Dante's mocking words echoed in my head:you can't fight this forever, little spitfire.Fear crawled up my spine.
"He stays," Stefan said. "We help him."
"Stefan—" Elio said warily.
"We help him," Stefan repeated. Firmer. "I know what it's like to be that desperate. To be trapped by family expectations and arrangements you never agreed to. To run out of options except throwing yourself at the mercy of people who could kill you. I was that desperate young man. And Matteo gave me sanctuary. We do the same for Julian."
"No." Elio's voice was hard. My heart plummeted. "Absolutely not. We just avoided federal prison by a miracle. Taking in a Chicago boss's runaway son could start a war. The Bianchi family will come looking for him. And when they find out he came here—to us—it becomes our problem. This is enormous risk for zero reward."
"He's a person, not a risk assessment," Stefan argued.
"He's both. And the risk outweighs any benefit." Elio looked to Matteo. "Matteo, you know I'm right. We should send him back before his family finds out he came here. Before this becomes our problem. We don't need complications right now. We need stability. We need to lie low."
Matteo looked at me. Took a moment to think.
"He stays," Matteo said.
"Matteo—" Elio's voice was sharp with warning. "This is a mistake. A massive, dangerous mistake. The Bianchi family is powerful. Winston Bianchi doesn't tolerate defiance. If he finds out we're harboring his son—"
"Temporarily," Matteo cut in. "Julian stays temporarily while we assess what kind of heat this brings. If the Bianchi family comes looking and it puts us at risk, we'll revisit. But for now, we're helping him."
"You're making this decision based on sentiment. On your feelings for Stefan. Not on strategic assessment." Elio's voice wascold. "That's dangerous. Especially right now when we should be cautious."
"Noted. But it's my call and I'm making it." Matteo turned to me. "You can stay. Same room Stefan originally had—second floor, down the hall. You don't leave the building without permission. You don't contact anyone from your family. You work with Stefan on the books to earn your keep. And if your family comes looking and it puts us at risk, this arrangement ends. Clear?"
"Crystal clear." I slumped with relief, my heart still racing. "Thank you. I—thank you."
"Don't thank me yet. You might regret this decision." Matteo gestured to the door.
Stefan moved toward me. "Come on. Let's get you settled."
I followed him out of Elio's office. Felt those sharp eyes tracking my every movement until the door closed behind us.
Stefan led me down a hallway, around a corner, down another hallway. The building was bigger than it looked from outside. More maze-like. Probably intentional—harder to escape if you didn't know the layout.
We stopped at a door fitted with a card reader, though the lock wasn’t engaged. Stefan opened it and gestured me inside.
The room was utilitarian but comfortable. A bed bolted to the floor. A bookshelf full of books—classics, thrillers, some textbooks. A TV mounted on the wall. A bathroom visible through an open door. One window. No way out except the door we'd just come through.
A cage. But a nicer cage than the one I'd left.
"I'll see about getting you some dry clothes," Stefan said. He grabbed a towel from the bathroom and handed it to me. "Get dried off. Try to get some sleep. Tomorrow's going to be intense—they'll want to ask you questions. Lots of them."
"Thank you," I said quietly. "For speaking up for me. You didn't have to do that."
"I know what it's like." Stefan's voice was soft. "Being trapped. Desperate. Having nowhere else to turn. Matteo gave me a chance when he could've killed me. I'm just paying it forward."
He left. The door closed behind him with a soft click.
I stood there for a moment, dripping on the floor, not quite believing I'd made it. That I was here. That they'd actually said yes.
I stripped off my soaked shirt, leaving a damp undershirt clinging to my skin. Peeled off my pants, leaving damp boxer briefs. Dried off as best I could with the towel Stefan had given me.
Then I sat down on the bed and started shaking.
Adrenaline crash. Fear. Relief. Exhaustion. Everything I'd been holding back for three days of running hit me all at once.
I put my face in my hands. Didn't cry—I'd learned a long time ago that crying didn't solve anything—but my shoulders shook with the effort of holding it together.
