The question hung between us. What were we? Not just an arrangement anymore. Not quite boyfriends. Something undefined and complicated and terrifying.
"I don't know," I admitted. "But I know I don't want to keep secrets from you. And I know that if we're going to make this work, we need to trust each other."
"Then trust me with this. With the FBI. With Reeves." He pulled me into his arms and I went, needing the contact. "We handle it together."
"How?"
"First, tell me everything. Exactly what he said, how he said it, what his tone was. I need to know what we're dealing with."
I pulled back enough to look at him. "You want to control this. Handle it your way."
"Of course I do. My instinct is to make him back off, threaten him if necessary, eliminate the problem." He met my eyes. "But I'm asking you what you want to do. Because that's what partners do."
The word "partners" made something warm bloom in my chest.
"I want to meet with him," I said. "Find out exactly what he knows. What his angle is."
"That's dangerous."
"I know. But I'm a journalist. I know how to navigate interviews with hostile subjects. And if he's investigating my connection to you, I need to know how much trouble I'm in."
Luca was quiet for a long moment. I could practically see him fighting his instincts to control, protect, manage the situation himself.
"Okay," he said finally. "You meet with him. But I'm having security follow you. Not to control you—to protect you. If Reeves is building a case, I need to know you're safe."
"That's fair." I leaned into him. "Thank you. For trusting me."
"Thank you for telling me. Even if it took a week." He kissed the top of my head. "No more secrets, okay? Even the scary ones. Especially the scary ones."
"Okay. No more secrets."
The intercom buzzed, announcing the arrival of our breakfast. Luca extracted himself reluctantly and went to deal with it. I stayed on the balcony, processing what had just happened.
Our first conflict. Our first test of this tentative trust. And we'd actually communicated through it instead of him controlling and me resenting.
Maybe this could actually work.
Breakfast was spread across the dining table when I came back inside. Bagels, lox, cream cheese, fresh fruit, orange juice. Simple food but clearly from somewhere expensive based on the presentation.
We sat across from each other and ate in comfortable silence for a while. The tension from the balcony had dissipated, replaced with something calmer. Understanding maybe.
"When did Reeves say he wanted to meet?" Luca asked.
"He emailed Tuesday asking for this week. I told him I could do it next week, buying time."
"Smart. Gives us time to prepare." He took a bite of bagel. "I'll have Emilio brief you on what to say. He's with our law firm—best in the business. He'll make sure you don't accidentally incriminate yourself or me."
"Your lawyer. The one who defended you during the RICO trial?"
"No, that was Diana. Emilio is with Sandro. He's good. You can trust him." Luca paused. "And Valentino? If this gets serious, if Reeves actually tries to build a case, you need legal representation. Let Emilio represent you."
"I can't afford—"
"I'll pay for it." He held up a hand before I could protest. "Not as a way to control you. As a way to protect you. If you're in legal trouble because of your association with me, I'm responsible for making sure you have the best defense."
I wanted to argue. Wanted to maintain my independence. But he was right—if the FBI came after me, I'd need real legal help. And I definitely couldn't afford the caliber of lawyer Luca employed.
"Okay," I said. "If it comes to that. But I'm paying you back. Eventually."
