The night air outside the Mercato smelled of rain and gasoline. Neon lights bled across the puddles, painting the ground in bruised colors.
Vinny pulled the collar of his coat higher, watching the black car that waited by the curb. He hadn't expected the call this soon.
A single message from Matthew had arrived less than an hour ago:
"Be ready. You're coming with me."
No explanation. No destination. Just an order.
Now Kieran stood by the car, half-smiling like he already knew what kind of trouble Vinny was walking into.
"You should be flattered," he said as Vinny approached. "The boss doesn't invite people to his estate. He buries them."
Vinny smirked, slipping into the back seat. "Good thing I look good in black."
Kieran's laugh was quiet, disbelieving. The door shut, and the world outside disappeared.
The drive lasted an hour. The city fell away to open road and forest, the sky a smear of silver clouds. Vinny's reflection stared back at him from the window—cool, unreadable, but with a pulse that betrayed him.
Every instinct screamed trap, but curiosity… curiosity was louder.
When the gates finally appeared, wrought iron and gold, they looked like the mouth of something ancient. Beyond them sprawled the De Santis estate—miles of land, an old mansion rising against the hills, its windows glowing like watchful eyes.
Matthew built this empire on blood and silence. And yet, it was beautiful.
The car stopped at the entrance. Two guards opened the doors; the moment Vinny stepped out, he could feel the weight of the place—its history, its ghosts.
Matthew was waiting at the top of the stairs. Black shirt, sleeves rolled up, cigarette burning between his fingers.
"Welcome to my home," he said.
Vinny arched a brow. "You sure this isn't a museum?"
"Careful," Matthew replied, a ghost of a smile touching his lips. "Everything in this house has teeth."
Inside, the halls were all marble and shadow, oil paintings of grim men with colder eyes. Vinny's boots clicked softly against the floor as he followed Matthew deeper into the maze.
"So, what am I doing here?" he asked.
"You said you wanted to understand the Mercato," Matthew said without turning. "You can't understand it if you don't see what it protects."
"And what's that?"
Matthew stopped before a tall window that overlooked the gardens. "Legacy. Mine. My family's. Everything I built to keep this name alive."
Vinny studied his profile—the tension in his jaw, the faint scar cutting through his brow. There was something almost human in the way he stared at the dark outside.
"So this is the part where you make me swear loyalty?"
Matthew's gaze shifted to him. "I don't need your loyalty. I need your usefulness."
"That's cold."
"That's business."
Their eyes held. For a moment, neither spoke. The silence between them wasn't empty—it hummed, dangerous and intimate.
Matthew finally turned away. "Come on. Dinner's waiting."
The dining room was too large for two people. A single chandelier burned overhead, its light scattering across crystal and silver. Vinny sat opposite Matthew, feeling small in a room that smelled of old money and quiet wars.
The food was perfect—steak, wine, something French he couldn't pronounce—but Vinny barely tasted it.
"You live like a king," he said.
Matthew cut his meat neatly. "A king sleeps with one eye open."
Vinny leaned back, glass in hand. "Then why invite a stranger into your palace?"
Matthew looked up. "Because I'm not sure you're a stranger."
Vinny blinked. "What's that supposed to mean?"
"I've been trying to place you," Matthew said slowly. "Something about you feels… familiar. The way you watch people. The way you don't flinch when you should."
Vinny laughed softly, masking the flicker of panic that threatened to surface. "Maybe I just have a good poker face."
"Maybe."
But Matthew didn't sound convinced.
After dinner, Matthew led him out to the balcony. The rain had stopped, leaving the world washed and quiet. The city lights shimmered faintly in the distance, miles away.
"Tell me," Matthew said, resting both hands on the railing, "what do you see when you look out there?"
Vinny joined him. "A city that never sleeps."
"Wrong. It sleeps. It dreams. It bleeds. You just have to know where to cut."
Vinny turned to him, amused. "And you're the surgeon?"
Matthew's smile was slow. "No. I'm the disease that keeps it alive."
He said it so calmly, as if confessing to brushing his teeth.
Vinny studied him for a long moment. "You really believe that, don't you?"
"I don't believe," Matthew said. "I know."
"Sounds lonely."
"It is."
The answer came too fast. Too real. Vinny looked away before he could see more than he wanted to.
He couldn't afford to pity him.
He couldn't afford to feel anything at all.
They stood there for a while, the silence heavy but not unbearable. Then Matthew spoke again.
"There's a guest room at the end of the west wing. You'll stay there tonight."
Vinny frowned. "Is that an order?"
"It's protection. The roads aren't safe after midnight."
"Right. Because you care so much about my safety."
Matthew turned, expression unreadable. "Maybe I do."
For a heartbeat, Vinny forgot how to breathe.
"Don't look so surprised," Matthew said, stepping closer. "You intrigue me. And that's not easy to do."
Vinny forced a smirk. "Flattery? Didn't think that was your game."
"It isn't." Matthew's voice softened. "But I can make exceptions."
The space between them shrank. Vinny could smell the faint trace of tobacco and rain on his skin.
If he leaned forward—just an inch—he'd know what Matthew tasted like.
Instead, he stepped back. "Careful, De Santis. You'll make me think you actually like me."
Matthew's eyes lingered on him. "That's the problem."
He left without another word.
Vinny didn't move for a while. His pulse thundered in his ears, echoing the storm that had only just died.
He should've been pleased. He was in. Deeper than he'd planned. The estate, the routines, the passwords—everything would be within reach now.
But instead of triumph, he felt something heavier settling in his chest.
Matthew De Santis was supposed to be a monster. Yet monsters didn't look at people like that.
Vinny dragged a hand through his hair, forcing the thoughts away.
He wasn't here to fall. He was here to burn it all down.
Still… as he walked toward the west wing, the ghost of Matthew's voice followed him, low and steady in his mind:
"Maybe I do care."
And for the first time, Vinny wasn't sure which of them was lying anymore.