The mansion was silent again.
Not the comfortable kind of silence — not the luxury of marble and money and power — but the kind that crawled under the skin, thick with unsaid things.
The door between them had never felt heavier.
Vinny sat against it, knees drawn to his chest, staring blankly at the pattern of shadows on the floor. His body still felt tense from the night before — the shouting, the truth, the endless cycle of running and being caught again.
Now there was only this: the door, the echo of footsteps that refused to leave, and a voice that waited on the other side.
Matthew hadn't gone far. He'd been there since dawn.
Vinny could hear the faint clink of the ring he always turned around his finger when he was restless. That, more than anything, made his chest ache.
He didn't want to open the door.
He also didn't want to keep it closed.
"Vinny," Matthew's voice came, low, muffled by the wood. "You haven't eaten since yesterday."
Vinny didn't move.
"I told the staff to leave food outside," Matthew continued. "It's still warm."
Silence.
He could almost see Matthew — sitting on the floor like him, back against the other side of the door, elbows resting on his knees.
It wasn't hard to imagine: his disheveled hair, the exhaustion in his posture, the haunted silver in his eyes.
Vinny swallowed, voice hoarse. "You shouldn't be here."
"I should've been here sooner."
That caught him off guard. He didn't expect Matthew to sound… soft.
Not like the man who could command an empire, but like the boy buried under it.
Vinny let out a short, bitter laugh. "So now you want to talk?"
"I never stopped wanting to," Matthew said quietly. "You stopped listening."
"Because I'm tired of being lied to."
There was a pause.
"I never lied," Matthew murmured.
Vinny's hand tightened around his knee. "You kept things from me."
"That's not the same."
"It is when those secrets could ruin me."
He heard Matthew exhale on the other side — a sound that trembled, though he tried to hide it. "You think everything I did was to hurt you."
"You chained me to your room, Matthew," Vinny said sharply. "What do you expect me to think?"
The silence that followed was raw.
Vinny stared at the door handle. For a moment, he imagined turning it — just to see his face.
But no. He couldn't. Not yet.
"I thought…" Matthew began slowly, "if I could keep you close, then maybe nothing else could take you away. I've lost too much already, Vinny. I can't lose you too."
"That's not love," Vinny whispered.
"I know."
Matthew's voice cracked slightly. "But it's the only way I know how to love."
Vinny looked down at his hands. He remembered the first time Matthew had touched him — how it felt like heat and danger, like standing too close to a flame but not pulling away.
Maybe he should have.
"You scare me sometimes," he said softly.
"I scare myself too."
That made Vinny's breath catch.
On the other side, Matthew leaned his head back against the door. He didn't sound like a monster now. He sounded… tired. Human.
"I grew up thinking love was something you had to earn," Matthew said. "Something you buy, something you bleed for. I didn't understand it could be anything else."
Vinny closed his eyes. "And what about trust? Did you think you could buy that too?"
Matthew hesitated. "I thought I could protect it. But I was wrong."
The weight of his words settled between them. Vinny could feel it — the regret, the pain, the twisted affection that held them together like barbed wire.
He pressed his palm flat against the door.
"Why me?" he asked after a long pause. "Out of everyone in your world — the soldiers, the dealers, the followers — why me?"
On the other side, there was a faint sound, like a quiet, humorless laugh.
"Because you looked at me like I was still human."
Vinny's throat tightened.
"When I met you," Matthew continued, "everyone else saw the power, the fear, the name. You didn't. You just… looked at me. Like I was worth saving."
Vinny's fingers curled against the wood. "And then you locked me away."
"I was afraid you'd stop looking at me that way."
The confession was too bare. Too real.
It wasn't manipulation anymore. It was a man bleeding through the cracks of his control.
Vinny leaned his head against the door. He wanted to hate him. He really did.
But hate and love were starting to blur in all the wrong places.
"Matthew…" he whispered, "what did you do before all this? Before the market, before the empire?"
Matthew was quiet for a long moment, then said, "I worked in logistics. Legitimate trade. Imports, exports. Then the system broke me. My mother got sick, and I realized there's no justice for people like us. Only power."
Vinny stayed still, listening. It was the first time Matthew had spoken about his past without pride.
"I started building connections," Matthew went on. "Smuggling medicine at first. Then weapons. Then… everything else. The Mercato Del Muerte wasn't supposed to be a crime network. It was supposed to be salvation."
"Salvation?" Vinny echoed. "You call this salvation?"
"I call it survival," Matthew said quietly. "And I'd do it all again if it meant one more day with her."
Vinny's chest ached. "She wouldn't have wanted this."
Matthew didn't answer immediately. Then, softly: "I know."
For a while, neither spoke. The only sound was the rain outside, hitting the tall windows of the mansion in slow, heavy drops.
Then Vinny said, "You can't keep living like this. Chained to ghosts."
Matthew's voice came back low. "And what am I supposed to live for, if not them?"
Vinny hesitated. "For yourself."
"I stopped being myself the day she fell ill."
"Then maybe it's time to find him again."
The silence stretched long enough for Vinny to wonder if he'd gone too far.
Then, Matthew whispered something that made his heart twist.
"You sound like her."
Vinny blinked. "Your mother?"
"She used to say that when I got too obsessed with work. 'You're not saving anyone if you can't even save yourself,' she'd tell me."
He laughed weakly. "Guess I never listened."
Vinny smiled faintly despite himself. "You? Not listening? Shocking."
The sound of a quiet chuckle came from the other side. It was small — but real. For the first time in weeks, it didn't sound cruel.
"Vinny," Matthew said after a while, voice gentler now, "when I said I can't lose you… I didn't mean I wanted to own you."
Vinny's pulse quickened. He held his breath.
"I meant," Matthew continued, "that you're the only thing keeping me from falling apart completely. The only person who makes me feel something real. I know I've hurt you. I know I've crossed lines. But I'm asking for one last chance to fix it."
Vinny stared at the door handle again. His hand twitched.
He wanted to believe him — wanted to reach out, unlock it, see those silver eyes soften again.
But he'd believed before, and every time, it ended with another scar.
"I don't know if I can trust you," he admitted.
"Then let me earn it."
Vinny hesitated. "You can't earn trust by locking me in, Matthew. You have to let me choose to stay."
Matthew went quiet.
Then, after what felt like forever, Vinny heard the faint click of a key turning.
The lock released.
His breath caught.
"I'll be downstairs," Matthew said, voice low. "No guards. No cameras. No chains."
Vinny blinked, stunned. "You're serious?"
"Yes."
"Why now?"
"Because I realized something," Matthew said softly. "You can't keep someone by force. You can only make them want to stay."
Vinny didn't answer. He just sat there, staring at the door, his heart pounding painfully against his ribs.
Then he heard Matthew's footsteps fade down the hall.
The silence that followed was deafening.
Vinny's hand shook as he reached for the handle. He didn't open it. Not yet.
But for the first time in days, he could.
He leaned his head against the wood one last time, eyes stinging.
"You're making it really hard to hate you," he whispered.