"Complicated." Matteo pulled out reports. "FBI's been sniffing around more since your arrest. Looking at our finances, our deals, our properties."
"Any problems?"
"Nothing illegal. Stefan's legitimate restructuring is holding. But we've lost three deals this week. Investors don't want to be associated with federal indictments."
Guilt twisted in my stomach. "I'm sorry. I'm dragging you all down."
"You're not dragging us anywhere," Elio said firmly. "We're family. We knew the risks when we went into business together."
"Still—"
"Still nothing." Sandro's voice was hard. "We stick together. That's how this works. You've had our backs through everything. Now we have yours."
"The FBI scrutiny—"
"Is annoying but manageable. We're clean, Luca. The restructuring is real. Let them investigate. They'll find legitimate business." Matteo leaned forward. "How's Valentino holding up?"
"Better than expected. He's been helping with trial prep. Researching case law, organizing documents. Emilio says he's invaluable."
"He's a fighter," Elio observed. "Didn't expect that when you first brought him around. Thought he'd break under pressure."
"So did I." I thought about Valentino at the legal meeting—focused, asking smart questions, taking notes. "He's stronger than anyone gives him credit for."
"You love him." Sandro said it as fact, not question.
"I do. Completely."
"Then fight for him. Fight for this. We're behind you all the way."
When I got home, Valentino was at the dining table surrounded by papers and his laptop. He'd been doing this every day—researching, reading case files, helping build our defense.
"Find anything useful?" I asked.
"Maybe. There's precedent for relationships that start under duress evolving into genuine partnerships. Several cases where courts recognized the distinction." He looked up, exhaustion clear in his face. "It doesn't guarantee anything but it helps."
I pulled out a chair beside him. "You don't have to do this. Emilio has a team—"
"I need to do this. I need to feel like I'm helping. Like I have some control." He gestured at the papers. "Everything else in my life is falling apart. My career's destroyed. My reputation's in ruins. This—helping with our defense—it's the only thing I can actually do."
"Your career isn't destroyed—"
"Yes it is. And we both know it." He said it without bitterness, just acceptance. "Even if we win, I'm the journalist who dated a mob boss. Who got arrested for conspiracy. No major outlet will touch me."
"Then you do something else. Stefan and Julian already offered you a position—"
"Doing PR for your organization. Which is exactly what everyone already thinks I was doing." He rubbed his face. "I'm not saying I won't take it. I probably will. But let's not pretend it's not a massive step down from investigative journalism."
I didn't know what to say to that. He was right. His career—the thing he'd worked his entire adult life building—was over. Because of me.
"I'm sorry," I said finally.
"Don't be. I made my choices." He reached for my hand. "I chose you. I'd choose you again. Even knowing what it would cost."
"That doesn't make me feel less guilty."
"I know. But it's still true." He squeezed my hand. "Come on. I've been at this for six hours. I need a break."
We made dinner together, both trying to find normalcy in the routine. Cooking, talking about nothing important, pretending for a moment that we weren't under indictment facing years in prison.
