The rain came early that morning—soft, almost delicate, like it was afraid to touch the filth that coated the city. It blurred the skyline outside Matthew's penthouse, turning the sharp lines of steel and glass into ghostly shapes.
Matthew stood by the window, cigarette burning low between his fingers. The smoke curled upward, tracing faint patterns in the air before disappearing into the gray light. His reflection in the glass looked hollow. Too quiet. Too still.
He hadn't slept.
Not since that night when Vinny's laugh had gotten under his skin—low, rough, and taunting. Not since the moment Vinny had walked into his office with that storm in his eyes and a smirk that shouldn't have made him feel anything.
He'd seen men die without blinking.
But Vinny?
Vinny was dangerous in a way bullets couldn't match.
"Matthew," Kieran's voice came from behind him, breaking through his thoughts. "The buyers from Seoul are here."
Matthew didn't turn around. "Let them wait."
Kieran exhaled, long and weary. "They won't like that. You've been keeping them waiting for days. You know the rumors—they think you're distracted. And I can't exactly argue when—"
Matthew finally looked over his shoulder. One cold, cutting glance.
Kieran shut his mouth.
Matthew stubbed the cigarette out on the windowsill and muttered, "If they think they can walk away from my table, let them try. They'll crawl back when their supply lines dry up."
It wasn't a bluff. The Mercato del Muerte had its veins everywhere—drugs, weapons, information, people. Matthew's empire was stitched into the bones of the underworld. But lately, the steady pulse of control had been... slipping.
Because of him.
Vinny.
The name alone tasted like smoke and temptation.
Vinny, on the other hand, was having the time of his life.
He leaned back in the chair across the long mahogany table, spinning the empty glass between his fingers. His legs were crossed casually, his head tilted in that lazy, mocking way that made people want to either kiss him or punch him. Sometimes both.
Matthew watched from the far end, his patience stretched thin.
Vinny smiled. "What's wrong, boss? You keep staring like you're about to put me on auction."
Kieran choked on his drink.
Matthew's gaze didn't waver. "Maybe I should. You'd fetch a good price."
Vinny's lips curved. "You think I'd sell easy?"
Matthew's voice dropped low, rough. "I don't think you'd sell at all. I think I'd keep you locked up—just for me."
That shut everyone up.
Even the air seemed to stop.
Vinny's fingers froze around his glass, his throat tightening. That tone—possessive, dangerous, honest—slipped under his skin before he could stop it. For a second, he forgot his mission, forgot why he was even here.
Then the moment broke, and he let out a laugh. "You couldn't handle me."
"Oh, I could," Matthew said quietly. "You just don't know how much I like breaking things until they fit where I want them."
Kieran cleared his throat loudly. "Right, so, the Seoul meeting—"
"Leave us," Matthew said without looking at him.
Kieran hesitated, his eyes darting between them. He'd seen that look in Matthew's eyes before—the one that came right before something dangerous. But he knew better than to argue.
He left, closing the door behind him.
Now, there were only two.
Vinny leaned forward, resting his elbows on the table. "You really like scaring people, don't you?"
"I like control."
"You mean ownership."
Matthew smiled faintly. "If that's what it takes."
Vinny's gaze flickered. He played along, masking the flare of anger in his chest with a smirk. "Then what am I, huh? Something to own?"
Matthew's eyes softened—not kind, not warm, just focused. "No. You're something I can't decide whether to keep or destroy."
That should have been terrifying.
It wasn't.
It was magnetic.
Vinny's throat went dry. He should've looked away, should've reminded himself why he was here—his brother's screams, the smell of fire, the night Mercato del Muerte tore his family apart.
But Matthew's words drowned everything else.
He leaned closer, eyes gleaming like he was daring the devil himself. "Try not to fall in love while you're deciding."
Matthew laughed under his breath—quiet, but real. The kind of laugh that felt like a confession.
"You're playing a dangerous game, Vinny."
"Good," Vinny whispered. "So are you."
For a while, neither of them spoke. The silence stretched, heavy and thick. The rain outside turned into a storm, thunder rolling like the sky itself was holding its breath.
Matthew moved first. He walked around the table, slow, deliberate. His footsteps echoed against the marble floor. Vinny's pulse picked up, but he didn't move.
Matthew stopped right behind him. He didn't touch him, not yet, but the heat of his body pressed close enough to make Vinny shiver.
"Why are you really here, Vinny?" Matthew asked. "You're not like the others. You don't flinch at the blood. You don't care about money. So what is it you want?"
Vinny forced a grin. "Maybe I just like dangerous men."
Matthew bent down, his breath brushing Vinny's ear. "No one just likes danger. They want something from it. Power. Revenge. Or maybe you want me to hurt you."
Vinny turned his head slightly, meeting his gaze over his shoulder. "You think too much, Matthew."
"And you lie too easily."
They stared at each other, neither backing down.
Then Matthew's phone buzzed, cutting through the tension. He cursed under his breath, straightened, and walked away. Vinny exhaled slowly, trying to get his heartbeat back under control.
As Matthew spoke lowly into the phone, Vinny's expression shifted. The charm faded. The smirk softened into something sharp, calculating.
He glanced at the blueprint rolled halfway out on the table. The map of Mercato del Muerte. Every entrance, every tunnel, every emergency exit.
He could already see it—the fire, the smoke, the screams.
The way it would all burn.
For now, though, he smiled again.
He'd let Matthew think he was winning.
Because the sweetest lies are the ones told between almost-lovers.