We sealed it with a kiss. Soft. Almost sad. Both of us trying not to think about the possibility that these could be our last weeks of physical contact before prison separated us.
The trial continued.
Week three brought more damaging testimony. More evidence. More recordings that showed exactly what we'd been doing for years.
The defense tried. Diana was brilliant—poking holes, challenging credibility, making the jury question whether the surveillance was legal. But the mountain of evidence was impossible to ignore.
During a recess in week three, Stefan and I were leaving the courthouse together. I needed air. Needed to escape the suffocating reality of that courtroom for five minutes.
We walked down the courthouse steps side by side. My hand found the small of Stefan's back automatically—protective, possessive, needing the contact.
Stefan leaned into me slightly. Not dramatically. Just a subtle shift that spoke of comfort and trust.
Camera flashes went off.
I realized too late what we'd done. Photographers. Journalists. All of them capturing this moment. This visible intimacy between a RICO defendant and the son of a rival family.
"Fuck," I said.
"Too late now." Stefan didn't pull away. "Let them take their pictures."
The next morning, the headlines wrote themselves.
"Mob Enforcer Dating Rival Boss's Son"
"Romeo and Juliet of New York Crime Families"
"Romano Heir Chooses Vitale Defendant During RICO Trial"
The coverage was sensational and intrusive. Journalists dug into Stefan's background. His education at Columbia. His family connections. The fact that he'd cut ties with the Romanos. Speculation about why Giuseppe Romano's youngest son was supporting the Vitales during their criminal trial.
Some articles questioned whether Stefan was cooperating with prosecutors. Whether he'd been turned. Whether this relationship was real or strategic.
I sat in the apartment reading everything and feeling sick.
"This is my fault," I said. "I shouldn't have touched you in public. Shouldn't have—"
"Stop." Stefan grabbed the tablet from me. "I'm not hiding. I'm done hiding who I am and who I love to make other people comfortable."
"But the media—"
"Will move on to the next story eventually. In the meantime, at least my father knows definitively that I chose you. That I burned those bridges publicly and permanently." Stefan's voice was sharp. Defiant. "If being public makes me a target, fine. I'll deal with it. But I'm not going back in the closet just because journalists are nosy."
"This makes you more vulnerable. Every rival family knows you matter to me now. Every enemy knows exactly where to aim."
"I was already vulnerable. The threats proved that." He sat beside me. "And honestly? I'd rather be openly yours than secretly scared. At least this way everyone knows the truth."
"The truth that you're dating a man facing life in prison?"
"The truth that I love you. That I chose you. That I'm not ashamed of that choice even when it's hard." Stefan's eyes held mine. "You taught me to stop apologizing for wanting things. For taking up space. For loving who I love. Don't ask me to unlearn that now."
I pulled him close. "I'm proud of you. Terrified for you. But proud."
"Good. Because I'm not changing my mind. We're public now. Everyone knows. And I'm fine with that."
The media attention intensified over the next few days.
Journalists followed Stefan. Camped outside Inferno. Shouted questions about his relationship with me. About whether he was cooperating with the FBI. About what his father thought of his choices.
