Chapter 14 Matteo #2
"I'm saying I might. And that scares the hell out of me." I looked at him. "Does that change things? Knowing I might be that far gone?"
"No." His voice was soft. "Because I'd choose you too." He laughed bitterly. "I already did choose you. Cut every tie. Burned every bridge. And I don't regret it even though I probably should."
We sat in that knowledge for a while.
"What happens if the trial goes wrong?" Stefan asked eventually. "If you go to prison. Twenty years, maybe. Life if they really bury you." His voice was carefully neutral. "Would you want me to wait?"
The question made my chest tight.
"I'd want you to wait," I said honestly.
"I'd want you to visit. To write. To be there when I got out even if it took decades.
But Stefan—I'd never ask you to sacrifice your life like that.
You're twenty-three. You have decades ahead of you.
I wouldn't expect you to waste them visiting a federal prison. "
"What if I wanted to?"
"Then I'd tell you to live your life. Find someone safer. Someone who can actually give you a future instead of just stolen visits through plexiglass."
"And if I refused? If I said I'd wait anyway?"
"Then I'd be grateful and terrified in equal measure." I pulled him closer. "But I'd accept it. Because I'm selfish enough to want you even if it means you're alone for twenty years waiting for me."
"I'd wait," Stefan said quietly. "I know that's stupid. I know it's not rational. But I would. However long it took."
"Don't say that."
"Why not? It's true."
"Because it makes the stakes too high." My voice was rough. "If I know you'd wait—if I know losing the trial means you lose decades too—I'll do something stupid trying to avoid it. I'll make deals I shouldn't make. Take risks I shouldn't take. Anything to avoid that future."
"Would that be so bad? Fighting to stay free?"
"It would if it got me killed instead of imprisoned."
We both fell silent.
The conversation was getting too heavy. Too real. But we couldn't stop.
"I'm scared," Stefan admitted. "Of the threats. Of the trial. Of losing you. Of this whole thing falling apart." He looked at me. "Are you?"
"Terrified," I said. "Every day. But I'm more scared of losing you than of any threat or trial or consequence. And that's probably not healthy, but it's true."
On the third day, my control issues got worse.
The cabin felt safe. Secure. Easy to defend. Part of me wanted to keep Stefan here permanently. Cancel his return to Inferno. Keep him locked away where threats couldn't reach him.
I caught myself planning it. Working out logistics. How long we could stay off-grid. What we'd need for a longer-term arrangement. Whether Stefan would accept permanent isolation if I explained it was for his safety.
Stefan noticed me spiraling.
"You're thinking about keeping me here," he said. Not a question. An accusation.
"What?"
"Permanently. I can see it in your face. You're working out how to keep me locked in this cabin where nothing can touch me." His voice was sharp. "Matteo, we talked about this. About the difference between protection and control."
"The threats are real—"
"I know they're real. But that doesn't mean the solution is locking me away forever.
" He stood. Started pacing. "This is exactly what happened with the FBI surveillance.
You got scared and your first instinct was to cage me.
We compromised. We found balance. But now there's a new threat and you're right back to wanting complete control. "
"I'm trying to keep you safe."
"By taking away my freedom? By making decisions without me?
By treating me like something that needs to be locked away instead of a partner?
" Stefan's voice rose. "How is this different from what my father did?
He controlled where I went. Who I saw. What I could do.
Told me it was for my protection. For my own good. "
The comparison stung because it was valid.
"I'm not your father—"
"Then stop acting like him!" Stefan's hands were shaking.
"I love you. I chose you. I'm staying despite the threats and the danger and the fact that being with you might get me killed.
But Matteo—if you lock me away to protect me, if you take away my agency and my choices because you're scared, then what's the difference?
Cage is cage whether it's built from contempt or concern. "
The words hit like a punch to the gut.
"I don't know how to do this," I admitted. "How to love you without trying to control everything. How to keep you safe without caging you. How to—" I stopped. "I don't know how to not be terrified every second that something will take you from me."
Stefan's expression softened slightly. "You don't have to stop being scared. You just have to stop letting fear make all your decisions. Trust me. Trust that I can handle danger. Trust that I'll tell you if I need more protection instead of you just imposing it."
"And if something happens because I trusted instead of controlling? If someone gets to you because I wasn't careful enough?"
"Then that's on them. Not on you." He crossed to me. Took my hands. "You can't prevent every threat, Matteo. You can't eliminate every danger. All you can do is work with me instead of around me. Let me be part of the decisions about my own safety."
He was right. I knew he was right.
But the need to lock him away, to keep him safe at any cost, was overwhelming.
"I'm trying," I said. "But this—what I feel for you—it makes me irrational. Makes me want to burn down anyone who even looks at you wrong. Makes me want to keep you locked away where nothing can hurt you."
"I know. And honestly? Part of me wants to be locked away.
Wants you to make all the decisions so I don't have to be responsible for what happens.
" Stefan's voice was quiet. "But that's not healthy.
For either of us. We have to find a middle ground between your need to protect and my need for agency. "
"How?"
"By talking. By checking in. By you asking instead of deciding." He squeezed my hands. "Can you do that? Can you try?"
"I can try." The promise felt inadequate. "But Stefan—I can't guarantee I won't slip. That I won't default to control when I get scared."
"I know. Just promise you'll try. And I'll promise to call you out when you're being too controlling. Deal?"
"Deal."
But even as I said it, I wasn't sure I could keep that promise.
The fourth day brought unexpected intimacy alongside the hard conversations.
We learned small things. Mundane details that somehow mattered more than the big declarations.
Stefan took his coffee with too much cream and not enough sugar, making it pale and slightly sweet.
He hummed unconsciously when he was thinking, always the same three-note pattern.
He read voraciously but dog-eared pages instead of using bookmarks, which drove me crazy.
He was left-handed but wore his watch on his left wrist anyway because that's how his grandfather had worn his.
I learned that I couldn't fall asleep anymore without physical contact—even just Stefan's hand in mine or his foot pressed against my leg.
That I had tells Stefan could read like a book: jaw clenching meant worried, hands flexing meant scared, too-careful movements meant barely controlled violence.
That I was better at cooking than I'd thought, or maybe Stefan was just generous with compliments.
That I liked being needed in small ways—Stefan asking me to open jars or reach high shelves or check if a noise was just the house settling.
These details felt important. Real. The kind of knowledge you only gained from days of nothing but each other.
"I didn't know you hummed," I said one afternoon. We were on the couch, Stefan reading while I cleaned my gun.
"What?"
"When you're thinking. You hum. Same three notes every time."
He looked embarrassed. "I do?"
"Yeah. It's—" I searched for the word. "—nice. Soothing."
"Giuseppe hated it. Said it was annoying. Made me self-conscious about making any noise at all." Stefan's voice was quiet. "I didn't realize I still did it."
"Don't stop." I reached for his hand. "I like knowing you're comfortable enough here to do things you were trained to suppress at home."
He smiled. Squeezed my hand. Went back to reading.
And hummed.
That night, lying in bed, Stefan said: "I never thought I'd be here."
"In a safe house?"
"Happy. With you. In a situation that should be terrifying but somehow feels—" He paused. "—right. Like this is where I'm supposed to be even though it makes no sense."
"It makes sense to me."
"Does it? We've known each other for a few months. You kidnapped me. Kept me prisoner. We're literally hiding from death threats. And somehow this feels more like home than anywhere I've ever lived."
I understood what he meant. This cabin—cramped and isolated and temporary—felt more real than my apartment at Inferno or my apartment offsite. More honest than the life I'd built over twelve years.
Because Stefan was here. And wherever Stefan was felt like home.
"I love you," I said.
"I love you too." He turned to face me. "Even though we're probably going to destroy each other."
"Probably." I pulled him closer. "But what a way to go."
***
Elio called on the morning of the fifth day.
I answered on the second ring. "Tell me you found something."
"I found something." His voice was grim. "The threats didn't come from a rival family. They came from a burner phone purchased in Virginia. Same state where FBI regional headquarters is located."
My blood went cold. "You're saying the FBI sent the threats?"
"I'm saying someone connected to the FBI investigation sent them. Could be agents trying to scare Stefan into isolation from you. Could be Giuseppe using federal resources to pressure Stefan into coming home. Either way, it's about the trial. About getting leverage."
"Fuck."
"Yeah." Elio paused. "Matteo—this means they're actively targeting Stefan. Not just watching him. Actively trying to separate him from you. You need to decide how to handle that."
I looked at Stefan, who'd heard enough of the conversation to look worried.
"I'll handle it," I said. "Thanks, Elio."
I hung up.
Stefan was already standing. "What did he say?"
I told him. Everything. About the Virginia burner phone. About the FBI connection. About the likelihood that this was either federal agents or Giuseppe using federal resources to threaten him.
I expected fear. Expected Stefan to reconsider staying. Expected him to maybe agree that leaving was safer.
Instead, his expression hardened.
"If they want me gone, I'm staying."
"Stefan—"
"No. Fuck them." His voice was firm. Sharp. "If my father thinks threats will scare me into coming home, he doesn't know me at all. And if the FBI thinks they can pressure me into isolation, they can think again. I'm staying. At Inferno. With you. Out of spite if nothing else."
"This is serious—"
"I know it's serious. That's exactly why I'm staying.
" He moved closer. "Inferno is home now.
The first place I've ever belonged. The first place where I'm valued for my mind instead of my appearance.
Where I have purpose beyond being decorative.
" His eyes met mine. "I'm not being driven away from that.
Not by my father. Not by the FBI. Not by anyone. "
Something fierce and possessive roared to life in my chest.
"You're sure?"
"I've never been more sure of anything." He grabbed my shirt. Pulled me close. "I choose you, Matteo. I choose the Vitales. I choose this life. And if that makes me a target, fine. We'll deal with it together."
I kissed him. Hard. Grateful. Overwhelmed by this man who kept choosing me despite every logical reason not to.
"We should go back," I said. "To Inferno. If we're facing this, we face it from home. Together. With the full resources of the Vitales behind us."
"Home," Stefan repeated. "When did Inferno become home?"
I thought about it. About the moment Stefan had stopped being my prisoner and become my partner. About the nights he'd spent in my bed. About watching him work in that office, finding purpose in helping the Vitales. About the way he'd cut ties with his family and chosen us instead.
"Somewhere between the first kiss and now," I said. "Probably the moment you told your brother to fuck off and chose to stay."
"That was a good moment."
"One of many."
We packed quickly. The safe house had served its purpose—keeping Stefan secure while we identified the threat. Now we knew what we were facing.
The FBI. Giuseppe. Federal agents or a father using federal resources. Either way, they wanted Stefan isolated. Scared. Separated from the Vitales.
We weren't giving them that satisfaction.
The drive back to the city felt different than the drive out. Less tense. More resolved. We were going back to face the threat instead of hide from it.
Stefan reached for my hand. "Thank you."
"For what?"
"For not locking me away permanently. For listening when I called you out. For trying to find balance even though it's hard." He squeezed my hand. "For letting me choose instead of deciding for me."
"I'm still going to be overprotective. Probably too controlling. Definitely obsessive about your safety."
"I know. And I'll keep calling you out when you go too far. We'll figure out the balance as we go."
We drove in comfortable silence for a while.
"Matteo?" Stefan's voice was quiet.
"Yeah?"
"I meant what I said. About waiting. If the trial goes wrong. If you end up in prison." He looked at me. "I'll wait. However long it takes. Fight for appeals. Whatever it takes to get you out."
"Stefan—"
"I know you said not to sacrifice my life like that. But it wouldn't be a sacrifice. It would be a choice." His grip on my hand tightened. "You're it for me, Matteo. I don't know how I know that after only a few months. But I do. You're it."
My chest felt tight. "You're it for me too. Have been since the moment I caught you in that office and couldn't bring myself to let you go."
"We're so fucked up."
"Completely."
"And we're probably going to destroy each other."
"Maybe. Or maybe we'll survive this. Get through the trial. Deal with Giuseppe and the FBI and every threat that comes our way." I pulled our joined hands to my lips. Kissed his knuckles. "Either way, we're doing it together."
"Together," Stefan agreed.
We pulled into Inferno's parking garage as the sun was setting. Guards were already there, more than usual. Elio had clearly increased security after tracing the threats.
Stefan looked up at the building—the club that had been his prison, then his workplace, now his home.
"Ready?" I asked.
"Ready." He smiled. "Let's go face whatever comes next."
We walked into Inferno hand in hand.