"Come to bed," Luca said, pulling me toward the bedroom. "We've done enough thinking for one day."
We undressed in comfortable silence. Climbed into bed and found each other in the darkness. Made love slowly, quietly, both needing the connection. The reassurance that we were still here, still together, still choosing this despite everything.
After, we lay tangled together, both too wired to sleep despite the exhaustion.
"Tomorrow we start fighting back," Luca said quietly. "Tonight we just have this."
"This is enough." I pressed closer. "You're enough."
"I love you." He said it again, like he needed to hear the words spoken aloud.
"I love you too." I kissed his chest. "We'll get through this. Together."
"Together," he agreed.
We fell asleep eventually, holding each other against the darkness. Against the threats waiting on the other side of sleep.
But for now, in the quiet of his bedroom with his arms around me, I felt safe.
CHAPTER 8: LUCA
A WEEK HADpassed since the FBI meeting and I was still waking up every morning convinced Reeves was going to show up with handcuffs.
It hadn't happened yet. But the waiting was its own kind of torture.
I rolled over and found Valentino already awake, lying on his back staring at the ceiling. Morning light filtered through the windows, casting patterns across his face. He looked tired. We both were.
"Can't sleep?" I asked quietly.
"Thinking." He turned his head to look at me. "How long do you think before Reeves makes his next move?"
"I don't know. Could be days. Could be weeks." I reached for his hand. "We just have to be ready."
"I am ready. I'm just tired of waiting for the other shoe to drop."
"I know." I pulled him closer. "Come here."
He shifted to rest his head on my chest, his arm draped across my waist. We lay there in comfortable silence, both processing the stress that had become our new normal.
Over the past week, Valentino had essentially moved in. Not officially—most of his stuff was still in Brooklyn—but he'd been here every night since the FBI meeting. His clothes hung in my closet. His toiletries cluttered my bathroom counter. His research papers were spread across my dining table. His coffee mug had a permanent spot next to mine.
The domesticity of it should have terrified me. The persona didn't do domestic. Didn't let people into his space, into his routine, into his life this completely.
But with Valentino, I wanted it. Craved it, even. Waking up next to him every morning. Making coffee together. The small intimacies that came from sharing space with someone you loved.
"What time is your meeting today?" Valentino asked.
"Eleven. Partners meeting about the business restructuring." I ran my fingers through his hair. "What about you?"
"Working on edits for the school board piece. Editor wants it by end of week."
"How's it looking?"
"Good. Really good, actually." He lifted his head to look at me. "It's solid journalism. Nothing to do with you or the Vitales. Just my work."
The pride in his voice made my chest tight. "I'm glad. You needed that."
"I did. Need to prove—to myself more than anyone—that I'm still a real journalist." He kissed my chest. "That I didn't completely compromise my integrity."
