Vinny stayed on the floor long after Matthew's footsteps faded.
The quiet in the mansion felt wrong — too fragile, like the air itself didn't know how to breathe without tension.He stared at the unlocked door, his reflection warped in the golden handle. The urge to open it battled with the weight in his chest.
For the first time, he could walk away.And for the first time, he didn't know if he wanted to.
His fingers brushed his cheek. Wet.He hadn't even realized he was crying.
The world beyond that door was freedom — but it also meant facing him again.
A faint knock startled him.
"Mr. Vincent," came a voice — soft, respectful. It was Irene, one of the older maids who had served Matthew's household for years. She always spoke carefully around him, like every word might break something fragile.
"Dinner is ready, sir," she said.
Vinny swallowed, voice barely steady. "Alright."
He didn't move right away. He sat there for a few breaths, then finally pushed himself up. His legs trembled slightly from sitting too long. He wiped at his face quickly, as if denying the evidence of everything that had just cracked open inside him.
When he opened the door, the hallway looked both familiar and strange — wide, golden-lit, the kind of luxury that was supposed to feel safe but never did.No guards. No chain. Just silence.
He walked slowly, barefoot on cold marble, each step echoing in the vastness. The mansion seemed alive again, but not in a comforting way — more like a creature holding its breath, waiting for him to make the next move.
He paused once at a window, looking out over the city lights that shimmered beyond the iron gates. The night air was thick with the scent of rain, the reflection of lightning flashing faintly against the glass.
He actually did it.He'd kept his word.
That thought alone made something twist in his chest.
He exhaled, long and shaky, before heading downstairs.
The dining room was cavernous — walls paneled in dark wood, chandeliers casting a low amber glow, and a table long enough to seat twenty.But tonight, there were only two plates. Two glasses. Two people.
Matthew was already seated at the far end, posture perfect, expression unreadable.He looked composed — too composed. His silver eyes flicked up the second Vinny entered, and something in his gaze softened, even if his body didn't move.
Vinny hesitated at the doorway.
He looked… different. Less like a mafia king, more like a man who'd been awake for days. The crisp shirt couldn't hide the exhaustion clinging to him, or the faint bruised tint beneath his eyes.
"Sit," Matthew said softly.
Vinny didn't reply, but he crossed the room anyway, every step echoing in the quiet. When he finally took his seat opposite him, the distance between them felt larger than the table itself.
Irene entered silently, serving dishes one by one — roasted meat, vegetables, a bottle of red wine — then bowed slightly and left. The click of the door behind her made the silence even heavier.
Neither of them reached for the food.
Matthew watched him. Vinny avoided his eyes.
For a while, there was only the soft clinking of rain against the tall windows, the low hum of the chandelier's light.
Then, quietly, Matthew said, "You came."
Vinny's fork stilled halfway. "I was hungry."
"Liar," Matthew said, but his tone wasn't cruel. Just… tired.
Vinny's lips twitched. "You'd prefer I admit I came because I was curious?"
"I'd prefer the truth," Matthew murmured. "Whatever it is."
Vinny looked up finally, meeting his gaze. "The truth is, I didn't know what to do. You unlocked the door, and I… didn't know if I should thank you or run."
Matthew's expression didn't shift, but his eyes did — a flicker of something raw, unguarded. "And you chose dinner."
Vinny smirked faintly. "You always did say food fixes everything."
Matthew's mouth twitched, a ghost of a smile that didn't last. "Not everything."
The silence returned.Vinny picked up his glass of wine, swirling it slowly. The reflection of the crimson liquid rippled against his trembling fingers.
He took a sip — too quickly, too deeply — and set the glass down with a quiet clink."Your chef still over-salts the roast," he said, just to say something.
Matthew leaned back, studying him like he was trying to memorize every detail — the faint redness around his eyes, the slight tremor in his voice, the bruised tension that never left his shoulders.
"You've been crying," Matthew said.
Vinny froze. "No."
Matthew's eyes softened. "Yes."
Vinny looked away sharply. "Don't."
"I'm not mocking you."
"I said don't," Vinny snapped, his voice cracking halfway through the word. He clenched his fists under the table. "You don't get to act like you care now."
"I've always cared," Matthew said quietly. "I just… didn't know how to show it without breaking things."
"You broke me," Vinny whispered.
That silenced them both.
Matthew's fingers tightened around his glass. "I know."
For a long, unbearable moment, neither of them spoke. The chandelier flickered slightly, thunder rumbling far away. Vinny's breath came unevenly, but he refused to look up.He didn't want to see pity. Not from him.
Then, softly, Matthew asked, "Do you hate me?"
Vinny let out a hollow laugh. "Is that what you want to hear?"
"I want the truth."
Vinny met his gaze — fire and storm colliding. "I don't know what I feel anymore."
That hit harder than hatred.
Matthew didn't move, but his shoulders lowered slightly — as if those words alone took something from him.
"Then maybe," he said after a while, "we can start with something simpler."
Vinny frowned. "Like what?"
"Dinner," Matthew said, voice calm again. "No power games. No guards. No chains. Just… dinner."
Vinny hesitated, then sighed and picked up his fork again. "You really think a meal's going to fix us?"
"No," Matthew said. "But it's a start."
They ate in silence for a few minutes. The tension didn't fade completely — it lingered, heavy but quieter now, like a wound beginning to clot.Vinny watched him from the corner of his eye. Every movement Matthew made was careful — deliberate, restrained, as though one wrong word could send everything crashing again.
After a while, Vinny set his utensils down. "You said something earlier."
Matthew looked up. "Which part?"
"'You can't keep someone by force,'" Vinny repeated softly. "Did you mean it?"
Matthew held his gaze. "Yes."
"Then why do I still feel like I'm trapped?"
Matthew didn't flinch. "Because you haven't decided if you want to stay."
Vinny's lips parted — but no words came.
He looked down at his hands, trembling slightly on the linen tablecloth. "You really think I'd want to stay here? With you?"
"I think," Matthew said slowly, "that you haven't walked away yet."
Vinny inhaled sharply, but said nothing.
Thunder rumbled closer this time — a low growl rolling through the mansion. Lightning flashed across the tall windows, and for a moment the light caught Matthew's eyes, turning them into molten silver.They looked both dangerous and fragile.
Vinny couldn't look away.
He hated that about him — the way even silence with Matthew felt magnetic, charged. Like gravity itself had chosen sides.
When the thunder faded, Matthew spoke again, voice low. "You don't have to forgive me tonight. I just want you to eat."
Vinny's throat ached. "You make it sound simple."
"It's not," Matthew admitted. "But it's all I can offer right now."
Vinny exhaled slowly, pressing a hand to his forehead. He was tired — of fighting, of pretending he didn't care, of the war that never ended between them.
Finally, he looked up. "You really unlocked everything?"
Matthew nodded once. "Everything."
Vinny studied him — the faint tremor in his hand as he reached for his glass, the quiet sincerity he didn't bother hiding anymore.He didn't know if it was redemption or another trap.
But for now…For now, it felt like air after drowning.
He took another slow sip of wine, his eyes meeting Matthew's across the table. "Then I guess," he said softly, "we can start with dinner."