The thunder outside rolled closer, shaking the windows like it wanted to be part of whatever storm was building inside that room.
Vinny stayed seated, his fingers tracing lazy circles on the rim of his glass as he watched Matthew talk on the phone. The older man's tone was low, sharp—like silk over steel.
"Yes… no, don't move until I say so. If they cross the docks again, shoot first, ask later."
A pause. Then: "No one touches my shipment."
He hung up, slipping the phone into his pocket, his jaw tight.
Vinny tilted his head, feigning curiosity. "Bad business?"
"Bad people," Matthew said simply, moving to refill his own glass. "The kind who mistake kindness for weakness."
Vinny's smirk returned. "You? Kind?"
Matthew glanced up, pouring the amber liquor slowly. "You'd be surprised what I'm capable of when I want something."
The words made something tighten low in Vinny's stomach. He hated it—the way his body reacted before his brain could remind him who he was dealing with. This was Matthew De Santis—merciless, manipulative, and dangerously intelligent.
The man who owned the black market that sold his brother.
And yet here Vinny was, pretending to be interested in business while secretly memorizing every lock, every guard rotation, every camera blind spot.
He couldn't afford to feel anything.
"Is that what you're doing now?" Vinny asked. "Wanting something?"
Matthew's lips curved. "Maybe."
"Let me guess," Vinny said, leaning back. "Control. Money. Power."
Matthew's steps were slow as he approached again. "Something rarer."
"Oh?"
Matthew's voice dropped to a murmur, smooth as poison. "Honesty."
Vinny laughed softly. "You're in the wrong world for that."
Matthew's eyes softened, almost like he agreed. "Maybe. But I think even liars crave a place to stop lying."
Vinny looked at him—really looked—and for a second, he almost saw the man beneath the reputation. The tiredness in his shoulders. The quiet hunger in his voice.
He looked away before it could sink in. "You sound like someone who needs a vacation."
"I don't do vacations."
"Of course not." Vinny smirked. "You'd probably schedule your own funeral before you take a day off."
That actually earned a quiet laugh from Matthew. "You're not wrong."
They moved to the sitting area—a glass table, two expensive leather chairs, and the city glittering beyond them. The tension had shifted. Softer. More dangerous.
Vinny watched Matthew pour two more drinks and slide one over to him.
"You drink too much," Vinny said.
"And you talk too much."
"Touché."
They drank in silence. The storm outside turned the city lights into fractured reflections, shards of gold floating on the wet glass.
Matthew leaned back, gaze drifting over Vinny's face. "Why do you stay, Vinny?"
Vinny's fingers paused around his glass. "What do you mean?"
"You could've walked out the moment you realized what this place was. But you didn't. You're good at pretending to belong here, but I can see it in your eyes—you don't."
Vinny tilted his head, smirking through the flicker of unease. "Maybe I like danger."
Matthew's eyes darkened. "No. You like control. Just like me."
That made Vinny's heart skip. Because he knew it was true.
"Tell me," Matthew said quietly, "what would happen if I lost control?"
Vinny's voice came out lower than intended. "I'd probably enjoy watching."
Matthew chuckled, deep and rough. "You really don't know what you're asking for."
"Try me."
The air between them thickened. The kind of silence that hummed, like electricity caught in glass.
Matthew leaned forward, elbows resting on his knees. "You're playing a dangerous game, Vinny."
"I play to win."
"And if you lose?"
Vinny smiled faintly. "Then I make sure no one survives to celebrate."
For a second, Matthew just stared at him—like he was seeing something he hadn't noticed before. Then he reached out, brushing his thumb over Vinny's jaw, slow, deliberate.
Vinny froze.
"Beautiful," Matthew murmured, his tone dangerously soft. "But sharp. You'd cut yourself if you're not careful."
Vinny swallowed hard, forcing his composure back. "You're making a habit of touching things that don't belong to you."
Matthew's mouth curved. "I told you. I like owning what I touch."
Vinny grabbed his wrist—not to stop him, but to hold him there. Their eyes locked, fire meeting steel.
"You'll regret that," Vinny whispered.
Matthew smiled faintly, pulling his hand back. "Maybe. But it'll be worth it."
Hours passed. The storm eased into drizzle, and the city began to quiet down. Kieran had long since left the building, taking most of the guards with him.
The world felt smaller—like it existed only within these walls.
Vinny had stayed longer than he planned. He should've left. Should've gone back to the safehouse, sent the coded message to his contacts, and kept his distance.
But something about Matthew's calm, his confidence, his unspoken threat—it pulled him in.
He wanted to know why this man, this monster, had let the world believe he was untouchable.
And why he looked so lonely doing it.
"Why the name?" Vinny asked suddenly, breaking the silence. "Mercato del Muerte. Market of Death. Kind of dramatic, don't you think?"
Matthew's gaze drifted to the skyline. "Because everything in this world has a price. Even death. Especially death."
Vinny studied him. "And what's yours?"
Matthew turned back to him. "Haven't decided yet."
Their eyes met again. And for the briefest moment, Vinny felt the ground tilt beneath him. Like he was standing too close to the edge.
He looked away, forcing a laugh. "You sound like a man waiting to die."
"Maybe I am."
Vinny blinked. The tone was too real—too naked. He didn't know how to respond.
Matthew finished his drink, his voice dropping into something that sounded almost tired. "But not before I find out what you're hiding."
Vinny's heart stopped.
Then Matthew stood, straightening his jacket, and added, "Goodnight, Vinny."
The conversation was over.
Vinny stayed seated, pulse racing.
He forced a smirk as Matthew walked past him. "Goodnight, boss."
Matthew paused at the door. "Don't call me that when you look at me like that."
Then he was gone.
Vinny exhaled shakily, letting his smirk fade as soon as the door clicked shut.
He looked down at the glass in his hand, his reflection rippling in the amber liquid.
He was in deeper than he planned.
But that was fine.
Because when he finally burned Mercato del Muerte to ashes, it would hurt more if Matthew trusted him first.
And Vinny was very good at making people trust him.