"I'm sure. It's bittersweet—I'm mourning something I loved. But I'm also choosing something new. Something that lets me be honest about who I am and what I want." He found my hand. "I'm choosing this. Actively. No regrets."
Stefan raised his glass. "Then welcome to the team. Officially."
We toasted, but I could see the grief in Valentino's eyes even as he smiled. This was the right choice, but it still hurt. Another thing sacrificed because of me, because of what we'd become to each other.
Later, driving home, I tried to find the right words.
"I'm sorry," I said finally. "For what this cost you. Your career, your reputation—"
"Don't." He cut me off. "Don't apologize for this. I made my choices. And yes, it costs me. But you're worth it. This—us—it's worth it."
"Is it? Really?"
"Yes." No hesitation. "Even knowing how it would end, I'd choose you again. Every time."
That night, after we'd gotten home and changed into comfortable clothes, we ended up on the couch with wine. Both of us quiet, processing everything—the legal victories, the career sacrifice, the trial looming in two months.
"We should talk about worst case scenarios," I said eventually.
Valentino looked at me. "Do we have to?"
"We have to. Emilio said fifty-fifty odds on the major charges. That means there's a real possibility we both go to prison." I took his hand. "We need to plan for that."
"What's there to plan? If we're convicted, we go to prison. End of story."
"Not end of story. Beginning of a different one." I pulled him closer. "If I go to prison—when, realistically, I go to prison—I need to know you'll be okay."
"I won't be okay. I'll be devastated."
"But you'll survive. You have the job with Stefan and Julian now. You have the penthouse—it's yours whether I'm here or not. You have the family support. You'll survive."
"What about you?" His voice was tight. "What happens to you in prison?"
"I've been to prison before. I know how to handle it." I tried to sound confident. "I'll keep my head down, follow the rules, get early release for good behavior. Eighteen months becomes twelve, maybe less."
"And if it's longer? If you get the full sentence or more?"
"Then you wait. If you want to. If you choose to."
"Of course I'll wait." He pulled back to look at me. "Did you really think I wouldn't?"
"I think prison changes things. Months apart, maybe years. Limited visits, monitored phone calls. That's hard on any relationship."
"So we'll do the hard thing. We've been doing hard things since we met." He caught my face in his hands. "Luca, listen to me. If you go to prison, I will wait for you. I will visit every chance I get. I will be there when you're released. That's not a question."
"And if you go to prison—"
"Then you do the same for me. We've already promised this to each other." His eyes were fierce. "No matter what happens at trial, we're in this together. Whatever the verdict, whatever the sentence, we face it together."
"Together," I agreed.
"Say it. Promise me."
"I promise. If you go to prison, I'll be there every visiting day. I'll write you letters. I'll count down the days until you're released. I'll wait for you." My voice roughened. "And when you get out, we'll rebuild. Whatever we have to rebuild."
"And I promise the same." He kissed me. "We survive this. Whatever form it takes, we survive."
We sat there holding each other for a long time. Both thinking about what survival might look like. Separate prisons, glass partitions, monitored phone calls. Years of our lives interrupted, delayed, stolen.
