"I'm always honest with you. Even when the truth makes me look like exactly what I am—possessive and controlling and probably unhealthy."
"Yeah." Stefan's lips curved slightly. "But you're my possessive, controlling, unhealthy person. So I guess I'll deal with the guards and the restrictions and the feeling like I'm back in a cage."
"You shouldn't have to deal with it."
"No, I shouldn't. But I will. Because I love you. Because I trust that you're trying to do the right thing even if the execution is flawed. Because—" He stopped. "Because I'm choosing this. The restrictions. The guards. The cage. I'm choosing it because the alternative is worse."
"What alternative?"
"Losing you." His voice was quiet. "If the FBI grabs me and forces me to testify, they'll tear us apart. If they charge me and I go to prison, we lose years. If they succeed in using me as leverage against you, we both lose." He held my gaze. "So if accepting restrictions for three months means we stay together, I'll accept them."
The relief that flooded through me was almost painful.
"Thank you," I said.
"Don't thank me for accepting a cage, Matteo. That's fucked up."
"I know. But I don't know what else to say."
He kissed me. Soft. Almost sad. "Say you'll try to make this as painless as possible. Say you'll remember I'm choosing this instead of taking it for granted. Say you'll keep checking that I still want to stay."
"I promise." I held him close. "All of that. I promise."
We stood there for a long moment. Both processing the conversation. Both facing the reality that the next three months would test us in ways we hadn't anticipated.
"I'm scared," Stefan admitted quietly.
"Of what?"
"Of the FBI. Of what they could do to us. Of testifying or going to prison or being forced to choose between protecting you and protecting myself." He pressed closer. "And I'm scared that three months of restrictions will turn into six months. Then a year. That you'll keep finding reasons to keep me locked down because it's easier than trusting me to handle danger."
The fear was valid.
"I'm scared too," I said. "Of losing you. Of the FBI tearing us apart. Of you realizing one day that I'm just another man controlling your life and you're better off without me."
"I won't realize that."
"You might. If I keep treating you like something to be protected instead of a partner."
"Then don't do that." Stefan pulled back to look at me. "Treat me like a partner. Include me in decisions. Ask instead of deciding. Trust me to handle myself even when it's scary."
"I'll try."
"That's all I'm asking."
That night, I lay awake with Stefan asleep beside me and tried to figure out how to balance protection with partnership.
The guards stayed. Two in the hallway. Four stationed around the building's exits. More watching the street outside.All under orders to make sure Stefan didn't leave without me or someone I explicitly trusted.
It was a cage. Stefan was right about that.
But it was also the only way I knew to keep him safe from federal agents who'd use any leverage they could find.
Three months until the trial. Twelve weeks of restrictions and guards and Stefan feeling trapped. Twelve weeks of trying to protect him without becoming exactly like the father he'd escaped from.
I didn't know if I could do it.
Didn't know if I could keep the balance between protection and control. Between keeping Stefan safe and keeping him prisoner.
