Chapter 12 Matteo
I KNEW I should let Stefan contact his family properly. Should give him closure or whatever people called it when you burned bridges with everyone you'd ever known. Should maybe encourage him to reach out to Antonio one more time, try to repair at least one relationship.
But every time Stefan mentioned his father, rage burned through my chest like acid.
Giuseppe Romano had sent his youngest son on a suicide mission.
Had expected Stefan to fail. Had probably hoped he'd die or disappear so Giuseppe wouldn't have to deal with the disappointment anymore.
The man had spent twenty-three years treating Stefan like property, and then he'd thrown him away like trash.
I wasn't letting that man anywhere near Stefan again.
Even if that made me controlling. Even if that made me exactly like the people Stefan had escaped from.
The thought gnawed at me as I sat in my office reviewing the latest intelligence reports. Three months until the RICO trial. Twelve weeks until federal prosecutors would try to bury us all with evidence they'd been collecting for years.
And the FBI surveillance had intensified dramatically over the past week.
Elio had confirmed it that morning. Federal agents watching Inferno constantly. Following our movements. Building their case brick by brick. They were looking for leverage. For weak points. For anyone they could pressure into flipping.
Like Stefan.
My jaw clenched as I read through the summary Elio had prepared.
The FBI knew about Stefan. Of course they knew—Giuseppe had probably told them everything.
About sending Stefan to gather intelligence.
About Stefan getting caught. About Stefan choosing to stay with the Vitales instead of coming home.
They'd be interested in that. Very interested.
A Romano son living with the enemy? Someone who'd been inside both organizations? Someone who might have information about Giuseppe's operations and ours?
Stefan was exactly the kind of leverage the FBI loved.
I pulled out my phone and texted the head of security.
Double the guards on Stefan. He doesn't leave the building without me. No exceptions.
The response came immediately.
Understood. Already assigned two outside your apartment and two in the hallway.
Good. Not enough, probably, but better than nothing.
I should tell Stefan. Should explain why I was suddenly locking him down after weeks of letting him move freely around the club. Should be honest about the threat and let him make his own choices about how to handle it.
But the thought of FBI agents grabbing Stefan—interrogating him, pressuring him, threatening him—made something dark and possessive coil in my chest.
I'd promised Stefan he always had a choice. That the door was unlocked. That he could leave if he wanted to.
Now I was taking that choice away.
The irony wasn't lost on me.
***
Stefan noticed the new security within twenty-four hours.
I came home to our apartment—I'd stopped thinking of it as "my" apartment weeks ago—to find him standing by the door with his arms crossed. Two guards were visible through the peephole, stationed in the hallway.
"Want to explain why there are suddenly armed men outside our door?" he asked.
"Security precaution."
"That's not an answer." His green eyes were sharp. Challenging. "There weren't guards yesterday. Or last week. Or any time in the past month. This is new, Matteo. Why?"
I should have known he'd notice. Stefan was too smart to miss the sudden restrictions. Too observant to accept vague explanations.
"The trial's getting closer," I said carefully. "We're tightening security across the board. Standard procedure."
"Bullshit." He moved toward me. "I tried to go downstairs this morning. To the club. The guards told me I needed to wait for you. That I couldn't leave without you." His voice was tight. "That's not standard procedure. That's a cage."
The word hit like a physical blow.
"Stefan—"
"Don't." He held up a hand. "Don't try to soften it or make excuses. Just tell me the truth. Why am I suddenly being locked down after you spent weeks promising me I had freedom? That I had choice?"
I could lie. Could maintain the fiction that this was just about the trial. Could avoid the conversation that would make me look exactly like what I was: possessive, controlling, unwilling to risk losing him.
But Stefan deserved honesty. He always had.
"The FBI surveillance has intensified," I said. "They're watching Inferno constantly. Following our movements. And they know about you."
His face went pale. "They know I'm here?"
"Yes. Giuseppe probably told them everything. About your mission. About you getting caught. About you choosing to stay." I moved closer. "You're exactly the kind of leverage they'd want, Stefan. Someone with information about both families. Someone they could pressure into testifying."
"I wouldn't—"
"I know you wouldn't. But they might not give you a choice." I couldn't keep the edge out of my voice. "If they grab you—if they pull you in for questioning—they'll pressure you. Threaten you. Offer you deals. And if you refuse to cooperate, they might charge you with something to force your hand."
"Charge me with what? I haven't done anything."
"You infiltrated a criminal organization wearing a wire and carrying a hidden camera.
That's evidence you were gathering intelligence, possibly for your father's FBI cooperation.
They could spin that a dozen different ways.
" I gripped his shoulders. "I'm not letting them take you, Stefan.
I'm not letting them use you as a weapon against us or against yourself. "
"So you're locking me up?" His voice was sharp. Hurt. "I just escaped one cage, Matteo. I just chose freedom. And now you're putting me right back in one?"
The accusation stung because it was true.
"I'm trying to protect you."
"By controlling my movements? By posting guards? By making sure I can't leave without your permission?" Stefan pulled away. "That's exactly what my father did. Controlled where I went. Who I saw. What I could do. Told me it was for my own good. For my protection."
"This is different—"
"Is it?" His eyes held mine. "Or are you just another man deciding what's best for me without asking what I actually want?"
The words hit like a punch to the gut.
Because he wasn't wrong.
I'd made the decision to increase security without consulting him. Had posted guards without explaining why. Had restricted his movement without asking if that's what he wanted.
I'd become exactly what I'd promised I wouldn't be: another person controlling Stefan's life.
"Fuck." I dragged a hand through my hair. "You're right. I should have talked to you first. Should have explained the situation and let you decide how to handle it."
"But you didn't." Stefan's voice was quieter now. Hurt underneath the anger. "You just decided. Like I don't get a say in my own safety."
"Because the thought of losing you terrifies me.
" The admission came out raw. "The thought of FBI agents grabbing you, pressuring you, hurting you—it makes me want to burn down the entire federal government.
So I did what I always do. I tried to control the situation.
Tried to eliminate the threat before it could touch you. "
"By putting me back in a cage."
"By keeping you safe." I moved toward him. "I know it feels like the same thing. I know the restrictions are similar to what your father did. But Stefan—I'm not trying to control you because I think you're weak or useless. I'm trying to protect you because you matter more to me than anything else."
"Intentions don't change the result." Stefan's voice cracked slightly. "I'm still locked down. Still can't move freely. Still dependent on you for permission to leave. That's a cage, Matteo. Even if you're building it out of concern instead of contempt."
He was right. Completely, devastatingly right.
"What do you want me to do?" I asked. "Remove the guards? Let you move freely even though the FBI might grab you? Pretend there's no threat?"
"I want you to ask me what I want instead of deciding for me.
" Stefan's eyes were bright with unshed tears.
"I want you to treat me like a partner instead of something precious you need to lock away.
I want—" He stopped. Took a breath. "I want to feel like I'm choosing to stay instead of just accepting another version of captivity. "
The words destroyed me.
I'd promised Stefan freedom. Choice. Agency over his own life. And at the first sign of real danger, I'd taken it all away without even asking.
"I'm sorry," I said. "You're right. I should have talked to you. Should have explained the threat and let you decide how to handle it."
"So tell me now." Stefan crossed his arms. "Explain exactly what the FBI could do. What they might charge me with. What leverage they have. All of it."
I took a breath and laid it out.
The FBI's interest in Stefan as a potential witness.
The fact that his infiltration attempt gave them legal grounds to question him.
The possibility they'd try to pressure him into testifying about Giuseppe's operations or ours.
The threat of charges if he refused to cooperate—conspiracy, racketeering by association, obstruction of justice.
"They could argue you were part of Giuseppe's criminal enterprise," I explained.
"That you were gathering intelligence on his orders.
That makes you complicit in whatever he was doing.
They could offer you immunity in exchange for testimony.
And if you refuse, they could charge you and use the threat of prison to force cooperation. "
Stefan's face was pale by the time I finished. "So I'm trapped either way. If they grab me, I either betray you or face federal charges."
"Yes."
"And the guards? The restrictions? That's to prevent them from grabbing me in the first place?"