"No." He sat up and looked at me. "No, I can't. Even if I wanted to—which I don't—I've already chosen. I met with Sandro. I told him I was staying. There's no taking that back now."
He was right. Crossing that threshold with Sandro made it official. Stefan Romano was no longer Giuseppe's. He was mine.
"Luca suggested we take you down to the club tonight," I said. "Make your presence here public. Let people know you're under my protection."
Stefan's eyes widened. "You want to parade me around the club? What if someone recognizes me?"
"They will recognize you. That's the point." I sat beside him. "Right now, rumors are probably already spreading. Giuseppe's son disappeared two weeks ago. People talk. By making your presence here official—by showing them you're with me voluntarily—we control the narrative. We make it clear you chose this instead of letting people assume you're a hostage or dead."
"And if word gets back to my father?"
"It will. That's also the point. Let Giuseppe know you're alive and you've chosen his enemies. Let him know that if he comes for you, he goes through me."
Stefan was quiet for a long moment. "You're very possessive."
"Yes."
"And you're telling everyone in the club that I belong to you."
"Yes."
"That's..." He trailed off. "That should bother me more than it does."
I cupped his face. "Does it bother you?"
"I don't know." His voice was honest. Confused. "Part of me wants to be claimed like that. Wants everyone to know I'm yours. That I belong somewhere. That someone actually wants me enough to tell the entire world." He paused. "But part of me is scared that this is just another version of being controlled. Another man deciding what I am and where I belong and who I can be."
"This is different."
"Is it? Or am I just telling myself that because I want it to be true?"
It was a fair question. One I didn't have a good answer to.
"The difference is choice," I said finally. "Giuseppe controlled you. Dictated your life. Gave you no options. I'm offering you a choice. If you don't want to go to the club—if you don't want me telling people you're mine—tell me. I'll respect that."
"But you'd be disappointed."
"Yes," I admitted. "I want everyone to know you're with me. Want them to see you choose me publicly. But I want you to choose it. Not just accept it because you think I expect it."
Stefan studied my face. "And if I say no?"
"Then we figure out another way. Keep you here longer. Introduce you gradually. Whatever makes you comfortable."
"What do you want me to say?"
"I want you to say what you actually want. Not what you think I want to hear."
He was quiet for a long moment. Then: "I want to go. I want to see the club from your side instead of as a spy. I want people to know I chose you. That I'm yours." He swallowed hard. "Evenif that makes me fucked up. Even if it means I'm just replacing one controlling man with another. I still want it."
"Stefan—"
"I know it's not healthy," he continued. "I know I should want independence and freedom and to define myself outside of any man's claim. But I've spent my whole life being nobody. Being decoration. Being Giuseppe's pretty youngest son who doesn't matter." His eyes met mine. "When you say I'm yours, when you tell people I belong to you, it makes me feel like I matter. Like I'm worth protecting. Like I'm more than just decorative."
My chest felt tight.
"You do matter," I said. "You're worth protecting. And you're so much more than decorative, Stefan. You're brilliant and brave and strong in ways you don't even see yet."
"Then prove it." His voice was challenging. Vulnerable. "Take me downstairs. Tell everyone I'm yours. Make it real."
