Elio caught me in the hallway.
"This is getting out of hand," he said without preamble. "Stefan's been missing for over a week. Giuseppe has to be looking for him. Asking questions. Putting pressure on mutual associates. The longer this goes on, the more likely it becomes a war we can't afford. Not with the trial starting in five months."
"I know."
"Then do something about it. Either use him for leverage or let him go. Keeping him indefinitely isn't sustainable."
"I'll handle it."
"When?" Elio's frustration was clear. "When Giuseppe shows up with an army? When the FBI starts asking why we're holding a civilian hostage? When this blows up in all our faces?"
"I said I'll handle it."
I walked away before he could push further.
Luca found me in my office an hour later.
"We could use Stefan as leverage," he said, getting straight to the point like he always did. "Trade him back to Giuseppe in exchange for information about the FBI investigation. What they have. Who's cooperating. What their timeline looks like. It's the smart play."
It was the smart play. The strategic move. The thing a rational person would do with a hostage from a rival family.
"No."
"Why not?"
"Because I'm keeping him."
"For what purpose?" Luca studied my face. "You're not getting intelligence. You're not using him as leverage. You're just... keeping him. Like a pet. Or a trophy. Neither of which helps us with the actual problems we're facing."
"I know what I'm doing."
"Do you?" Luca's voice was mild but his eyes were sharp. "Because from where I'm standing, you're making emotional decisions about someone you barely know. That's not likeyou, Matteo. You're the one who stays cold. Who makes hard calls. Who does what needs to be done regardless of personal feelings."
"This is different."
"Obviously. The question is whether different is going to get us all killed."
He left me alone with that thought.
I sat in my office and stared at the security feed from Stefan's room. He was reading. One of the books from the shelf—looked like a thriller based on the cover. His hair was messy like he'd been running his hands through it. The fresh t-shirt I'd given him had ridden up slightly, showing a strip of skin at his waist.
I wanted him.
The admission was getting harder to ignore. Every night I spent with him, every chess game, every weighted stare across the board—it all fed into the obsession growing in my chest like something alive. Something with teeth and claws and an appetite I couldn't satisfy.
I wanted to touch him. Taste him. Find out if he'd fight me or surrender. If that defiance would translate into passion or if I'd have to break through his walls piece by piece until he admitted he wanted this too.
Because he did want it. I could see it in the way his breath caught when I leaned too close. The way his pupils dilated when our hands accidentally brushed reaching for chess pieces. The way his pulse hammered visibly in his throat when I stared at him too long.
Stefan Romano wanted me as much as I wanted him.
He just hadn't admitted it yet.
At eight PM, I grabbed the chessboard and headed to his room.
Stefan was waiting. Sitting on the bed, already looking toward the door like he'd been counting down the minutes until I arrived.
Something in my chest tightened at the sight.
