Vinny never thought he'd live to see the day Matthew Leonhart—Mercato del Muerte's king, mafia overlord, walking threat to international stability—turned into a clingy shadow.
Yet here they were.
Everywhere Vinny stepped, Matthew followed.
Quietly.
Large, sharp, dangerous—and weirdly obedient.
If Vinny leaned toward a file, Matthew was there, sliding it closer.
If Vinny stood, Matthew stood.
If Vinny sighed, Matthew stiffened, waiting to see if he had to kill whoever caused it.
At one point, Vinny got up just to stretch.
Matthew was already behind him, hand hovering near his lower back like a bodyguard mixed with a lovesick wolf.
Vinny groaned. "Why are you breathing on me?"
"I'm not."
"You absolutely are."
Matthew blinked, offended. "I'm simply… being attentive."
"You're being annoying."
Matthew actually tilted his head. "Do you want me to leave?"
Vinny shot him a wicked smirk. "Not really."
Matthew's ears visibly turned red.
Vinny had to bite his lip not to laugh.
And somewhere in the middle of all that chaos, Matthew realized something.
He preferred this Vinny.
The unchained one.
The sharp-tongued one.
The one who glared at him and rolled his eyes and hit back with words that sliced.
Not the silent, trembling, depressed version he had created.
Watching Vinny skim through files with fierce eyes, hair tied hastily, lips pressed in determination—
Matthew realized he never wanted to see Vinny broken again.
Obsessed? Yes.
Possessive? Always.
But broken?
He'd rip the world apart before letting that happen again.
He didn't say any of that aloud.
But it sat heavy in his chest.
"Go back ten seconds."
Vinny's voice cut through the air as he leaned closer to the holographic screen.
Matthew did as he commanded—because at this point, Vinny said water, Matthew said which temperature.
Vinny narrowed his eyes. "Pause."
Matthew froze the footage.
The lab fell silent.
On the screen, a figure in black moved through the restricted hallway leading to the coma ward. They carried a black duffel bag—long, rectangular. Their gait was calm, measured. Not the walk of someone afraid of being caught.
Vinny's heartbeat stuttered.
Matthew sensed it instantly. "What is it?"
"Zoom in," Vinny whispered.
Matthew complied.
The blur sharpened.
The figure's face turned just slightly toward a camera—just enough to catch a glimpse.
Brown hair.
Sharp jawline.
A mole under the right cheekbone.
Vinny stopped breathing.
Matthew noticed. "Vinny?"
Vinny stared.
No.
No, no, no—
It couldn't be him.
It wasn't possible.
He was supposed to be dead.
His throat tightened.
His fingers dug into the edge of the table.
Matthew stepped closer, confusion shifting into concern. "Vinny. Who is that?"
Vinny didn't answer.
His mind was spinning too fast.
The man in the footage—the one calmly carrying what looked like a body bag toward Matthew's mother's suite—
Vinny knew him.
Down to the shape of his shoulders.
Down to the quiet, deadly way he walked.
Down to the slight tilt of his head, as if listening to sounds no one else heard.
"Vinny." Matthew's hand closed around his forearm. Firm. Steady. "Look at me."
Vinny pulled away, pacing two steps back.
His breaths came sharp, controlled—too controlled.
Matthew frowned. "You're shaking."
"Shut up," Vinny snapped immediately, voice cracking at the edges.
Matthew froze.
Vinny never snapped like that unless he was truly shaken.
Vinny pressed both hands to his face, rubbing hard as if trying to erase the phantom image burned into his mind.
"That— That's impossible," Vinny muttered. "He died. I saw the files. I saw the flames. He— he can't—"
Matthew's eyes narrowed. A dangerous, calculated coldness replaced his concern.
"You recognize him."
Vinny didn't answer.
Matthew stepped forward, lowering his voice. "Who. Is. He?"
Vinny swallowed.
His tongue felt heavy.
His throat felt tight.
Because the man on the screen was not just a ghost from his past.
Not just a memory.
Not just a wound.
He was the reason Vinny was even alive.
And the reason Vinny had stepped into the Mercato Del Muerte in the first place.
Vinny finally whispered, voice hollow:
"…That's my brother."
Matthew's blood ran cold.
"The brother who was sold?" Matthew asked quietly. "The one you told me died years ago?"
Vinny nodded once. Slowly. Numbly.
Matthew stared at the frozen screen.
And for the first time since his mother's death, something inside him shifted—not grief, not anger, but calculation.
"If this man is alive," Matthew murmured, "and he infiltrated my estate… then he wasn't sold."
Vinny flinched.
Matthew continued, voice dangerously calm.
"He was taken."
Vinny lifted his head.
Their eyes met.
Matthew's were sharp, sharp enough to cut through any lie.
"You're not telling me everything," he said softly.
Vinny clenched his jaw. "Now is not the time."
Matthew stepped closer, invading his space, but not touching him. His voice dropped to a velvet threat.
"If this is about you… about your past… about why you really came here—"
Vinny's head snapped toward him. "Drop it."
Matthew didn't.
He never did.
"Vinny."
A single word.
Low. Controlling.
A command wrapped in silk.
Vinny's heart hammered against his ribs.
Not out of fear.
Out of rage.
Out of grief.
Out of disbelief.
He turned away, glaring at the frozen image on the screen.
His brother.
Alive.
Walking calmly with a body bag.
At the scene of Matthew's mother's murder.
Vinny felt nausea rise.
Everything he had built—his plan, his lies, his control—suddenly felt fragile.
Matthew moved quiet as a shadow behind him. "Vinny… what do you want to do?"
Vinny didn't hesitate.
He straightened, fire igniting in his eyes. "We're going to find him."
Matthew smiled—not sweetly, not kindly, but with a dark, possessive satisfaction.
"Good," he murmured. "We will."
Vinny exhaled shakily.
Because the moment he saw that face, that mole, that familiar shape—
His entire world tilted.
His plans shifted.
His loyalties blurred.
His past clawed its way back to life.
And suddenly…
He wasn't sure if he wanted to save his brother—
Or kill him.