Chapter 11 Stefan #3
"Terrified." His voice was raw. Honest. "I've never felt this way about anyone. Never wanted someone so completely. Never been willing to burn down everything for one person." He cupped my face. "You scare the hell out of me, Stefan. What I feel for you. How far I'd go to keep you."
"How far would you go?"
"As far as it takes." His eyes held mine. "I'd go to war with your family. With the other families. With the FBI. With anyone who tried to take you from me. I'd burn down the entire world if that's what it took to keep you safe."
The intensity of his words should have terrified me.
Instead, they made me feel cherished. Protected. Chosen in ways I'd never experienced.
"That's probably unhealthy," I said.
"Definitely unhealthy." He smiled slightly. "We're both completely fucked up about each other."
"And that's okay?"
"I don't know." He pulled me closer. "But I don't care enough to stop. Do you?"
I thought about it. About Antonio's warnings. About Stockholm syndrome and trauma bonding and all the psychological reasons this shouldn't work.
"No," I said finally. "I don't care enough to stop either."
We lay there in silence for a while. Both processing. Both trying to understand what we'd become to each other.
Matteo's hand traced patterns on my back. Soothing. Gentle. So at odds with the fierce possession he'd shown moments ago.
"Do you think I made the right choice?" I asked quietly. "Refusing to go back?"
"I think you made the choice that was right for you. That's all that matters."
"Antonio said I'm naive. That you're using me. That I'm going to regret this."
"Are you?" Matteo's hand stilled on my back. "Regretting it?"
"No." I was surprised by how certain I sounded. "I'm scared. And guilty. And worried about what comes next. But I'm not regretting choosing to stay."
"Good." He pressed a kiss to my forehead. "Because I meant what I said. I'm not letting you go. Not to your family. Not to anyone."
"Even if I wanted to leave?"
He was quiet for a moment. "If you genuinely wanted to leave—if you woke up one day and realized this was a mistake—I'd let you go. It would destroy me. But I'd let you go." His arms tightened around me. "But I'm going to do everything in my power to make sure you never want to."
"That's very honest."
"I'm always honest with you. Even when the truth is uncomfortable."
It was true. Matteo had never lied to me. Had never pretended to be something he wasn't. Had never hidden the darkness or the obsession or the possessiveness.
That honesty felt more valuable than any pretty words or empty promises.
"I'm glad I stayed," I said. "Even though it's complicated. Even though Antonio's probably right that I'm in over my head. I'm still glad I chose this. Chose you."
"Even after everything? After I kidnapped you? Kept you locked up?"
"Especially after that." I tilted my head to look at him. "Because you gave me a choice. Eventually. You unlocked the door. Told me I could leave. And when I chose to stay, you didn't take that for granted. You keep checking. Keep making sure I still want this."
"I need to know you're choosing it," he said. "Every day. I need to know this is real and not just you accepting the situation because you have no other options."
"It's real." I kissed him softly. "I'm choosing it. Choosing you. Choosing this fucked-up, complicated, probably unhealthy relationship because it makes me feel more alive than anything else ever has."
He kissed me back. Deep and thorough and full of promise.
When we broke apart, he said: "We should clean up. Get some food. You need to eat something after that call."
"I'm not hungry."
"You need to eat anyway." He sat up, pulling me with him. "Come on. Shower. Then food. Then we can come back to bed and I'll hold you while you process everything."
The casual care in his voice made my chest tight.
This was what I'd been missing. What I'd been craving without knowing it. Someone who cared about me beyond what I could do for them. Someone who wanted to take care of me. Someone who saw me as a person instead of a pretty face.
We showered together. Matteo washed my hair with gentle hands. Soaped my body carefully. Pressed kisses to my shoulders and neck. Made me feel precious instead of used.
Afterward, he made me sit at his kitchen table while he cooked. Nothing fancy—just pasta and sauce and garlic bread. But he made it for me. Served it to me. Sat across from me and made sure I ate even though I didn't have much appetite.
"You need your strength," he said when I pushed the food around my plate. "Today was hard. Tomorrow might be harder. Eat."
So I ate. Because he cared enough to insist. Because taking care of me mattered to him.
When we finished, we went back to bed. Matteo pulled me against his chest and held me like he'd promised.
"Talk to me," he said. "About the call. About what you're feeling."
So I did. Told him about the guilt. The grief for the family I'd never really had. The fear about what came next.
He listened. Didn't try to fix it or minimize it. Just held me and let me process.
"You're allowed to grieve," he said eventually. "Even if they didn't deserve you. Even if leaving was the right choice. You're still allowed to grieve the loss."
"I feel guilty for not feeling worse."
"Why?"
"Because they're my family. I should be devastated. Should be desperate to fix this. Should be..." I trailed off. "I don't know. Something other than relieved."
"You're relieved because you've been suffocating for twenty-three years and you finally took a breath." Matteo's voice was gentle. "That's not wrong. That's survival."
Maybe he was right.
Maybe relief was the appropriate response to escaping a cage, even if the cage was lined with gold and called family.
"I burned the bridge," I said quietly. "With my family. There's no going back from this."
"I know."
"They'll tell everyone I'm a traitor. That I chose Giuseppe's enemies over blood. The other families will judge. My brothers will probably disown me if Giuseppe hasn't already."
"Probably," Matteo agreed.
"I should feel worse about that than I do."
"Should you? They never valued you. Never saw you as more than decorative. You're grieving the family you wish you had, not the one you actually had."
He was right. That made it hurt more somehow.
"I wanted them to love me," I admitted. "I wanted Giuseppe to be proud. I wanted my brothers to see me as an equal. I wanted to belong in that family even though I never fit." My voice cracked. "And now I've burned any chance of that ever happening."
Matteo held me tighter. "You've got a new family now. If you want it."
"New family?"
"Me." He pressed a kiss to my temple. "I'm your family now, Stefan. Whatever that means. However you want to define it. You're not alone."
The words should have felt like too much pressure. Like Matteo trying to replace everything I'd just lost with himself.
Instead, they felt like safety.
"What if that's not enough?" I whispered. "What if I need more than just you?"
"Then we'll figure that out too. Maybe Sandro and the others will come around eventually. Maybe you'll find new people. New connections." He tilted my face up to meet his eyes. "But right now, you've got me. And I'm not going anywhere."
I believed him.