Emilio woke up tangled in warmth, the sheets twisted around his legs, the scent of Matteo still clinging to his skin like a second touch.
For a moment, everything was still soft, golden, safe.
Matteo lay beside him, one arm slung lazily over Emilio's waist, his breathing slow and steady. His face, usually hard-edged and unreadable, was completely relaxed in sleep. Peaceful. Human.
Emilio reached out and brushed a strand of dark hair off Matteo's forehead.
He looked nothing like the man who made grown men beg for mercy. He looked like someone Emilio could love.
But that thought
God, it was dangerous.
He slipped from the bed carefully, grabbing the oversized black shirt Matteo had tossed aside the night before and pulling it over his head. It fell to his thighs like a dress, smelled like power and sandalwood, and made him feel more bare than naked.
He padded into the kitchen and started the coffee. Something about the normalcy of it felt like rebellion. Like pretending he wasn't standing in the penthouse of a man who had blood on his hands and secrets in his walls.
Emilio had barely taken a sip of coffee when his phone vibrated violently across the counter.
Unknown number.
He frowned and picked it up.
Before he could speak, a low, cold voice said, "You're in over your head, pretty boy."
Emilio's blood turned to ice.
"I.....who is this?"
But the line went dead.
He stared at the screen, heart pounding so loud it nearly drowned out the world.
Then"Emilio?" Matteo's voice drifted from the bedroom, still rough with sleep.
He spun, shoving the phone behind his back like a teenager hiding evidence. "Morning."
Matteo stepped into the kitchen, shirtless, in loose black sweats that hung just low enough to drive Emilio's thoughts somewhere sinful. But there was something sharp behind Matteo's eyes now, something awake and aware.
"You okay?" he asked, already scanning Emilio's face.
Emilio forced a smile. "Yeah. Just didn't want to wake you."
Matteo didn't press. Not yet. But Emilio saw the flicker of suspicion. Matteo missed nothing and whatever this morning peace was, it was temporary.
Later, in Matteo's car, things felt heavier.
Emilio stared out the tinted window, trying not to think about the call.
Trying not to wonder who knew.
Matteo drove with one hand on the wheel, the other resting lightly on Emilio's thigh. A silent claim. A grounding weight. Emilio wanted to lean into it, to believe this was something real.
But then they pulled up to the shop.
And standing outside was a man Emilio didn't recognize tall, lean, with a leather jacket and a smile that didn't reach his eyes.
Matteo went still.
Emilio glanced at him. "You know him?"
"His name's Luca," Matteo said coolly. "He works for someone who doesn't like me much."
"That narrows it down," Emilio muttered.
Matteo gave him a sharp look. "Stay here."
But Emilio was already opening the door. "It's my shop."
Luca looked up as they approached, flashing a grin. "Ah, the famous Emilio. You're even prettier in person."
Matteo stepped between them like a wall of muscle and menace. "State your business."
"I was just admiring the view," Luca said, eyes flicking back to Emilio. "Didn't know you'd started dating civilians, Matteo. Risky."
"Get lost," Matteo growled.
Luca shrugged. "Suit yourself. But don't say I didn't warn you when things start to fall apart."
He turned and walked off, the threat hanging in the air like smoke.
Matteo didn't speak for a full minute. When he finally turned to Emilio, his voice was low. "You need to be careful. From now on, you don't go anywhere alone."
Emilio crossed his arms. "I'm not your prisoner, Matteo."
"No," Matteo said. "But you're mine."
It wasn't said possessively.
It was said like truth.
Like a confession.
And the terrifying part?
Emilio wasn't sure he wanted to argue.