safe. Protected. Like I finally belong somewhere."
"You do belong." I kissed him slowly. Thoroughly. "You belong here. With me."
"Show me." His voice was rough. Demanding. "Show me I'm yours like you told everyone tonight."
Something primal roared to life in my chest.
I'd claimed Stefan publicly tonight. Made sure every person in that club knew he was mine. But Stefan needed to feel it. Needed the physical proof to match the public declaration.
I could do that.
I stripped him efficiently. The dark jeans I'd bought him. The soft shirt. Until he was bare beneath me. Exposed. Beautiful.
"You were so good tonight," I told him, kissing down his throat. "So brave. Walking into that club knowing everyone would stare. Letting me touch you. Claim you. Show everyone you chose me."
"I did choose you." His breath hitched as my teeth grazed his collarbone. "In front of everyone. No taking it back now."
"No taking it back," I agreed. "You're mine, Stefan. And everyone knows it."
I worked my way down his body. Kissing. Biting. Leaving marks that would remind him tomorrow of what we did tonight. Of how thoroughly he'd been claimed.
When I took him in my mouth, Stefan cried out. His hands flew to my hair. Gripping. Holding on.
"Matteo—fuck—I can't—"
I pulled off. "You can. You will. I'm going to take you apart, Stefan. Going to make you feel exactly how much you're mine."
I brought him to the edge. Watched him tremble. Listened to him beg. Then pulled back before he could fall over.
"Not yet," I said. "I want you desperate. Want you so far gone you can't think about anything except this. Except us."
"I'm already there." His voice was wrecked. "Please, Matteo. I need—"
"I know what you need." I moved back up his body. Kissed him hard enough to bruise. "Turn over."
He did. Immediately. Trusting. Offering himself completely.
The sight of him like that—face down, vulnerable, mine—made something possessive and dark curl in my chest.
I prepared him slowly. Thoroughly. Three fingers stretching him while he gasped and pushed back. Making sure he was ready. Making sure this would be good for him.
When I finally pushed inside, we both groaned.
"God, you feel incredible," I said, holding still. Letting us both adjust. "So perfect. So mine."
"Yes." Stefan's voice was muffled against the pillow. "Yours. All yours."
I started to move. Slow at first. Long deep strokes that let us both feel every inch. But the emotion building in my chest demanded more. Demanded I prove my claim. Demanded I make Stefan feel exactly how thoroughly he belonged to me.
I gripped his hips hard enough to bruise. Pulled him back to meet each thrust. The angle was deep. Intense. Hitting that spot inside him that made him cry out.
"Everyone knows now," I said, my voice rough. "Everyone in that club saw you with me. Saw you choose me. Tomorrow every family in New York will hear about it. Giuseppe will hear about it. Your brothers. Everyone."