"What?"
"For me. To keep me safe. You say you'd die for me, but would you leave the Vitales? Walk away from everything you've built? Choose me over Sandro and the others if it came to that?"
The question felt like a trap.
"I don't know," I admitted. "The Vitales are my family. Sandro saved me when I had nothing. Gave me purpose. Made me a partner instead of just muscle. I owe him everything."
"But?"
"But you're—" I struggled for words. "You're different. Essential in ways I can't explain. When I think about my life without the Vitales, it's sad. Difficult. A loss. When I think about my life without you, it's—" I stopped. "Empty. Impossible. Not worth living."
Stefan was quiet for a moment. "That's terrifying."
"I know."
"We've only been together a few months. And you're saying you'd choose me over people who've been your family for twelve years?"
"I'm saying I might. And that scares the hell out of me." I looked at him. "Does that change things? Knowing I might be that far gone?"
"No." His voice was soft. "Because I'd choose you too." He laughed bitterly. "I already did choose you. Cut every tie. Burned every bridge. And I don't regret it even though I probably should."
We sat in that knowledge for a while.
"What happens if the trial goes wrong?" Stefan asked eventually. "If you go to prison. Twenty years, maybe. Life if they really bury you." His voice was carefully neutral. "Would you want me to wait?"
The question made my chest tight.
"I'd want you to wait," I said honestly. "I'd want you to visit. To write. To be there when I got out even if it took decades. ButStefan—I'd never ask you to sacrifice your life like that. You're twenty-three. You have decades ahead of you. I wouldn't expect you to waste them visiting a federal prison."
"What if I wanted to?"
"Then I'd tell you to live your life. Find someone safer. Someone who can actually give you a future instead of just stolen visits through plexiglass."
"And if I refused? If I said I'd wait anyway?"
"Then I'd be grateful and terrified in equal measure." I pulled him closer. "But I'd accept it. Because I'm selfish enough to want you even if it means you're alone for twenty years waiting for me."
"I'd wait," Stefan said quietly. "I know that's stupid. I know it's not rational. But I would. However long it took."
"Don't say that."
"Why not? It's true."
"Because it makes the stakes too high." My voice was rough. "If I know you'd wait—if I know losing the trial means you lose decades too—I'll do something stupid trying to avoid it. I'll make deals I shouldn't make. Take risks I shouldn't take. Anything to avoid that future."
"Would that be so bad? Fighting to stay free?"
"It would if it got me killed instead of imprisoned."
We both fell silent.
The conversation was getting too heavy. Too real. But we couldn't stop.
"I'm scared," Stefan admitted. "Of the threats. Of the trial. Of losing you. Of this whole thing falling apart." He looked at me. "Are you?"
"Terrified," I said. "Every day. But I'm more scared of losing you than of any threat or trial or consequence. And that's probably not healthy, but it's true."
On the third day, my control issues got worse.
