"Are you sleeping with Julian yet?"
"No."
"You should probably figure out what you want before he decides for you." Matteo leaned against the wall. Casual. But his tone was serious. "That kid's got patience and persistence in equal measure. He's not going to wait forever for you to get over yourself."
"What do you mean 'decides for me'?"
"I mean Julian's clearly interested and not particularly patient. If you don't make a move, he will. And then you won't be making a choice—you'll just be reacting. Is that what you want?"
I thought about Julian's text messages. About him cornering me in my office. About the way he looked at me across the desk like he was planning strategies of his own.
"No."
"Then figure out what you actually want. Not what you think is appropriate or right or professional. What you want."
"What if I hurt him?"
"What if you don't? What if this is exactly what both of you need?" Matteo pushed off from the wall. "Stop torturing yourself, Elio. Either commit to maintaining distance or admit you want him and deal with the consequences. But this middle ground you're in? It's destroying you. And it's not fair to Julian either."
He left me standing in the hallway questioning everything I thought I knew about control and discipline and doing the right thing.
That night I was in my office late.
Midnight had come and gone. I was reviewing the final pieces of evidence we'd organized. Making sure everything was airtight before we moved forward with exposing Winston.
The work was good. Methodical. Exactly the kind of detail-oriented task that usually helped me focus.
Tonight it was just distraction. My mind kept drifting to Julian. To the way he'd looked at me today. To his knee pressed against mine under the desk. To the want I saw in his eyes that matched the want I was fighting.
To Matteo's words:If you don't make a move, he will.
I should go home. Get a few hours of sleep before tomorrow's meeting with Sandro. Stop obsessing over a twenty-one-year-old who'd gotten under my skin in ways I'd spent years preventing.
Instead I just sat at my desk and stared at the documents without seeing them.
A knock on my door made me look up.
Julian stood in the doorway wearing gray pajama pants and a worn t-shirt. Barefoot. Hair mussed like he'd been lying down. He looked young and vulnerable and absolutely devastating.
"What are you doing up?" I asked.
"Couldn't sleep." He stepped inside. Closed the door behind him.
Locked it.
The click of the lock was loud in the quiet office.
"Julian—"
"We need to talk."
"It's late. We can talk tomorrow—"
"No. We're talking now." He crossed the office. Stopped in front of my desk. "I'm making a choice, Elio. And you're going to listen."
My heart rate kicked up. "What choice?"
"This one."
