Chapter 2 Elio
Julian Bianchi sat on his bed, back against the wall, knees drawn up.
He'd changed into the clothes Stefan had brought him earlier—gray sweatpants and a dark blue henley that looked too big on his frame.
Jeans were folded neatly on the chair, ready for when he got up.
His hair was still damp from the shower he'd taken an hour ago.
He hadn't slept. Hadn't even tried to lie down since Stefan left.
Just sat there staring at the wall like he was waiting for something to go wrong.
I should've delegated monitoring to someone else. Should've gone home hours ago. Should've treated Julian like any other potential security threat and let my team handle surveillance while I got sleep.
Instead I sat in my office watching a twenty-one-year-old runaway who'd made himself my problem.
Professional evaluation. That's what I told myself. I needed to assess the threat level. Understand who we were dealing with. Make sure Julian wasn't a plant sent by the Bianchis to infiltrate our operations.
The lie tasted bitter even as I thought it.
Truth was, I couldn't stop watching him. Couldn't stop cataloging the small details that didn't add up. The expensive education. The careful manners. The intelligence behind those dark eyes that suggested Julian Bianchi was more than he appeared.
On the monitor, Julian shifted. Pulled his knees tighter to his chest. He looked young. Vulnerable. Nothing like the threat Matteo should've seen when he agreed to let him stay.
My phone buzzed. Text from Sandro: Still at the club? Go home. Get sleep. Tomorrow's going to be complicated.
I ignored it.
Julian still hadn't eaten. Stefan had offered to bring him food when he'd delivered the clothes, but Julian had declined. Said he wasn't hungry. That was hours ago.
The kid needed to eat.
I left my office and went down to the club's kitchen. The night chef was cleaning up but hadn't shut everything down yet. I ordered a burger and fries, added a soda, carried the tray back upstairs myself.
Stood outside Julian's door for a moment before knocking.
No response.
I knocked again. "Julian. I'm coming in."
I opened the door. Julian looked up from his position on the bed, eyes wary. He'd been expecting me.
"You missed dinner." I set the tray down on the small table near the window.
"I wasn't hungry."
"You need to eat anyway."
I didn't leave. Just pulled out the chair and sat down, watching him with the same intensity I'd been using on the monitors.
Julian stared back at me. "Are you going to watch me eat?"
"I'm going to watch you period. That's my job until we're sure you're not a threat."
"That's creepy."
"That's security."
We looked at each other for a long moment. Then Julian's stomach betrayed him with an audible growl. His mouth twitched—almost a smile.
He got up and moved to the table. Sat down across from me. Picked up the burger and took a bite.
Then he devoured it like he hadn't eaten in days. Which he probably hadn't. Not properly. Not while running.
I watched him eat and tried not to think about how young he looked. How scared he must've been, walking into Inferno alone with nothing but desperation and hope.
"How old are you?" I asked.
"Twenty-one." He didn't look up from the burger.
"You look younger."
"I get that a lot." Another bite. "My father says I look too much like my mother. Too soft. Not imposing enough for the family business."
"Have you ever been in a relationship?"
The question came out before I could stop it. Too personal. Too intrusive. None of my business.
Julian paused mid-bite. Set down the burger. Met my eyes.
"No. My family controlled who I talked to. Who I spent time with. The man they wanted me to marry would've been my first everything."
Something cold settled in my chest.
"First everything?"
"First kiss. First time. First relationship." Julian's voice was flat. Matter-of-fact. Like he was reciting facts instead of describing his own life. "They saved me for Dante. Made sure I stayed pure for him. That's what my father called it. Staying pure."
The kid was even more sheltered than Stefan. At least Stefan had lived a little before his family tried to control his future. Julian hadn't had that luxury.
"Was your father really going to force you into marriage?" I kept my voice neutral. Professional. Didn't let the anger show.
"It's been on the cards since I was fourteen.
Arrangement made between my father and the Caruso family.
Alliance building. Power consolidation. I was the price for their cooperation.
" Julian picked up a fry. Studied it like it held answers.
"My father refused to negotiate when I got older and started objecting.
Said the alliance was too important. That I'd learn to accept it. "
"Your father sounds like a bastard."
Julian laughed without humor. "That's generous."
We sat in silence after that. It wasn't uncomfortable exactly. Just weighted with things neither of us was saying.
I should leave. Should let him finish eating in peace. Should maintain professional distance instead of sitting here making conversation like we were friends instead of captor and captive.
But I didn't move.
Julian finished the burger. Drank half the soda. Pushed the tray away and looked at me.
"Thank you. For the food."
"Get some sleep." I stood.
I left before I could say anything else. Went back to my office and tried not to think about Julian Bianchi's hollow eyes when he talked about staying pure for a man he'd been promised to at fourteen.
Failed completely.
***
The next morning I ran a background check on Julian Bianchi and didn't like what I found.
The kid was smart. Graduated early from Columbia with degrees in journalism and political science. Dual major, completed in three years instead of four. GPA of 3.9. Dean's list every semester.
He'd also done an internship over a summer at a forensic accounting firm. Klein & Associates. Small operation but respected. They specialized in tracking financial crimes and corporate fraud.
That was interesting. And concerning.
Julian had been writing under a pseudonym for small publications.
Articles about corruption and organized crime.
Nothing that named names, but everything showed he understood how our world worked.
He wrote about money laundering, shell companies, political influence.
The kind of details that came from real knowledge, not research.
Smart. Educated. Understanding of finance and operations.
Exactly what he'd told Matteo when he'd asked for sanctuary.
Then I found the sealed juvenile record.
It took some effort to access. Strings pulled with contacts in Chicago. Favors called in. But I got it.
Assault charges when Julian was sixteen. He'd put Dante Caruso in the hospital with a broken jaw, three cracked ribs, and a concussion severe enough to require overnight observation.
The details were sparse—juvenile records always were—but I could read between the lines. The charges had been filed, then dropped within forty-eight hours. Julian's father had paid everyone off. The record was sealed. The incident disappeared like it never happened.
Except it had happened. And Julian carried it with him.
This information changed things.
Julian wasn't just some pampered prince running from responsibility. He was someone who'd fought back against abuse and gotten punished for it.
I knew what that was like. I had my own sealed records from when I was young and angry. When I'd put my stepfather in the hospital after finding out what he'd been doing to my younger sister.
My family had covered that up too. Paid everyone off. Made it disappear. Then sent me away to military school where I'd learned control. Discipline. How to channel rage into something useful.
I understood Julian Bianchi better than I wanted to.
I brought the information to Sandro.
He listened without interrupting while I laid out what I'd found. The education. The internship. The writing. The sealed record.
"Is he trustworthy?" Sandro asked when I finished.
"He's more complicated than we thought."
"Is that a problem?"
"Depends on what we're planning to do with him."
Sandro leaned back in his chair. Studied me with those calculating eyes that saw too much.
"What do you think we should do with him?"
"Keep him for now. His father has FBI connections. That makes Julian valuable as a source of information. But we need to be careful. He's smart enough to be dangerous if he decides to turn on us."
"You think he'd do that?"
I thought about Julian sitting on that bed at 2am, looking lost and terrified and alone.
"No. But I've been wrong before."
"Keep monitoring him. Let me know if anything changes." Sandro paused. "And Elio? Be careful. I see the way you look when you talk about him. Don't let this become personal."
"It won't."
Another lie. I was getting good at those.
***
That night I went to Julian's room again.
He was reading when I entered. One of the thrillers from the bookshelf. He looked up and marked his place with a finger.
"Is this going to be a nightly thing?" he asked.
"It might be."
"You should bring better conversation then. The reading's getting boring."
I sat down in the chair by the window. Same spot as last night. Same careful distance.
"Tell me about the assault charge."
Julian went pale. The book slipped from his fingers onto the bed.
"How do you know about that?"
"I know everything about everyone who stays here."
"Are you going to use it against me?"
"No. I just want to understand who you are."
Julian was quiet for a long moment. His hands twisted together in his lap—the first sign of nerves I'd seen from him since he'd walked into my office yesterday.
"What do you want to know?"
"The truth. All of it."
He took a breath. Let it out slowly. When he spoke, his voice was steady but empty of emotion.
"My fiancé tried to rape me. I was sixteen.
We were at a family dinner at his house.
His parents left us alone in his room to 'get to know each other better.
' He pushed me onto the bed. Told me I needed to learn what he liked.
That I was his and he could do what he wanted.
" Julian's jaw clenched. "I fought back.
Broke his jaw. Cracked his ribs. Gave him a concussion when his head hit the nightstand. "
"Good."
Julian looked up. Surprise flickered across his face.
"Good?"
"You defended yourself. That's not a crime. That's survival."
"My father didn't see it that way. He said I'd caused trouble.
Embarrassed the family. Damaged an important alliance.
The Carusos demanded compensation. My father paid them off and had the charges dropped.
Then he told me the engagement would continue once Dante recovered.
That I'd learn to behave properly." Julian's voice was hollow.
"That's when I knew I'd never be safe in my family. I started planning my escape that day."
Five years. Julian had spent five years planning this. Five years living with the knowledge that his father would force him to marry the man who'd tried to rape him.
The cold rage in my chest turned to ice.
"Did he try again? Dante?"
"No. The engagement went on hold while I finished school.
My father thought distance would help me 'accept reality.
' Dante sent letters sometimes. Called them love letters. They were threats disguised as romance. ‘You can’t fight this forever,’ things like that.
" Julian met my eyes. "The wedding was scheduled for next month.
That's why I ran. I couldn't wait any longer. "
I understood why Stefan had fought so hard for Julian to stay. Why Matteo had agreed despite the risk.
Julian Bianchi wasn't a complication or a threat.
He was a survivor.
Just like Stefan. Just like me. Just like everyone who'd ever clawed their way out of situations that should've broken them.
"Your father won't get you back," I said. The words came out harder than I'd intended. More certain. "You're safe here. For as long as you need to be."
Julian looked at me like he didn't quite believe it.
"Why would you do that? You don't know me. You don't owe me anything."
"Because I know what it's like to fight back against someone who hurt you. To be punished for it by people who should've protected you. To spend years planning an escape because staying meant destruction." I held his gaze. "You deserve better than what your family gave you."
Something shifted in Julian's expression. Softened. Like I'd said exactly what he needed to hear.
"Thank you," he said quietly.
I stood before I could say anything else. Before I could make this more personal than it already was.
"Get some sleep. Tomorrow we start figuring out how to keep you safe long-term."
I left. Locked the door. Went back to my office and stared at the monitors.
Julian sat on the bed for a long time. Then he picked up the book and started reading again.
But this time, when I watched him, I wasn't cataloging threats.
I was cataloging the way his hair fell across his forehead when he bent over the pages. The way his lips moved slightly as he read. The careful grace in his movements that spoke of someone who'd learned to make himself small.
This was a mistake. A massive, dangerous mistake.
Julian Bianchi was a complication we didn't need. A risk that could blow up in our faces. A problem that would require careful management.
But I couldn't stop watching.
Couldn't stop wanting to know more about him.
Couldn't stop feeling that pull of recognition when I looked at him and saw my own past reflected back.
This was going to be a problem.
But maybe not the kind I'd anticipated.