"Fair point." He kissed me. "If Elio's anything like you, Julian doesn't stand a chance."
"Good. The kid needs someone to fight for him the way I fought for you."
We headed to bed. Our bed. In our apartment. As husbands.
Our story started with desperation and captivity. Ended with freedom and choice and happiness.
Maybe Julian and Elio's would too.
But that was their story to write.
Stefan and I had already written ours.
And it had a happy ending.
***
ELIO
I stood in my office after they'd all left.
The security monitors showed Julian in his room—the same room Stefan had once occupied. Julian was stripping off his wet clothes. Trying to dry off with the towels someone had left for him. His movements were efficient but his hands shook.
I told myself I was just monitoring a potential threat. Assessing the situation. Cataloging details that might be relevant later.
Professional evaluation. Nothing more.
But I couldn't look away.
Julian Bianchi. Twenty-one. Sharp dark eyes. Educated bearing. Five years of planning an escape, which meant strategic thinking and patience. Columbia degree, which meant ambition.
And something else. Something in the way he moved. The way he held himself. The careful control that spoke of someone who'd learned to be conscious of every gesture. Every expression. Every moment.
I knew that kind of control. Recognized it.
Julian was running from more than just an arranged marriage. There was something deeper. Something darker. Something that made a twenty-one-year-old plan an escape for five years and finally risk everything to run.
I should send him away. Should convince Matteo this was too dangerous. Should eliminate the threat before it became a problem.
But I couldn't stop watching the monitors.
On screen, Julian finally sat on the bed. Put his face in his hands. His shoulders shook slightly—crying, maybe, or just releasing the adrenaline and terror of running.
Something unwanted stirred in my chest.
Recognition. Awareness. Interest.
I told myself it was just strategic evaluation. Julian was a complication that needed managing. A problem that would be resolved quickly. A temporary situation until his family came looking or the risk became too great.
I told myself Julian was nothing like Stefan—Stefan was kept by Matteo because Matteo wanted him. This was different. This was strategic. Professional.
I told myself I felt nothing except concern about the danger Julian represented.
But I couldn't look away from the monitors.
Couldn't stop wondering what Julian was running from. What had happened when he was sixteen that made him plan an escape for five years.
Couldn't stop noticing the intelligence and courage it took to throw himself at the mercy of his family's rivals.
