Steam curled lazily around the tiled bathroom, fogging the mirror in thin, trembling veils. The warm scent of sandalwood hung in the air, drifting from the open shower Matthew had just stepped out of. Droplets slid down his chest, tracing old scars like they were trying to read them.
He stood shirtless at the mirror, razor in hand, pulling it carefully along the line of his jaw. His expression was focused, but his eyes looked distant — heavy with the weight of new information, of the face in the footage, of Vinny's trembling voice saying:
"…That's my brother."
He dragged the razor again, slower this time.
His reflection stared back, tired and lethal.
Behind him, the door clicked softly.
He didn't flinch.
He just said, low and quiet:
"You're up early."
Vinny stepped inside.
The steam clung to his skin, softening the edges of his silhouette, making him look unreal — like a memory Matthew had summoned by accident.
He didn't speak at first.
He just stared at Matthew's back.
At the scars.
At the long jagged one near the left shoulder blade.
The cluster of small round ones on the lower back — bullet fragments.
The faded burn mark near the ribs.
The thin, almost surgical line near the spine.
Vinny didn't ask.
He already knew pain when he saw it.
Matthew finally looked at him through the foggy mirror. "You're staring."
Vinny stepped closer.
"Maybe I like the view."
Matthew stilled.
Vinny reached out, fingers brushing the long scar across Matthew's shoulder. Matthew's breath hitched — so slightly that anyone else would have missed it.
But Vinny didn't.
Vinny always noticed.
"What happened here?" Vinny murmured, tracing slowly.
Matthew's voice was deep, but quiet.
"A man who thought he could own me."
Vinny's fingers paused. "Did he?"
Matthew turned his head slightly, meeting Vinny's eyes in the mirror.
"No one owns me."
Vinny hummed, stepping even closer until their chests brushed.
"But you try to own everyone else," he whispered near Matthew's ear.
Matthew didn't deny it.
Instead, he caught Vinny's wrist gently — as if afraid he'd break him if he used his full strength.
"You should be resting," Matthew said.
"You should stop looking like a tragic painting," Vinny shot back.
Matthew actually smirked.
Vinny took the razor from his hand, placing it on the counter. "You're distracted. You're going to cut yourself."
"You walked in half-naked," Matthew muttered. "Anyone would be distracted."
Vinny raised an eyebrow. "So look away."
Matthew turned fully to him.
"I don't look away from things I want."
Vinny inhaled sharply.
Matthew stepped forward, slow, deliberate, until Vinny's back hit the marble counter. His hands didn't touch — not yet — but the heat radiating from him was intoxicating.
"Matth—"
Vinny didn't finish.
Matthew's fingers lifted to his chin — gentle, but commanding — turning his face up.
"Yesterday," Matthew murmured, "you were shaking."
Vinny stiffened.
Matthew's thumb traced the corner of his mouth. "Today… you're burning."
Vinny scoffed. "I'm not—"
Matthew cut him off by leaning in, brushing his lips against Vinny's cheek, slow and agonizing.
"You're angry, scared, exhausted… and still trying to stand tall."
His voice dropped to a whisper.
"I like that about you."
Vinny swallowed hard. "Stop talking like that."
"Why?" Matthew's lips grazed Vinny's jaw. "Does it make your legs weak?"
Vinny shoved him lightly in the chest. "You're insufferable."
"And you're trembling."
"I'm not—"
Matthew kissed him.
It wasn't soft.
Or gentle.
Or hesitant.
It was hunger.
All teeth and heat and desperation — like he needed Vinny to breathe. Like the discovery of the brother, the footage, the past rising from the dead made something inside him snap.
Vinny gasped, hands clutching Matthew's wet shoulders to steady himself.
Matthew deepened the kiss instantly, body pressing Vinny against the counter, breath hot against his tongue. Vinny's fingers slid into his hair, tugging, making Matthew growl low in his throat.
Vinny pulled back just enough to whisper, breathless:
"You're still wet."
Matthew kissed down his neck, slow, open-mouthed. "Then warm me."
Vinny's knees nearly buckled.
Matthew lifted him onto the counter with one smooth motion, hands gripping Vinny's waist like he had every right to touch him like that.
Vinny exhaled sharply. "You're being bold."
Matthew's forehead pressed against his. "You kissed me back."
Vinny didn't deny it.
Their mouths crashed together again, harsher this time, urgency spilling through every movement. Vinny wrapped his legs around Matthew's hips instinctively — and Matthew's breath broke against Vinny's lips.
"Vinny…" he whispered, voice rough.
Vinny cupped Matthew's jaw, kissing him slower now, deeper, as though trying to read all the things Matthew never said out loud.
They kissed until Vinny's lips tingled, until Matthew's hands trembled against his waist, until the steam thinned and the mirror cleared — and they could both see their reflections.
Two men clinging to each other.
Two broken pasts, colliding.
Two hearts beating too fast.
Vinny pulled back first, chest heaving.
"We need to talk about the footage."
Matthew rested his forehead on Vinny's shoulder, voice muffled. "Later."
"Matthew—"
Matthew lifted his head, silver eyes burning.
"He came here," he said softly. "To my home. To my mother's room."
Vinny's throat tightened.
Matthew brushed his thumb over Vinny's lips.
"And you still chose to come here. To me."
Vinny didn't respond.
Matthew kissed him again — slow this time, almost reverent.
"Whatever comes next," Matthew murmured, "you're not facing it alone."
Vinny looked away.
He wasn't sure whether that promise comforted him—
or terrified him.
Matthew's lips were on Vinny's neck—slow, deep, claiming kisses that made Vinny's breath hitch despite the way he kept gripping Matthew's shoulders as if refusing to let him have the last word.
Their bodies were pressed together, Matthew shirtless from shaving earlier, the faint scent of aftershave still clinging to his skin. Vinny tilted his head to the side, giving him access with a smirk tugging at his lips.
"Don't think this means I'm yours," Vinny teased, voice low, though his fingers were tracing Matthew's scars again.
Matthew chuckled against his neck, hot breath teasing Vinny's skin.
"You always say that," he murmured, "and yet you're still here."
Vinny rolled his eyes, but Matthew felt the way he shivered.
"You're annoying," Vinny whispered.
"And you're irresistible," Matthew murmured back—before biting gently at Vinny's neck.
Vinny's hand shot to Matthew's jaw.
"Hey—! You can't just—"
He didn't finish because Matthew dragged him closer, one arm caging his waist, the other sliding up his back. Their mouths met again—hot, impatient, messy. Vinny kissed back with the same fire, pushing Matthew until his back hit the sink. It was always like this—give and take, push and pull, fire meeting fire.
Matthew loved it.
Vinny lived for it.
But then—
BANG!
The door flew open.
Both froze.
A guard stood in the doorway, eyes wide, face red, clearly regretting every life choice that led him here.
"Sir—I—uh—my apologies—sir—your neck—his neck—uh—sorry—"
He covered his eyes with a hand but peeked anyway.
Vinny yanked his head away from Matthew, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, scowling.
"You ever heard of knocking?"
The guard looked like he wanted to die.
"Yes! I mean—no! I mean—I did knock but you two were… busy—sir!"
Matthew let out a long exhale, irritated and very ready to commit homicide.
"What is it?" he snapped, voice icy.
"Tom is here."
Everything stilled.
Matthew's jaw locked.
Vinny felt the shift instantly—the tension, the sheer venom behind that name.
Tom.
Vinny's stomach dropped.
The man who had tried to steal the Mercato.
The man who hated Matthew with every breath.
The man who wanted Vinny with an obsession that made Matthew's possessiveness look soft.
Matthew straightened slowly, wiping his mouth with his thumb, gaze dark.
Vinny crossed his arms, feigning nonchalance—but his pulse tapped fast in his neck.
Matthew caught that.
He always did.
The guard swallowed. "He insists he must speak to you personally. He said it's… urgent."
Matthew stepped closer to Vinny, lowering his voice.
"Stay here."
Vinny raised a brow.
"You think I'm going to hide in your bathroom like some scared little pet?"
Matthew's eyes softened for half a second.
"I think I'd kill him if he looks at you the wrong way, and I don't want you to see that."
Vinny snorted.
"You're dramatic."
"And you're reckless," Matthew murmured, brushing his thumb over Vinny's jaw—soft, almost tender.
It made Vinny's chest throb in an annoying way.
The guard was still standing there, sweating bullets.
Vinny sighed. "Relax, I'm coming too. I'm tired of that bastard acting like he owns anything."
Matthew froze.
Vinny never took this stance before—not with Tom. Not openly.
"Vinny…"
"Don't start," Vinny cut him off. "I'm not a damn trophy. If he wants to talk, I want to hear what he thinks he has to say."
Matthew's lips twitched—not quite a smile, but something close.
He loved this side of him.
The fire.
The defiance.
The grit.
"Fine," Matthew said, stepping past the guard. "Stay close."
Vinny scoffed.
"When do I not?"
The guard opened the door wider.
They stepped out together.
Matthew radiated danger.
Vinny radiated attitude.
And down the hall, waiting with a smirk, dressed in black with eyes that latched onto Vinny the second he appeared—
Tom waited.
And the moment he saw Vinny, his expression changed.
Hungry.
Dark.
Possessive.
"Vinny," Tom breathed, as if saying his name was a prayer he'd whispered a thousand times.
Matthew's hand curled into a fist.
Vinny's heart thudded once—annoyance, fear, anger, memories—he wasn't sure which.
But he lifted his chin.
His voice was steady.
"Tom."
Matthew stepped forward, blocking Tom's view.
Vinny shoved him aside.
"No. I face him."
Tom's smile widened.
Matthew's pulse spiked.
The room vibrated with tension.
This was only the beginning.