I could. We could.
That Saturday, visiting Luca, I could see the change in him too. He looked lighter. Happier. The countdown was real now. Tangible.
"Three months," he said, holding my hands across the table. "Ninety days. Then I'm coming home to you."
"I'm counting every single one," I said. "The penthouse is ready. I'm ready. We're ready."
"What's the first thing you want to do? When I get out?"
"Hold you. Properly. For as long as I want." I smiled. "Maybe never let go."
"I'm okay with that plan." He brought my hand to his lips, kissed my knuckles. The guard didn't stop him. "I love you. So fucking much."
"I love you too. Three more months."
"Three more months," he agreed. "Then the rest of our lives."
I left that day feeling hopeful in a way I hadn't felt in months. Because this was real. This was happening.
Luca was coming home.
Soon.
CHAPTER 22: LUCA
THE LAST MONTHfelt longer than the previous eleven combined.
Every day dragged. Every hour crawled. I counted down—thirty days, twenty-nine days, twenty-eight—obsessively tracking the time until freedom. Until Valentino.
My behavior stayed perfect. Model prisoner. I couldn't afford a single infraction that might delay my release. David, my cellmate, found my paranoia amusing.
"You're already approved, Romano. They're letting you out. Relax."
"I'll relax when I'm through those gates."
He shook his head but didn't push it. He understood. We all understood. Freedom was everything.
Valentino visited every Saturday, same as always. But these final visits felt different. Charged with anticipation.
"Three more weeks," he said, holding my hands across the table. "Twenty-one days."
"Twenty-one days," I agreed. "What do you want to do? When I get out?"
"Hold you. Properly. Without a guard timing us."
I brought his hand to my lips, kissed his knuckles. "And after that?"
"Take you home. Lock the door. Not let you leave for at least a week."
Heat flared in his eyes. I felt it echo in my chest, lower. A year without touching him. A year of monitored calls and supervised visits and counting days.
"First thing I'm doing when we get home," I said, voice low, "is reminding you exactly who you belong to."
His breath caught. "Luca—"
"A year, Valentino. A year of wanting you. Thinking about you. Dreaming about you." I held his gaze. "I'm going to take my time. Relearn every inch of you. Make you come so many times you forget your own name."
"Jesus." His cheeks flushed. "You can't—we're in public."
