The late evening haze had softened into a velvet night, stars barely peeking through the clouds. Inside Vinny's apartment, the warmth was dizzying. It wasn't just the heat from the radiator or the dimmed yellow glow from the chandelier — it was the crackling tension between him and Matthew.
Matthew sat on the armrest of the couch, his shirt half-unbuttoned, hair still damp from the earlier shower. Vinny lounged beside him, leg draped over Matthew's lap like he owned the space. Like he owned him.
"Are you ever gonna button that thing up?" Vinny asked, eyes tracing the line of Matthew's collarbone with thinly veiled hunger.
Matthew smirked. "Are you ever gonna stop sitting on me like I'm furniture?"
Vinny tilted his head, faux-innocent. "But you're comfortable furniture. And you don't seem to be complaining."
He wasn't. Not really.
Matthew's hand instinctively landed on Vinny's thigh, thumb circling just beneath the hem of his shorts. Vinny leaned in slightly, breathing close enough to graze skin, but not touching. He'd made a habit of this — edging the moment, dangling heat and tension and chemistry between them like a game.
Matthew played it back now. "You like teasing me, don't you?"
Vinny gave a lazy grin. "Isn't it obvious?"
But there was a glint in his eyes — softer, darker, something unreadable. Like he wanted Matthew to do something about it. Like he liked it when Matthew took control.
And Matthew did.
In one swift move, Matthew grabbed Vinny by the wrist and tugged him fully into his lap, making the latter straddle him with a startled grunt.
"Oh?" Vinny arched a brow, now nose to nose with him. "So you do mind."
Matthew's voice dropped. "I mind when you act like I'm not yours too."
Vinny's breath hitched, the tension flipping instantly. He wasn't expecting that. He covered it with a smirk, but Matthew noticed the shift — the way Vinny's fingers curled a little tighter into the fabric of Matthew's shirt, the flicker of something vulnerable behind the bravado.
"You want me to say it?" Vinny asked, lips brushing his.
Matthew didn't answer — just stared, hard and unreadable, his grip on Vinny's waist grounding them both.
Vinny leaned forward, whispering into the corner of Matthew's mouth. "Fine. You're mine."
And then he kissed him.
Not soft, not gentle — it was a claiming, messy and heat-struck, lips crashing like waves in a storm. Matthew kissed back harder, one hand threading through Vinny's hair while the other dug into his hip. For a moment, all the noise faded — Tom's shadows, Kieran's warnings, Noah's looming presence — all of it vanished under the weight of them.
Clothes were rumpled, gasps stolen. A quiet moan echoed against the wall as Matthew pressed Vinny down onto the couch, his body resting between Vinny's legs like they were sculpted to fit.
Their chemistry wasn't just physical — it was something more feral, desperate. Like they were both scared of what they'd become if the other slipped away.
And for a second, Matthew wondered — was this love?
Was this real?
Across town, Tom sat alone in a low-lit bar, hood pulled up and knuckles bruised.
He watched the ice in his glass melt, unmoving.
The plan was supposed to work. He'd sent Matthew into that warehouse expecting him to crack, to bleed, to break — maybe not to die, but something. Instead, Matthew walked out. And worse — he went straight back to Vinny.
Tom had seen the photos. One of his guys had tailed Matthew long enough to catch him dragging his busted-up body into Vinny's place. Vinny welcomed him in.
He still chose him.
Tom gritted his teeth and slammed back the drink.
"Round two?" the bartender asked casually.
Tom ignored him. His mind was spiraling.
He couldn't let Matthew win. He couldn't let Vinny forget who had always been there. Who protected him. Who built him up when he was nothing. Who helped him rise to the top. He couldn't lose him.
But brute force hadn't worked.
Now he'd play a different game.
He stood up, tossed a few bills on the counter, and left.
He needed silence. Space. And something smarter.
The next time he came for Matthew, there wouldn't be fists.
There'd be ruin.
Back in Vinny's apartment, silence had fallen — but it wasn't awkward.
Vinny lay curled against Matthew, fingers tracing idle lines down his chest.
"You're quieter than usual," he murmured.
Matthew rested his hand against Vinny's spine. "Just thinking."
"About?"
Matthew hesitated. "How easy it is to get lost in you."
Vinny blinked. "That's either the sweetest or most dangerous thing anyone's ever said to me."
"Both," Matthew admitted. "You scare me a little."
Vinny tilted his head, surprised. "Me?"
"You make me reckless," Matthew said. "You make me… want things."
Vinny swallowed. "Good things?"
"Dangerous things."
A pause.
"I want to trust you."
Vinny looked at him then — really looked. For once, the smirk fell. His expression cracked just slightly.
"You can," he whispered.
Matthew leaned forward and kissed him again — softer this time. Like he believed it. Like he wanted to believe it.
But outside, the world hadn't paused with them.
Kieran sat in his car across from Vinny's building, watching the lights on the top floor flicker behind gauzy curtains.
He didn't smile.
His phone buzzed.
TOM: Going dark for a few days. Don't call. When I come back, everything changes.
Kieran stared at the message.
Then replied:
KIERAN: You're going to destroy yourself if you keep this up.
No response.
Kieran sighed and set the phone aside.
He had always been the observer. The one who stood just close enough to see the fire without getting burned. But this fire — it was starting to spread.
And if he didn't step in soon…
They'd all go down with it.