"Emilio—"
"Don't." He set down the documents and crossed to me. "Don't try to protect me from this. Don't suggest I keep distance to avoid being dragged into it. I'm already in it. By choice. And I'm not going anywhere."
So he moved in that night.
Packed his things from his apartment and brought them to the estate. Set up a workspace in my study. Spread legal documents across every surface. Turned my home into a war room for fighting the federal government.
We fell into a routine over the next weeks.
Work during the day. Emilio and Diana and a team of attorneys reviewing every piece of evidence. Finding the weaknesses. Building the defense. I sat through depositions. Answered questions. Let them prepare me for what was coming.
At night we'd retreat to my bedroom and try to forget about the sword hanging over our heads. But it was always there. The unspoken reality that in six months I might be convicted. Sent to prison for the rest of my life. Separated from Emilio by concrete and steel and time.
One night, I couldn't sleep.
I stood by the window in my bedroom watching the city lights and thinking about everything I stood to lose. The empire didn't matter anymore. The money. The power. The carefully constructed reputation.
All that mattered was the man sleeping in my bed.
And I was terrified I was going to lose him.
Emilio stirred. "Can't sleep?"
"Just thinking."
He got up. Came to stand beside me. "About the trial?"
"About after. If things go wrong."
"They won't."
"But if they do." I turned to face him. Needed to ask the question that had been haunting me for weeks. "If I get convicted. If they send me away. Would you wait for me?"
He looked at me steadily. "That's not going to happen. We're going to win this case."
"Emilio—"
"We are." His voice was firm. Certain. "Diana's defense is solid. The evidence suppression motions will succeed. Vincent's credibility is destroyed by the embezzlement. We're going to win."
"But if we don't." I needed to know. Needed to understand what I was asking him to sacrifice. "If the worst happens. Would you wait? Or would you move on and build a life with someone who's actually free?"
He cupped my face with both hands. "Then I'll wait. However long it takes."
"That's not fair to you—"
"I don't care about fair." He kissed me softly. "I care about you. About us. If you're in prison, I'll visit every week. I'll write every day. I'll fight for appeals and retrials and whatever it takes. And I'll wait however long it takes because that's what you do when you love someone."
Something broke open in my chest. "You can't mean that."
"I absolutely mean it." His eyes were fierce. "You think I'd walk away from you because things got hard? After everything we've been through? After everything I've already sacrificed to be with you?"
"You'd be wasting your life—"
"I'd be loving you. That's not a waste." He pulled me closer. "Stop trying to push me away. Stop trying to protect me from the consequences of my own choices. I chose you, Sandro. I choose you every single day. Prison doesn't change that."
I kissed him desperately. Gratefully. Trying to pour everything I felt into the physical connection. All the fear and love and overwhelming gratitude that he'd stay. That he'd wait. That I wasn't losing him no matter what happened.
He kissed back with equal intensity. Then pulled away just enough to look at me.
