Chapter 11 Stefan
I'D BEEN AT Inferno for six weeks when the phone call came.
It was the middle of the afternoon. I was in the main club area—quieter during the day, most of the staff prepping for tonight's crowd. I'd been helping organize inventory in the back, something to do with my time that felt useful instead of just sitting around waiting for Matteo.
It had become routine over the past few weeks. Finding small tasks. Making myself helpful. Proving I wasn't just decoration here.
Tommy, one of the security guys, found me in the stockroom.
"Stefan? You've got a phone call. Your brother Antonio called the main club line."
My stomach dropped.
"Did he say what he wanted?"
"Just that it's urgent. Family business." Tommy's expression was carefully neutral. "Matteo said to bring you to his office to take it if you want to. No pressure—we can tell him you're not available."
I should. Should tell Tommy to hang up. Should refuse to engage with anything Romano-related.
But Antonio was calling. Not Giuseppe.
"I'll take it," I said.
Tommy led me upstairs to Matteo's office. Matteo was already there, leaning against his desk with his arms crossed. His expression was unreadable.
"You don't have to take this," he said. "I can have them hang up."
"I know. But it's Antonio. Not my father." I swallowed hard. "I should at least hear what he has to say."
Matteo nodded and gestured to the phone on his desk. The line was blinking on hold.
I picked up the receiver. Matteo stayed where he was—close enough to offer support but giving me space. I was grateful for both.
"Antonio."
"Stefan." My brother's voice was familiar and strange all at once. "Thank god. I've been trying to reach you for days. Giuseppe wouldn't let me call but I finally—" He stopped. "Are you okay? Are they hurting you?"
"I'm fine." Better than fine, actually. But Antonio didn't need to know that. "What do you want?"
"What do I want? Stefan, you've been missing for six weeks. We thought you were dead. Then word starts spreading that you're alive and living with the fucking Vitales like it's normal—"
"It is normal. For me. Now."
Silence on the other end.
Then: "You need to come home."
"No."
"Stefan—"
"I said no." My hand tightened on the phone. "I'm not coming back, Antonio. Not to Giuseppe. Not to that life. I'm done."
"You don't have a choice." Antonio's voice hardened. "The other families are asking questions. Wanting to know why Giuseppe's son is living with his enemies. Wanting to know if you're cooperating. If you're feeding them information about us."
"I'm not."
"Then prove it. Come home. Cut ties with the Vitales. Show everyone you're still a Romano."
I laughed. The sound was bitter even to my own ears. "I was never really a Romano, Antonio. I was just a pretty face at charity events. A prop to make the family look respectable. You all made that very clear."
"That's not fair—"
"Isn't it? When's the last time Giuseppe asked my opinion about anything?
When's the last time any of you treated me like I mattered for more than my appearance?
" My voice was rising. I forced it back down.
"The family never needed me. You needed a decoration.
You can find someone else to fill that role. "
Matteo's eyes were on me. Steady. Supportive. I focused on him and kept talking.
"Stefan, listen to me." Antonio's tone shifted. Softer. Almost pleading. "I know Giuseppe's been hard on you. I know he doesn't value you the way he should. But you're still family. Still my brother. And right now, the family needs you to come home."
"Why? So Giuseppe can parade me around and prove I'm not cooperating with his enemies? So he can use me to deflect questions about his FBI cooperation?"
Silence.
"You know about that?" Antonio asked quietly.
"I know everything. Matteo showed me the evidence. Giuseppe's trying to flip. Trying to bury the Vitales while protecting himself." I closed my eyes. "How could he do that, Antonio? Cooperating with the feds? That's—it's unforgivable. The other families will never let that stand."
"Which is why we need you to come home and present a united front. Show everyone the Romanos are still strong. Still loyal to each other."
"Except Giuseppe's not loyal. He's not loyal to the code.
He's not loyal to the other families. He's barely loyal to his own sons.
" My chest felt tight. "He sent me to Inferno expecting me to fail.
Expecting me to die or get caught. He wanted to be rid of me, Antonio. The weak son. The embarrassment."
"That's not—Stefan, you're wrong—"
"Am I? Be honest with me for once. Did Giuseppe actually expect me to succeed? Or was this mission just a convenient way to eliminate the son who didn't fit?"
Antonio was quiet for a long moment.
"He underestimated you," he said finally. "We all did. You're tougher than any of us gave you credit for."
The admission hurt more than outright cruelty would have.
"Well, I'm not coming back," I said. "Tell Giuseppe I'm staying with the Vitales. Tell the other families I'm not cooperating—I'm not giving anyone information about the Romanos. I'm just... living my own life for once. Away from all of you."
"Stefan, you can't—the families won't accept that. They'll see you as a traitor. As someone who's choosing the enemy over blood."
"Then that's their problem. Not mine."
"It is your problem." Antonio's voice hardened again. "You think you're safe there? With Matteo DeLuca? He kidnapped you, Stefan. He's using you as leverage against us. The moment you stop being useful, he'll kill you."
Matteo's expression darkened. He could hear Antonio's raised voice through the phone.
"That's not true," I said.
"How do you know? Because he says so? Because he's fucking you and telling you what you want to hear?"
The words hit like a physical blow.
"You don't know anything about what's happening here," I said. "About what Matteo and I—"
"I know you're in over your head. I know you've always been too naive for this world. And I know that whatever you think is happening between you and DeLuca, it's not real. It's Stockholm syndrome. It's manipulation. It's him using you until you're not useful anymore."
"Fuck you, Antonio."
"I'm trying to save you—"
"I don't need saving. Not by you. Not by Giuseppe. Not by anyone." My hand shook on the phone. "I'm choosing this. Choosing to stay. Choosing Matteo. And if that makes me a traitor in your eyes, fine. I've been a disappointment my whole life anyway. At least now I'm choosing it."
"Stefan—"
"Tell Giuseppe I'm not coming back. Tell the families I'm not cooperating. Tell whoever asks that I'm done being a Romano." My voice cracked slightly. "And tell yourself whatever you need to hear to justify leaving me alone."
I hung up before Antonio could respond.
The receiver clattered onto the desk. I stood there staring at it like it might come alive and attack me.
That was it. I'd just cut ties with my family. Refused to come home. Told my brother to tell everyone I was choosing the Vitales over blood.
There was no taking that back. No undoing what I'd just done. The Romanos would consider me a traitor now. Would tell the other families I'd chosen Giuseppe's enemies. Would cut me out completely.
I should feel devastated. Should feel grief for the family I was losing. For the life I was burning down.
Instead, I felt...
Free.
Terrifyingly, overwhelmingly free.
But underneath the freedom was something darker. Guilt. Worry. The nagging voice that said Antonio might be right—that I was naive, that Matteo was using me, that the moment I stopped being useful I'd be discarded or killed.
And there was a kind of grief, after all. Not for the family I actually had, but for the family I'd always wished I had. The one where Giuseppe valued all his sons. Where my brothers saw me as an equal instead of a liability. Where I belonged and mattered and was more than just decorative.
That family had never existed. But I'd hoped for it anyway.
Now I was burning even the possibility of it.
"Stefan." Matteo's voice was gentle. "Are you okay?"
I looked at him. At this man who'd kidnapped me and kept me prisoner and claimed me publicly. This brutal enforcer who played chess with me and brought me Thai food and made me feel like I mattered for the first time in my life.
"I told them I'm not coming back," I said. "Antonio said Giuseppe wants me to come home. To cut ties with you. To prove I'm still a Romano." I swallowed hard. "I refused."
Matteo crossed to me and pulled me into his arms. I collapsed against him, the adrenaline draining away and leaving me shaky.
"What did Antonio say?" he asked.
"That the other families are asking questions.
That they think I'm cooperating. That I need to come home and present a united front.
" I pressed my face against his chest. "He said you're using me.
That the moment I stop being useful, you'll kill me.
That this is all Stockholm syndrome and manipulation. "
"Do you believe that?"
Did I?
Six weeks ago, I would have said yes immediately. Would have recognized every warning sign. Would have known this was unhealthy and wrong and exactly the kind of situation I should escape.
But now...
"I don't know what I believe anymore," I admitted.
"I know this is fucked up. I know I probably have some kind of trauma bond or Stockholm syndrome or whatever psychologists would call it.
I know I should want to go back to my family, to my old life, to anything except staying with the man who kidnapped me. "
"But you don't want to leave."
"No." The word came out firm. Certain. "I don't want to leave. I want to stay here. With you. Even though Antonio's probably right that I'm naive and in over my head and being used."
Matteo pulled back to look at me. "I'm not using you."
"How do I know that? How do I know this is real and not just you manipulating me until I'm not useful anymore?"