"I'm choosing to stay with Matteo." The distinction felt important. "If I take my own room, it looks like I need to escape him sometimes. Like I'm only with him by default instead of by choice." I held his gaze. "I choose to be with him. I want people to know that."
Something shifted in Sandro's expression. Not quite approval, but close.
"The offer stands," he said. "If you change your mind. If you need space. If things between you and Matteo become... complicated."
"They're already complicated."
"More complicated, then." He leaned back in his chair. "Matteo told me about the FBI surveillance. About the restrictions. That can't be easy for you."
It wasn't. The guards were a constant presence. The inability to leave without escort made my skin crawl. The feeling of being back in a cage—even a gilded one, even one I'd agreed to—sat heavy in my chest.
"It's temporary," I said. "Three months until the trial. I can handle three months."
"Can you?" Sandro's voice was gentle. Too gentle. "Because Matteo's obsessive. Once he starts protecting something, he doesn't stop. Three months could easily become six. Then a year. Then permanent."
The fear I'd voiced to Matteo. Spoken aloud by someone who knew him better than almost anyone.
"I'll deal with that if it happens," I said. "Right now, the restrictions make sense. The FBI is a real threat."
"They are." Sandro pulled out a folder and slid it across the desk. "Which brings me to the other reason I asked you here. I need help with our legitimate operations. Someone who understands finance and can make our legal businesses more profitable. Someone who can review our books with fresh eyes."
I stared at the folder. "You want me to work on your financial records?"
"Yes. You have degrees in business and political science. You speak four languages. You're clearly intelligent despite what your father believed." He tapped the folder. "This is a job offer, Stefan. Not a request. Not a way to keep you occupied. An actual position with actual responsibilities and actual pay."
"You'd trust me with your books? I'm Giuseppe Romano's son."
"You're the man who chose to cut ties with Giuseppe rather than go back. The man who told his brother to fuck off whenasked to return. The man who's been living here for months and hasn't tried to contact the FBI or gather intelligence or do anything except follow Matteo around like a lovesick puppy."
I flushed. "I'm not—"
"You are. And it's mutual, which is the only reason I'm making this offer." Sandro's expression was serious. "I need someone I can trust handling our finances. Matteo trusts you. That's enough for me to give you a chance. But Stefan—if you betray that trust, there won't be a second chance. Are we clear?"
"I won't betray you."
"Good. Then you start tomorrow. Nine AM. Bring coffee. The books are a mess."
***
The books were indeed a mess.
I spent the first week just organizing the legitimate business records—the restaurants, the real estate holdings, the investment properties. Everything was technically legal but buried under layers of complicated shell companies and accounting practices that made my head hurt.
Sandro gave me a small office on the second floor. Not far from Matteo's office, I noticed. Close enough that Matteo could check on me easily. Close enough that the guards stationed in the hallway could watch both doors.
The cage, even while I was being given responsibility.
Elio watched me with open suspicion for the first two weeks.
He'd appear in my office doorway at random times. Ask pointed questions about what I was working on. Review my analysis with an intensity that suggested he was looking for evidence of sabotage or intelligence gathering.
I didn't blame him. I was the enemy's son living in their home and touching their financial records. If I were him, I'd be suspicious too.
But eventually—three weeks into the job—Elio admitted I was good at what I did.
"You found twelve thousand dollars in tax deductions we missed," he said, dropping a report on my desk. "And restructured the restaurant holdings to save us another twenty thousand annually. That's... impressive."
"I told you I'd be useful."
