***
That night, I brought Stefan down to the main club for the first time since I'd caught him two weeks ago.
He was nervous—I could feel it in the tension of his body as we descended the stairs. The club was packed, music pounding, beautiful people dancing and drinking and conducting business in shadowed corners.
"Stay close to me," I said, my hand on his back. Possessive. Protective. "Don't leave my side."
He nodded.
We made our way through the crowd toward the VIP section. People noticed us immediately. Recognized Stefan. I could see the whispers spreading. The shocked expressions. The phones coming out to text or call or spread the news.
Good. Let them talk.
Sandro, Elio, and Luca were already at our usual table. Emilio was there too, sitting close to Sandro with that comfortable intimacy they'd built. He looked up when we arrived and offered Stefan a small smile.
"Stefan," Emilio said. "Pleased to meet you."
"You too." Stefan's voice was steady despite the nerves I could feel radiating off him.
I kept Stefan close as we sat. My arm around his shoulders. My hand on his thigh. Every gesture screaming possession to anyone watching.
Stefan noticed. "Everyone's staring."
"Let them." I pulled him closer. "They're learning a new reality. Stefan Romano isn't Giuseppe's anymore. He's mine."
Over the next hour, I made sure the message was received.
I introduced Stefan to key employees. Made it clear he was under my protection. That anyone who touched him—anyone who threatened him, disrespected him, or even looked at him wrong—answered to me personally.
The message spread through the club like wildfire.
By the end of the night, everyone knew. Stefan Romano was off-limits. He belonged to Matteo DeLuca. Touching him meant war.
I watched it sink in. Watched Stefan realize what I'd done. How thoroughly I'd claimed him in front of everyone.
His expression was complicated. Gratitude mixed with something that looked like fear. Belonging mixed with awareness that he'd just let me define him in front of witnesses.
When we finally went back upstairs, Stefan was buzzing with adrenaline.
"That was intense," he said, pacing the room. "Everyone was staring. Talking. Taking pictures probably. By tomorrow, every family in New York will know I'm here. Will know I chose you."
"That's the point."
"I know. I just—" He ran his hands through his hair. "I've never felt like that before. Like I belonged somewhere without having to perform. Like I was exactly where I was supposed to be."
"You can stop performing here," I said. "You can just be yourself."
"I'm not sure who that is anymore." He turned to face me. "I've spent so long being what other people needed. Giuseppe's pretty son. The Romano family's acceptable face. The trophy at charity events. I don't know who Stefan is when he's not playing a role."
I crossed to him and pulled him close. "Then we'll figure it out together."
He kissed me. Desperate and grateful and overwhelmed.
"Thank you," he whispered against my mouth. "For tonight. For claiming me. For making me feel like I matter."
"You do matter. More than you know."
Stefan kissed me first. Hard and desperate. Like he needed to prove something to himself. To me. To the world that had just watched me claim him.
