Chapter 4 Elio
I WAS TRYING very hard not to notice how attractive Julian was.
The kid was twenty-one. Fourteen years younger than me. Fresh out of college and completely inexperienced in every way that mattered. Everything about the situation screamed inappropriate.
But Julian was also brilliant and observant and responded to my presence in ways he was clearly trying to hide.
I saw the way he watched me when he thought I wasn't looking. The way his breath caught when I got too close while showing him the security systems. The way he blushed when our eyes met for too long across the dinner table.
I told myself it didn't matter.
Julian was under my protection. That meant hands off. No exceptions. I had a job to do and personal interest couldn't interfere with security.
I'd spent my entire adult life perfecting control. Discipline. Order. Everything in its place. Everyone at a safe distance. Emotions were inefficiencies I couldn't afford.
Julian Bianchi was threatening that control in ways I didn't want to examine.
So I focused on work instead.
***
Sandro and Luca were waiting in the main conference room when I brought Julian down at noon. The room was designed for intimidation—dark wood, leather chairs, floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the club dancefloor below. A power space where deals got made and lives got changed.
Julian walked in with his spine straight and his expression calm. If he was nervous, he hid it well.
"Julian Bianchi." Sandro stood and offered his hand. "I'm Alessandro Vitale. This is Luca Romano."
Julian shook both their hands with the kind of polite confidence that came from years of family dinners and political events. His family might have controlled him, but they'd trained him well in social navigation.
"Thank you for seeing me," Julian said. "And for allowing me to stay."
"Sit." Sandro gestured to the chair across from him. "We need to ask you some questions. Understand what we're dealing with."
I took up position by the wall. Close enough to intervene if necessary. Far enough to maintain professional distance.
Julian sat. Folded his hands in his lap. Waited.
"Your father is Winston Bianchi," Sandro began. "Head of the Chicago Bianchi family. Connected to federal law enforcement. What exactly does that mean?"
"My father has a relationship with an FBI agent named Rebecca Watson. She's with the Organized Crime unit based in Chicago but has jurisdiction that extends into New York. They've been working together for approximately eight years."
Luca leaned forward. "Working together how?"
"My father provides information about rival families in exchange for immunity and protection for Bianchi operations. Agent Watson uses the intelligence to build cases against our competitors. It's mutually beneficial—she gets arrests and promotions, my father eliminates threats to our business."
"And you know this how?" Sandro's voice was sharp.
"I spent five years preparing to run. Part of that preparation involved understanding exactly what I was running from.
I copied files from my father's office. Emails.
Phone records. Meeting notes. Everything I could find about his arrangement with the FBI.
" Julian met Sandro's eyes without flinching.
"I brought copies with me. They're in a safe deposit box in Manhattan.
I can retrieve them if you want verification. "
The room went quiet.
Sandro and Luca exchanged glances. They hadn't expected this. They’d expected Julian to be a scared runaway with nothing to offer but problems.
"Why would you give us that information?" Luca asked. "Your father's FBI connection could protect you. Send you back with guarantees of safety."
"Because going back isn't safety. It's a different kind of prison.
" Julian's voice stayed steady. "And because if I'm asking you to risk war with my family by harboring me, I should offer something valuable in return.
The information about Agent Watson and my father's operations is the most valuable thing I have. "
I watched Sandro process this. Saw the exact moment he shifted from viewing Julian as a liability to seeing him as an asset.
"This Agent Watson," Sandro said carefully. "She's the same one who was involved in our RICO investigation?"
"Yes. She's been building cases against New York families for years. Your trial was her first major failure. My father was furious about it—he'd fed her intelligence that should have resulted in convictions. The fact that you walked made him reconsider their arrangement."
"Is he still working with her?"
"As of three weeks ago, yes. But the relationship is strained. My father doesn't like backing losing horses."
Luca sat back in his chair. "This changes things."
"It does." Sandro looked at me. "Elio, your assessment?"
I pushed off from the wall. Walked closer to the table but kept my distance from Julian.
"The information's valuable if it's legitimate. We'd need to verify everything before acting on it. But if Julian's telling the truth about having documented evidence of the FBI-Bianchi connection, we could use it as leverage. Insurance against both his father and the federal investigation."
"And if he's lying?" Luca asked. "If this is an elaborate setup?"
"Then we've got a problem." I looked at Julian. "But I don't think he's lying."
Julian met my eyes. Something passed between us—acknowledgment, maybe, or gratitude. Then he looked away.
"I'll retrieve the documents," Julian said. "Whatever you need to verify my story. I understand you can't just take my word for it."
"We'll arrange that." Sandro stood. "In the meantime, you continue working with Stefan on the books. Elio will maintain security oversight. And Julian? Welcome to Inferno. Officially."
It wasn't warmth exactly. But it was acceptance.
Julian stood and shook hands again. Professional. Composed. Giving nothing away.
I escorted him out of the conference room and back toward the elevator.
"That went well," I said.
"Did it? I couldn't tell if they believed me or were planning how to dispose of my body."
"With Sandro and Luca, those aren't mutually exclusive options."
Julian laughed. The sound was genuine. Surprised. It did something dangerous to my chest.
We got on the elevator. The doors closed. We were alone in the small space.
"Thank you," Julian said quietly. "For saying you believed me. You didn't have to do that."
"I meant it. You're not a good enough liar to fake that level of detail."
"I'll take that as a compliment."
"It was."
The elevator went down to the club level. Julian stood close enough that I could smell the soap from his shower this morning. Something clean and simple.
I forced myself to focus on the floor numbers. On anything except how aware I was of Julian's presence.
The doors opened. We stepped out.
Matteo was waiting.
"Elio. A word?" He glanced at Julian. "In private."
I gestured for Julian to go ahead to the kitchen to grab lunch. Watched him walk away before turning to Matteo.
"What?"
Matteo crossed his arms. Studied me with the kind of directness that made most people uncomfortable.
"You're developing feelings for him."
"No, I'm not."
"You're lying."
I kept my expression neutral. "Even if I was developing feelings, it wouldn't matter. Julian's too young and too vulnerable. He's under my protection. That means hands off."
"That didn't stop me with Stefan."
"Stefan was different."
Matteo laughed. "How? He was twenty-three to my thirty. Vulnerable. Under my protection. A captive, for fuck's sake. I had no business touching him and we both know it. But I did it anyway because I couldn't help myself."
"I'm not you."
"No, you're worse. You're the one who's always in control. Always disciplined. Always follows the rules." Matteo's voice softened slightly. "Which means when you finally break, it's going to be spectacular. And messy. And probably destructive."
"I'm not going to break."
"Keep telling yourself that." Matteo clapped me on the shoulder. "Just remember—when it happens, and it will happen, Stefan and I are here. We've been where you're heading. We can help."
He left before I could respond.
I tried to convince myself Matteo was wrong.
Failed completely.
***
That night I brought Julian dinner again.
Grilled chicken and vegetables from the club's kitchen. Water with lemon because he'd mentioned preferring it to sparkling.
Julian was sitting on the bed reading when I entered. He looked up and smiled. Not the polite smile he'd given Sandro and Luca. Something more genuine. More open.
Something that made my control slip just slightly.
"Right on time," he said. "You're very predictable."
"Predictable is safe."
"Predictable is boring." He set down the book and moved to the table. "But I appreciate the consistency."
I set down the tray and moved to my usual chair.
Julian started eating. We sat in the comfortable silence that had developed over the past week.
Then Julian broke it.
"Why do you always bring my meals personally?"
"I'm making sure you eat."
"There are other people who could do that. Stefan offered. So did one of the kitchen staff."
"I don't trust them."
"Do you trust anyone?"
"Not really."
Julian set down his fork. Looked at me with those dark eyes that saw too much.
"That sounds lonely."
"It's safe."
"Maybe safe and lonely are the same thing sometimes."
The words hit harder than they should have. Because he was right. Because he'd seen through me in a week when most people never got past the surface.
I didn't have an answer for that.
We ate in silence. But it felt different now. Heavier. Weighted with truths neither of us wanted to acknowledge.
"Can I ask you something?" Julian said after a while.
"You can ask. I might not answer."
"What happened when you were young? The thing that made you like this—controlled and careful and afraid of letting anyone close?"
I should've deflected. Should've shut down the question like I did with everyone who tried to get too personal.
Instead I heard myself say: "My stepfather hurt my younger sister. I found out when I was thirteen. Put him in the hospital. My family covered it up and sent me away to military school where I learned that control was the only thing that kept me from becoming a monster like him."
Julian was quiet. Then: "You're not a monster. You protected someone who couldn't protect themselves. That's not monstrous. That's brave."
"I nearly killed him. Would have if my mother hadn't pulled me off."
"He deserved it."
The certainty in Julian's voice startled me.
"You don't know the details—"
"I know enough. I know what it's like to fight back against someone who hurts you.
To be punished for defending yourself. To spend years thinking you were wrong for protecting yourself when everyone around you said you should've just accepted it.
" Julian leaned forward. "You weren't wrong, Elio.
You were thirteen and protecting your sister. That's not something to be ashamed of."
Something cracked in my chest. Something I'd kept carefully controlled for many years.
"How did you get so good at seeing through people?" My voice came out rougher than intended.
"I spent five years watching. Learning. Trying to understand the people around me so I could survive them." Julian's expression softened. "You're not as hard to read as you think. At least not to someone who's been looking."
"And you've been looking?"
"Yes."
The admission hung between us. Honest. Direct. Dangerous.
I should've left. Should've put distance between us before this conversation went places it couldn't go.
Instead I stayed in my chair and let Julian's eyes hold mine.
"Why?" I asked.
"Because you're the first person who's ever looked at me and seen someone dangerous instead of someone fragile.
Because you treat me like I'm capable of real damage instead of something that needs protecting.
" He paused. "Because when you're in the room, I feel safer than I've felt in years. And I don't understand why."
I understood why. I understood exactly why.
Because Julian recognized something in me that matched something in himself. Because we'd both learned control through pain. Because we both knew what it was like to be punished for defending ourselves.
Because attraction didn't care about age gaps or power dynamics or the hundred reasons this was a terrible idea.
"Julian—"
"I know." He cut me off gently. "I know all the reasons this is complicated.
I know I'm too young. I know I'm under your protection.
I know getting involved would be a disaster.
" He stood and started clearing the dishes.
"But I wanted you to know anyway. That I see you.
That I notice. That whatever this is—" he gestured between us "—it's not just in my head. "
He handed me the tray. Our fingers brushed. Just for a second. Just enough for electricity to arc between us.
Julian pulled back first. Stepped away. Put deliberate distance between us.
"Thank you for dinner," he said. "And for telling me about your sister. I know that wasn't easy."
I stood. Took the tray. Walked to the door on autopilot.
Paused with my hand on the handle.
"You're right," I said without turning around. "It's not just in your head."
I left before I could say anything else. Before I could close the distance between us and do something we'd both regret.
Went to my office. Set down the tray.
Stared at the monitors showing Julian's room.
He was standing in the middle of the floor. One hand pressed to his chest like he was trying to calm his racing heart.
I knew exactly how he felt.
Matteo was right. I was going to break.
The question was how much damage I'd do when it happened.
And whether Julian would survive it.