The estate was quiet that morning.
Too quiet.
Vinny wandered through the endless halls of marble and shadow, barefoot, wrapped in one of Matthew's silk robes. The corridors were a maze of old portraits and expensive secrets, each door whispering things he wasn't supposed to hear.
He hadn't slept much. His body still remembered the weight of Matthew's gaze from last night — the way it lingered, possessive, burning, even when he wasn't touching him.
But now, Matthew was nowhere to be found.
Vinny's fingers brushed along the walls, trailing the chill of the house. He told himself he was just curious. That he wasn't searching for him. But curiosity had always been his best excuse for danger.
He reached the lower west wing — a place he hadn't seen before. It felt colder here, older. The air smelled faintly metallic, and the lighting dimmed into something almost sterile.
Then he heard it.
A faint mechanical hum.
Vinny followed the sound until he stopped at a heavy steel door slightly ajar. Light spilled through the crack — pale blue, flickering. His pulse quickened.
He shouldn't open it.
He did anyway.
Inside was another world.
It looked like a laboratory, though it was hidden beneath the elegance of the estate. Machines blinked softly. Tubes ran along the walls, glowing faintly. In the center stood a massive glass chamber filled with a faintly luminescent fluid.
And inside it—
A woman.
Her body floated still, graceful as sleep. Wires and sensors were attached to her fragile frame. Her face was peaceful, beautiful, almost angelic, though her skin was pallid. She looked frozen in time.
But it wasn't her that made Vinny's breath catch.
It was the man standing before her.
Matthew.
Shirtless.
The dim light caught the sharp lines of his back — carved muscle, taut skin, and then… the scars. Dozens of them. Some faint and white, others dark and jagged, running like cruel rivers down his shoulders and spine.
Vinny froze, silent in the doorway.
He'd seen violence before. But this—
This was history written in pain.
Matthew didn't move for a long time. He stood with his hands resting against the glass, head bowed. The flickering light made him look almost ethereal, like a sinner praying to a god that never answered.
Then, softly, he spoke.
His voice was low, cracked around the edges.
"She's stable today."
Vinny blinked. It took him a moment to realize Matthew wasn't talking to him — he hadn't even noticed he was there.
"The doctors said her cells are responding to the serum. But it's not enough."
Silence. The machines hummed quietly.
Matthew exhaled, the sound almost a sigh.
"I built an empire of blood for you, mama. I burned cities for your medicine. And still… still it's not enough."
Vinny's chest tightened. The man who terrified everyone in the underworld — the black-market king, the devil in designer suits — was standing here like a broken son, begging a ghost for mercy.
Something in Vinny shifted, but he didn't move.
"Do you think she forgave me?" Matthew whispered. "For what I became?"
The words were small, vulnerable. They didn't fit him.
They weren't meant for anyone to hear.
Vinny should've left.
But he couldn't.
He stepped forward — slowly, carefully — until the floor creaked under his foot.
Matthew turned instantly.
The softness vanished.
His eyes sharpened into blades.
"What are you doing here?"
The air grew heavier.
Vinny swallowed. "I—was looking for you."
Matthew's gaze flicked over him — the robe, the bare feet, the messy hair — then to the open door behind him. He clenched his jaw.
"You shouldn't be here."
Vinny tilted his head, masking his unease with that familiar, lazy smirk. "You make it sound like I broke into a crime scene. It's your house."
"There are rooms here that aren't meant for you."
"Oh?" Vinny stepped closer, eyes flicking to the glass chamber. "And who decides that?"
Matthew's hand shot out — not to hurt, but to stop. He gripped Vinny's wrist, firm, unyielding.
"Me."
His tone was quiet, but it was a command.
A reminder of who he was.
Vinny's pulse spiked. "She's your mother, isn't she?"
Matthew didn't answer. His grip tightened slightly.
"She's beautiful," Vinny said softly. "And… she's alive."
Something flashed in Matthew's eyes — a flicker of warning, then pain.
"Alive?" he echoed, voice bitter. "She hasn't opened her eyes in ten years."
Vinny's mouth parted, words catching on his tongue.
Ten years.
"You keep her here?"
"I keep her safe," Matthew snapped. Then softer: "She's the only family I have left."
He turned away, shoulders tense, jaw locked. Vinny's eyes lingered on the scars again — deep, ugly reminders of something no one else had seen.
"Those scars…" Vinny murmured before he could stop himself. "Who did that to you?"
Matthew didn't answer immediately. The silence stretched too long, like he was debating whether to lie or tell a truth he hated.
"People I trusted," he finally said. "A long time ago."
Vinny stayed quiet. He knew that tone. He'd used it himself.
The kind that said don't ask more if you value your throat.
Matthew turned then, fully facing him. His eyes — cold silver — pinned Vinny in place.
"You shouldn't have seen this," he said again, lower now. "This part of me… it's not for you."
Vinny's smirk returned, faint but deliberate.
"I think I like seeing the parts no one else gets to see."
For a heartbeat, neither moved.
Then Matthew stepped forward, closing the distance until Vinny's back hit the cold metal wall. His hand came up, tracing Vinny's jaw with the ghost of a touch.
"Careful, Vincent," he murmured. "Curiosity can get you caged here."
Vinny's breath hitched — not in fear, but in defiance.
"Maybe I don't mind cages," he whispered back. "Depends who's holding the key."
Matthew's lips curved — not a smile, not exactly. More like something dangerous pretending to be one.
"Don't tempt me."
His voice was low enough to shake through Vinny's ribs. Then he let go, stepping back.
"Go upstairs," he said finally. "Before I decide you're serious."
Vinny lingered a moment longer, eyes drifting to the woman in the glass. He wanted to say something — comfort, maybe, or understanding — but that wasn't part of the plan.
He was here for revenge.
Not sympathy.
Still, as he walked away, the image of those scars and that whisper — I built an empire for you — wouldn't leave his mind.
In the hall, Vinny pressed his palm against his chest. His heartbeat was erratic. He couldn't tell if it was pity or something far more dangerous.
"You're not supposed to make me feel sorry for you," he muttered under his breath.
But maybe that was Matthew's greatest weapon of all — making even his darkness look like devotion.