The room was quiet in the way only Matthew's private residence ever was—thick walls, filtered light, a hush that felt deliberate rather than peaceful. The curtains were half drawn, letting the late afternoon sun spill in slow, golden lines across the bed.
Vinny was sitting against the headboard, propped up by pillows, bare feet tangled in the sheets. He looked healthier than he had days ago, color slowly returning to his face, but the doctor's warnings still rang loudly in Matthew's mind.
Rest. No stress. No exertion.
Matthew ignored most of it.
He stood by the side of the bed, jacket already discarded somewhere on the floor, sleeves rolled up like he'd been preparing for something far more dangerous than this. His eyes never left Vinny—not even when Vinny tilted his head, lips curling into that infuriating, knowing smile.
"You're staring," Vinny said lightly.
Matthew stepped closer. "You're provoking."
