But now...
"I don't know what I believe anymore," I admitted. "I know this is fucked up. I know I probably have some kind of trauma bond or Stockholm syndrome or whatever psychologists would call it. I know I should want to go back to my family, to my old life, to anything except staying with the man who kidnapped me."
"But you don't want to leave."
"No." The word came out firm. Certain. "I don't want to leave. I want to stay here. With you. Even though Antonio's probably right that I'm naive and in over my head and being used."
Matteo pulled back to look at me. "I'm not using you."
"How do I know that? How do I know this is real and not just you manipulating me until I'm not useful anymore?"
"You don't." His honesty was almost painful. "I can tell you it's real. I can tell you I care about you in ways I've never cared about anyone. I can tell you that what I feel for you is obsessive and possessive and probably unhealthy but it's genuine. But you have to decide whether to believe me."
I turned to face him fully. "What if Antonio's right? What if I'm just naive? What if six months from now I wake up and realize this was all manipulation and I've destroyed my entire life for nothing?"
"Then you rebuild. Start over. Figure out what comes next." Matteo cupped my face. "But Stefan—for what it's worth—I don't think you're naive. I think you're brave. You walked away from a life that was suffocating you. Chose something different even though it's risky and complicated. That's not naivety. That's courage."
"Or stupidity."
"Maybe both." He smiled slightly. "But it's your choice. Your risk to take. And I'll be here either way."
I kissed him. Needed the physical connection to ground me. To remind me why I'd made this choice.
When we broke apart, I said: "I'm scared."
"Of what?"
"Of everything. Of cutting ties with my family. Of them being right that you're using me. Of waking up one day and regretting this." I pressed my forehead against his. "But I'm more scared of going back. Of being Giuseppe's pretty trophy again. Of suffocating in that life for another decade until I finally break."
"Then stay scared here," Matteo said. "Stay scared with me. And we'll figure it out together."
"You keep saying that. That we'll figure it out together."
"Because it's true." His hands moved to my waist. Holding me steady. "You're not alone in this, Stefan. Whatever comes next—guilt, regret, consequences—you're not facing it alone."
"What are we?" The question I'd been avoiding. "To each other? What is this?"
Matteo was quiet for a moment. "I'm not good with labels."
"That's convenient."
"It's honest." He pulled me closer. "What I feel for you doesn't fit in any category I know. It's obsessive. But it's real. You're mine and I'm yours and that's all I know how to define it."
"So I'm just... yours?"
"Yes." His voice was firm. "Is that enough?"
I thought about it. About labels and definitions and what Antonio would say about me accepting such a vague, possessive description.
"Yeah," I said finally. "It's enough."
We ended up in his backup apartment above the club.
Matteo led me there by the hand, neither of us speaking. The silence felt heavy with everything I'd just done. Every bridge I'd burned. Every tie I'd severed.
His apartment was familiar now. I'd spent more nights here than in my old room over the past few weeks. But it felt different tonight. Like I was seeing it for the first time. The space that was becoming home in ways Giuseppe's mansion never had.
The door closed behind us and Matteo pulled me close. Kissed me hard. Desperate.
