"What was that about?" I asked.
"Damage control." Sandro's hand found mine. "Let's go."
We found Thomas waiting outside. Got in. Matteo was already in the front passenger seat. Silent. Staring out the window with that same predatory focus.
The drive back to Manhattan was tense. Quiet. I watched the city pass by and tried to process everything I'd seen.
Those people on stage. Being sold. The fear in their eyes despite the claims of consent.
Stefan Romano's defiant stare. The way he'd looked at Matteo like he was seeing salvation. Or damnation. Or both.
The casual way everyone had participated in something fundamentally wrong and called it business.
When we reached Inferno, Matteo got out without a word. Still silent. Still focused on something none of us could see. He set off towards the parking garage to his own car.
Sandro and I went inside. He poured us both drinks. We stood in his living room and I finally asked the question that had been building all night.
"How can you be part of a world where people are bought and sold like property?"
He was quiet for a long moment. Then: "I don't participate in that part. I was there for information and connections. To see how the Costellos operate. To understand what leverage they might have." He took a drink. "Not to buy people."
"Does that make it better? Being there but not participating?"
"No." His voice was flat. Honest. "It doesn't make it better. I'm complicit by attending. By not stopping it. By being part of the system that allows it to exist."
"Then why go?"
"Because that's my world, Emilio. That's the reality of how power operates in the shadows. I can't change it overnight." He set down his glass and pulled me close. "But I can start changing it slowly. Starting by never attending another event like that."
I looked at him. Searched his face for signs he was just telling me what I wanted to hear.
But I saw sincerity. Shame, even. And determination.
"You mean that?"
"Yes. I saw your face tonight. Saw how much it disgusted you. And you're right to be disgusted." He cupped my face. "I want to be better than this. Better than my world requires me to be. If that means refusing invitations and losing connections, so be it."
"That could hurt your business."
"My business will survive. It survived before tonight. What I have with you is more important than maintaining relationships with people who traffic in human beings." He kissed me softly. "You make me want to be better. I'm going to try. Starting now."
I kissed him back. Believed him. Chose to believe him because the alternative was accepting that the man I loved was fundamentally irredeemable.
"What about Matteo?" I asked. "What were you two talking about?"
"He's fixated on Stefan Romano. I warned him that getting involved would be complicated. Dangerous. Potentially catastrophic for all of us." Sandro sighed. "He said he understood. But I don't believe him."
"Why not?"
"Because I recognize that look. I had the same look when I decided I wanted you." He pulled me toward the bedroom. "Matteo's going to do something stupid. I just hope I can minimize the damage when he does."
We went to bed without speaking. The silence between us wasn't uncomfortable—it was weighted with things we both needed to say but didn't have words for yet.
Sandro undressed me slowly. Carefully. Like I was something precious that the night had tried to damage. His fingers traced the lines of my shoulders, my chest, my stomach. Mapping me with a reverence I'd never felt from him before.
"I'm sorry," he said quietly. His hands stilled on my hips. "For making you see that. For exposing you to that world."
"You didn't make me. I chose to go."
