The headlines still haunted Emilio's thoughts as he sat in the quiet glow of Matteo's penthouse. The city might've been alive and chaotic outside, but inside these walls, everything felt still.
Too still.
Emilio had read the article a dozen times. Mafia lieutenant. Found dead. No leads. No suspects. No motive.
And no doubt in his mind.
He could still hear Matteo's voice on that phone call, threatening ruin, swearing protection. He could still feel the heat of his grip, the weight of his kiss, the brutal tenderness that always followed after.
So that night, as the sun slipped away and shadows took their place, Emilio turned to him. Not as a lover. Not as someone helplessly caught in Matteo's orbit.
But as a man who needed answers.
"Did you do it?" he asked.
Matteo was standing at the bar, pouring something dark into a glass whiskey, maybe, but the liquid looked more like melted anger.
He didn't turn around.
"What do you think?"
"That's not an answer."
"It's the only one you'll get if you're not ready for the truth."
Emilio stood slowly, walking barefoot across the floor, each step soft but determined. "Don't do that," he whispered. "Don't pretend this is to protect me if you can't even be honest with me."
Matteo turned, finally, eyes flashing like storm clouds lit by fire.
"Honesty doesn't keep you safe, Emilio. Distance does. Silence. Walls."
Emilio's throat tightened. "Then why did you let me in?"
Matteo said nothing.
Emilio stepped closer. "You brought me here. You marked me as yours. You kiss me like I'm oxygen and then shove me back like I'm poison."
"I never said this would be easy."
"No," Emilio said, voice trembling now, "but you made it feel real."
"It is real," Matteo growled. "That's the problem."
And there it was the crack. A sliver in the armor Matteo had so carefully built. Emilio saw it in the way his eyes softened, the way his grip on the glass faltered.
"I know who you are, Matteo," Emilio said softly. "But I want to know why."
Matteo turned away again, as if the question scorched more than any bullet ever could.
"It started with family," he said at last. "With blood. My father's, to be specific. They shot him in front of me when I was seventeen. Said it was business. Said he made the wrong deal. So I made a promise right there, standing in his blood. That I would never be weak. Never be caught off guard. That no one would ever touch what's mine again."
Emilio's heart cracked for him.
He took another step, reached out and this time, Matteo didn't pull away. His hand landed on Matteo's chest, right over his heart.
"I'm not asking you to stop being who you are," Emilio whispered. "I'm just asking you to let me see all of you."
Matteo looked down at him, the fire in his eyes dimming into something vulnerable. Something real.
"You want to see all of me?" he asked, voice barely a breath. "Even the part that isn't a man but a monster?"
"I already have," Emilio said, lifting himself on his toes to press a kiss against his jaw. "And I'm still here."
Matteo's hands found his waist, pulling him in like he needed the closeness to breathe.
"You're dangerous," he murmured against Emilio's temple. "But not in the way you think."
"Because I make you feel?" Emilio asked, smiling gently.
Matteo didn't answer.
But the way he held him the way his walls shook beneath trembling arms was answer enough.