Stefan took his coffee with too much cream and not enough sugar, making it pale and slightly sweet. He hummed unconsciously when he was thinking, always the same three-note pattern. He read voraciously but dog-eared pages instead of using bookmarks, which drove me crazy. He was left-handed but wore his watch on his left wrist anyway because that's how his grandfather had worn his.
I learned that I couldn't fall asleep anymore without physical contact—even just Stefan's hand in mine or his foot pressed against my leg. That I had tells Stefan could read like a book: jaw clenching meant worried, hands flexing meant scared, too-careful movements meant barely controlled violence. That I was better at cooking than I'd thought, or maybe Stefan was justgenerous with compliments. That I liked being needed in small ways—Stefan asking me to open jars or reach high shelves or check if a noise was just the house settling.
These details felt important. Real. The kind of knowledge you only gained from days of nothing but each other.
"I didn't know you hummed," I said one afternoon. We were on the couch, Stefan reading while I cleaned my gun.
"What?"
"When you're thinking. You hum. Same three notes every time."
He looked embarrassed. "I do?"
"Yeah. It's—" I searched for the word. "—nice. Soothing."
"Giuseppe hated it. Said it was annoying. Made me self-conscious about making any noise at all." Stefan's voice was quiet. "I didn't realize I still did it."
"Don't stop." I reached for his hand. "I like knowing you're comfortable enough here to do things you were trained to suppress at home."
He smiled. Squeezed my hand. Went back to reading.
And hummed.
That night, lying in bed, Stefan said: "I never thought I'd be here."
"In a safe house?"
"Happy. With you. In a situation that should be terrifying but somehow feels—" He paused. "—right. Like this is where I'm supposed to be even though it makes no sense."
"It makes sense to me."
"Does it? We've known each other for a few months. You kidnapped me. Kept me prisoner. We're literally hiding from death threats. And somehow this feels more like home than anywhere I've ever lived."
I understood what he meant. This cabin—cramped and isolated and temporary—felt more real than my apartment atInferno or my apartment offsite. More honest than the life I'd built over twelve years.
Because Stefan was here. And wherever Stefan was felt like home.
"I love you," I said.
"I love you too." He turned to face me. "Even though we're probably going to destroy each other."
"Probably." I pulled him closer. "But what a way to go."
***
Elio called on the morning of the fifth day.
I answered on the second ring. "Tell me you found something."
"I found something." His voice was grim. "The threats didn't come from a rival family. They came from a burner phone purchased in Virginia. Same state where FBI regional headquarters is located."
My blood went cold. "You're saying the FBI sent the threats?"
"I'm saying someone connected to the FBI investigation sent them. Could be agents trying to scare Stefan into isolation from you. Could be Giuseppe using federal resources to pressure Stefan into coming home. Either way, it's about the trial. About getting leverage."
"Fuck."
"Yeah." Elio paused. "Matteo—this means they're actively targeting Stefan. Not just watching him. Actively trying to separate him from you. You need to decide how to handle that."
