"Because you're cutting off everyone from your old life. Your brothers. Your father. Now your mother. That's a lot of loss. A lot of bridges burned. And I'm worried that one day you'll wake up and resent me for being the reason you're isolated."
"You're not the reason. Giuseppe is. The family is. They're the ones who made me choose between them and my own wellbeing." I held his gaze. "I'm choosing wellbeing. I'm choosing you. And I don't resent you for that. I'm grateful."
"You say that now—"
"I mean it now. And I'll mean it tomorrow. And the day after." I kissed him. "Stop trying to protect me from my own choices, Matteo. I'm making them with full awareness of whatI'm losing. And I'm still choosing this. Choosing you. Choosing us."
He searched my face. Looking for doubt. For regret. For any sign I was lying to myself or him.
"Okay," he said finally. "But Stefan—if you change your mind, if you need to reach out to your mother or rebuild some of those bridges, I'll support that. You don't have to stay isolated to prove your loyalty to me."
"I'm not staying isolated to prove anything. I'm staying isolated because reaching out would mean going back. And I can't do that. Won't do that." I pulled him closer. "This is my choice. My decision. And I'm making it freely."
"Okay." He kissed my forehead. "Okay."
We stood there holding each other while I processed the call. The guilt. The grief. The knowledge that I'd just cut off the last person in my family who might have actually loved me—even if that love came wrapped in weakness and compliance.
It hurt. God, it hurt so much more than I'd expected.
But I still didn't regret it.
***
That night, I needed to feel something other than grief and guilt.
Matteo was in the bedroom, reading through security reports on his laptop. I walked in and closed the door behind me. Locked it.
He looked up. "Stefan?"
I crossed to him. Took the laptop and set it aside. Straddled his lap.
"I need you," I said.
"I'm right here."
"No. I need—" I struggled for words. "I need to feel like I have control over something. Like my body is mine. My choices are mine. I need—"
"Tell me what you need."
"Let me lead." My voice was firm. "Tonight, I'm in control. I decide what happens. How it happens. You just—" I searched his face. "Trust me. Let me have this."
Understanding flickered in his eyes. "Whatever you need."
I kissed him. Hard. Demanding. Poured all the emotion churning in my chest into the physical connection.
Matteo kissed back but let me lead. Let me set the pace. Let me control the intensity.
I pulled back and started unbuttoning his shirt. Slowly. Deliberately. Taking my time with each button while he watched me with dark eyes.
"You're beautiful," he said softly.
"Tonight's not about me being beautiful. It's about me choosing this. Choosing you. On my terms." I pushed his shirt off his shoulders. "My family spent twenty-three years trying to control my body. Who I was with. How I behaved. What I did with myself. Tonight, I'm taking that control back."
"Then take it." His voice was rough. "I'm yours, Stefan. Do whatever you want with me."
The permission made something tight in my chest loosen.
I kissed down his throat. His chest. Learning the sounds he made when I bit his collarbone. When I sucked marks into his skin. When I scraped my teeth over his nipple.
