"I don't know," I admitted. "Maybe. This might be the worst decision you've ever made. Or it might be the start of figuring out who you actually are." I held him tighter. "But it's your mistake to make. Your decision. Your choice. And I'll be here either way."
"Even if I decide this was wrong? That I need something different?"
"Even then." The promise felt important. Essential. "I want you here, Stefan. But I want you to choose it every day. Not just accept it because you have nowhere else to go or because I claimed you publicly or because you're scared of being alone."
He was quiet for a long time. Then: "I'm choosing it. Right now, in this moment, I'm choosing you. Choosing this. I don't know if that'll still be true tomorrow or next week or next month. But right now, it's what I want."
"Then that's enough."
We fell asleep tangled together. The door unlocked. Stefan publicly claimed as mine. Our futures uncertain but facing them together.
It was fucked up and complicated and probably a disaster waiting to happen.
But it was real.
CHAPTER 11: STEFAN
I'D BEEN ATInferno for six weeks when the phone call came.
It was the middle of the afternoon. I was in the main club area—quieter during the day, most of the staff prepping for tonight's crowd. I'd been helping organize inventory in the back, something to do with my time that felt useful instead of just sitting around waiting for Matteo.
It had become routine over the past few weeks. Finding small tasks. Making myself helpful. Proving I wasn't just decoration here.
Tommy, one of the security guys, found me in the stockroom.
"Stefan? You've got a phone call. Your brother Antonio called the main club line."
My stomach dropped.
"Did he say what he wanted?"
"Just that it's urgent. Family business." Tommy's expression was carefully neutral. "Matteo said to bring you to his office to take it if you want to. No pressure—we can tell him you're not available."
I should. Should tell Tommy to hang up. Should refuse to engage with anything Romano-related.
But Antonio was calling. Not Giuseppe.
"I'll take it," I said.
Tommy led me upstairs to Matteo's office. Matteo was already there, leaning against his desk with his arms crossed. His expression was unreadable.
"You don't have to take this," he said. "I can have them hang up."
"I know. But it's Antonio. Not my father." I swallowed hard. "I should at least hear what he has to say."
Matteo nodded and gestured to the phone on his desk. The line was blinking on hold.
I picked up the receiver. Matteo stayed where he was—close enough to offer support but giving me space. I was grateful for both.
"Antonio."
"Stefan." My brother's voice was familiar and strange all at once. "Thank god. I've been trying to reach you for days. Giuseppe wouldn't let me call but I finally—" He stopped. "Are you okay? Are they hurting you?"
"I'm fine." Better than fine, actually. But Antonio didn't need to know that. "What do you want?"
"What do I want? Stefan, you've been missing for six weeks. We thought you were dead. Then word starts spreading that you're alive and living with the fucking Vitales like it's normal—"
"It is normal. For me. Now."
