"The truth can be destructive when you're dealing with people like us." Matteo's smile was sharp. "The fact that you chose which truths to tell—that's loyalty."
They left. I stood in the hallway until their footsteps faded. Then I walked into the conference room.
Sandro was standing at the windows. Still in his suit from court. Hands in his pockets. Shoulders tight with tension.
"How much did you hear?" he asked without turning.
"Enough. They're right. I could've made things worse for you."
"You could've destroyed me completely if you'd wanted to." He finally turned. His eyes were dark. Haunted. "Robertohanded you the opportunity. All you had to do was admit I manipulated you. That the relationship was coercive from the start. The jury would've eaten it up."
"That's not what happened."
"Isn't it?" He walked toward me slowly. "I identified you as vulnerable. Used your financial situation. Made myself necessary. That's textbook manipulation, Emilio."
"You're not wrong. But manipulation requires the victim to be unaware. I knew what you were doing. I chose to let you do it." I met his eyes. "That makes me complicit, not victimized."
"The distinction might be too subtle for a jury."
"Maybe. But it's the truth." I loosened my tie. Suddenly the courtroom formality felt suffocating. "Can we not do this right now? Analyze whether I was manipulated? Debate the ethics of how we got together?"
"What do you want to do?"
"I want to stop thinking. Stop replaying my testimony. Stop worrying about what the jury thinks." I pulled off my tie completely. "I want you to make me forget about all of it for a few hours."
Something shifted in his expression. Softened. "Come upstairs."
He led me to his private apartment. Didn't stop in the living room or the office. Went straight to the master bathroom and started running water in the massive soaking tub. Added bath oil that smelled like cedar and something darker I couldn't identify.
"What are you doing?" I asked.
"Taking care of you." He turned back to me and started unbuttoning my shirt. Slowly. Carefully. "You've been taking care of me for months. Building my defense. Withdrawing from the case to protect me. Testifying today knowing it would be brutal. Tonight I take care of you."
He stripped me methodically. Each piece of clothing removed with gentle efficiency until I was standing naked in his bathroom feeling exposed in ways that had nothing to do with physical nakedness.
"Get in," he said quietly.
I stepped into the tub. The water was almost too hot but it felt perfect against my skin. I sank down and let the heat soak into muscles I hadn't realized were tense.
Sandro tested the temperature. Added more hot water. Then stripped out of his own suit and joined me. The tub was large enough that we both fit comfortably, but he pulled me against his chest anyway. Positioned us so my back was to him and I could lean against him completely.
"Close your eyes," he murmured.
I obeyed.
His hands moved to my hair. Gentle fingers working through the product I'd used to look professional in court. Then shampoo. He washed my hair with careful attention. Massaging my scalp. Working from roots to ends. Taking his time.
No one had washed my hair since I was a child. The intimacy of it made my throat tight.
"I'm sorry," he said quietly. "For putting you through that. For making you a target. For forcing you to defend our relationship to a room full of strangers."
"You didn't force me to do anything. I made my choices."
"You made choices I manipulated you into making." His hands stilled. "I'm not trying to absolve myself, Emilio. What I did to you—identifying your vulnerabilities, exploiting them, making you dependent on me—that wasn't ethical or fair."
"No, it wasn't." I kept my eyes closed. Let the honesty sit between us. "But I'm not some innocent victim. I'm a grown man who chose you knowing exactly what you are. What you're capable of. The world you operate in."
"You chose me because I didn't give you better options."
