Across the city, in a private club with low lighting and velvet walls, Tom stirred his drink with lazy fingers. The ice clinked softly against the glass.
Kieran sat opposite him, sprawled on the leather seat like he didn't have a care in the world. But his eyes—always half-lidded, always detached—were sharper tonight. Focused.
Tom looked… pleased.
"Warehouse didn't go as planned," Kieran said flatly, staring at the condensation on his glass.
Tom's smirk was subtle. "Oh, I know. Men don't bleed like that unless they've fought to win."
Kieran raised a brow. "You sent them to lose?"
"I sent them to test him," Tom replied, swirling his drink. "To remind him that he's not invincible. And to shake things up. Honestly, I was hoping he'd break."
"But he didn't."
"No," Tom admitted, leaning back with a sigh. "He didn't."
There was a brief silence. The hum of the music underlined the tension between them.
"You're not scared of him, are you?" Kieran asked.
Tom scoffed. "Of Matthew? Please. He's predictable. Bleeds for Vinny. That's his weakness."
"Right." Kieran gave him a slow, unreadable look. "And what's yours?"
Tom didn't answer.
But the set of his jaw said enough.
—
Later that night, Tom stood in front of a corkboard hidden behind a sliding panel in his wall. Photos of Vinny, Matthew, even Eliza and Kieran, were pinned up. Strings of red thread connected them in chaotic webs—conversations, timelines, movements. All meticulously tracked.
He stared at a recent picture of Matthew leaving Vinny's apartment, his face bloodied and tense.
"You don't get to win," Tom muttered, voice barely audible.
He picked up a lighter, flicked the flame on, and held it under a photo—one of Matthew and Vinny standing too close outside a club, laughing.
It curled into black ash as the fire consumed it.
Behind him, his phone lit up.
Unknown Number:You said he wouldn't fight back. He almost killed one of mine.
Tom smiled.
Tom:Lesson learned. Don't underestimate what's his.
—
At school the next morning, Vinny leaned against the locker bay, staring at a half-empty bottle of iced coffee. His mind hadn't stopped replaying the sight of Matthew—bruised, bleeding, furious. But not at him. Never at him.
That scared Vinny more than if he had been.
"You look like you've been run over by a bad decision," Eliza said, appearing beside him like smoke. Her lipstick was blood red, her eyes sharp.
Vinny didn't respond.
She studied him. "Still not talking about what happened?"
"There's nothing to talk about."
"Oh, babe." She smirked. "There's always something."
—
Across the hall, Kieran leaned against the railing, watching the group with the tired patience of someone who'd seen too much and cared too little. But today, something in his gaze flickered.
Tom had arrived, cool and casual, no sign of guilt or worry on his face.
Matthew wasn't there.
Kieran's eyes narrowed.
"You're planning something," he muttered under his breath, just loud enough for himself. "And if I have to clean up after it, I'm charging for emotional labor."
—
In the back of the school parking lot, Matthew sat in his car, hands tight on the steering wheel.
His knuckles ached. His side still throbbed from a poorly stitched wound. But all he could think about was Vinny—his face, his voice, the way he'd looked at him when he walked in, covered in blood.
Not with fear.
But with worry.
With something dangerously close to love.
Matthew knew he couldn't keep hiding what happened. But if Vinny found out the truth—that Tom had set him up, that the people he trusted were playing him—he'd break.
And Matthew couldn't watch that.
He wouldn't.
—
Tom found Vinny during break, looping an arm casually around his shoulder like nothing had changed.
"Hey, trouble."
Vinny tensed. "Hey."
"You okay? You've been quiet."
"I'm fine."
"You sure?" Tom's smile sharpened. "I heard a rumor Matthew got into some kind of fight."
Vinny's eyes flicked to him, searching.
Tom's expression didn't falter.
"Guess some people just attract chaos," he said softly.
Vinny didn't answer. But a sliver of doubt crept under his skin.
—
That night, Kieran sat alone at the coffee shop they always used to hang out in. He stirred his drink absently, scrolling through texts from Eliza.
Eliza:Tom's acting normal. Which means something's up.
Kieran:He's always acting normal. That's what makes him terrifying.
Eliza:Keep your eyes open, Kier. We might need you.
Kieran sighed.
He hated being right.
Especially when it hurt the people he didn't want to care about.
—
At home, Matthew lay on his bed, shirtless, staring at the ceiling. The pain had dulled to a steady throb—but his thoughts were razor-sharp.
He'd survived the trap.
But now it was war.
And Tom had no idea who he was dealing with.
Vinny didn't sleep that night.
The taste of blood was still on his tongue—not his, but Matthew's. The metallic hint clung to his thoughts like a ghost that refused to fade. He'd opened the door, and there Matthew had stood, bruised, bloodied, his knuckles split, and his eyes burning with something dangerous. Vinny hadn't asked questions—he couldn't. Not when Matthew had leaned against the wall like the weight of the world was crushing his spine.
They hadn't spoken much. Just a quiet exchange of glances, the kind that screamed more than words ever could. Matthew had said he'd been "jumped," then waved off further questions with a scowl that dared Vinny to push.
Now, morning poured in through the slits in Vinny's blinds, and he sat on the edge of the bed, watching Matthew's sleeping figure, tangled in his sheets. He looked like chaos wrapped in flesh—his jaw bruised, a bandage wrapped tightly around his side, his lip split and healing. But his chest rose and fell in that calm, rhythmic way that grounded Vinny more than he wanted to admit.
Vinny leaned forward, brushing a curl from Matthew's forehead. The man didn't stir.
Something was off.
Vinny's gut twisted. Tom had been acting strange. Kieran had been too quiet. And Matthew showing up like that? That wasn't just random violence.
It was deliberate.
Across town, in a dimly lit cafe far too classy for the schemes it currently housed, Tom sat in a booth with Kieran, his leg bouncing under the table. The coffee in front of him had gone cold, untouched.
"I told you," Tom said, staring at his phone. "He didn't die."
Kieran leaned back, sipping his espresso like this was just another Tuesday. "You didn't say kill him. You said rough him up."
"They were supposed to send a message."
"Pretty sure the only message Matthew got was 'bring a baseball bat next time,'" Kieran muttered.
Tom clenched his jaw. "Why didn't you stop them?"
Kieran arched a brow. "Because this isn't my plan, genius. You're the one with the unhinged obsession, remember?"
Tom didn't reply. He scrolled through his phone, landing on a photo of Vinny—smiling, shirt half off, taken at some party a year ago. He stared at it like it was the only thing holding him together.
"I'm losing him," Tom whispered.
"You lost him the second Matthew walked back into the picture."
Tom slammed his phone down. Heads turned in the café. He didn't care.
"He was mine first," Tom growled. "Matthew doesn't get to waltz back in and ruin everything we built. Vinny listens to me. He always has."
Kieran looked unimpressed. "Yeah, because you manipulate the hell out of him."
Tom's eyes gleamed. "He trusts me."
"For now," Kieran said, folding his arms. "But when he finds out what you did—what you keep doing—he won't."
Tom's lips twisted into a bitter smile. "That's why he won't find out. Not until it's too late."
Kieran was silent for a beat before he said, "So what's next?"
Tom's gaze flicked to the window. "Next? We drive a wedge so deep between them that even blood can't wash it out."
Vinny moved through his apartment like a ghost. Matthew was still asleep—he needed the rest—but Vinny couldn't stay still. His phone buzzed. It was a message from Eliza:
Eliza:You seen Tom lately? He's being extra shady. Even for him.
Vinny:No. Why?
Eliza:Kieran said he's been having meetings. Real quiet. Real secret.
Vinny:You think it's about Matthew?
Eliza:I think everything Tom does lately is about Matthew. Watch your back, babe.
Vinny stared at the screen, Eliza's warning flashing in his mind like a neon sign. He needed answers. And he needed them from Tom.
Matthew woke up to the sound of the shower running and the soft hiss of steam filling the room. His entire body ached, but not in a way he regretted. The pain was grounding. Reminded him he was still here. Still fighting.
He sat up slowly, wincing at the sting in his ribs. His fists were still sore from the fight, his knuckles raw, but the memory was clear—he'd held his own. Blood had been spilled, mostly theirs. But he still didn't know why it happened.
Well, he did. He just hadn't wanted to admit it.
Tom.
There was no doubt in Matthew's mind that Tom had orchestrated the ambush. The message. The smug confidence he always wore around Vinny. The way he hovered too close, spoke too sweetly, manipulated too well.
Matthew hated people like that.
And he hated that Vinny still couldn't see it.
When the shower stopped and Vinny walked back into the room in a towel, steam curling behind him, Matthew's jaw tightened. He looked like sin—wet curls clinging to his face, water dripping down his collarbones.
"Morning," Vinny said, flashing a soft smile.
Matthew didn't reply immediately. Just stared. And then finally: "We need to talk."
Vinny's smile faded. "About?"
Matthew hesitated. He could say it. Could reveal the truth.
But instead, he said, "About us."
Vinny blinked, surprised. "Us?"
Matthew nodded, voice low. "You have this power over me, and I don't think you even realize it."
Vinny tilted his head. "Is that a bad thing?"
Matthew stood, walking over, cornering him slowly against the dresser. "It's dangerous," he whispered. "Because I'd do things for you I wouldn't do for anyone else."
Vinny swallowed. "Like what?"
Matthew leaned in, brushing his lips against Vinny's temple. "Like bleed."
Later that afternoon, Vinny made his way to Tom's apartment. He hadn't told Matthew—just said he needed air. He wasn't sure what he expected, but the second Tom opened the door, Vinny knew something was off.
Tom looked too polished. Too calm.
"Vin," Tom said with a grin. "To what do I owe this pleasure?"
"We need to talk."
Tom stepped aside. "Sure. Come in."
The apartment was clean—eerily so. Vinny sat on the edge of the couch, arms crossed.
"You know anything about what happened to Matthew the other night?"
Tom blinked. "What do you mean?"
"Don't play dumb."
Tom's expression didn't change. "I heard he got jumped. That sucks."
Vinny narrowed his eyes. "He didn't say much. But he looked like he'd gone ten rounds in an alley."
"And you think I had something to do with it?"
Vinny didn't answer. Just stared.
Tom chuckled. "Vinny. Come on. I may not like the guy, but I wouldn't go that far."
"Wouldn't you?"
Tom's smile vanished. "You think you know me?"
"I thought I did."
Tom leaned forward. "I know Matthew. I know the way he looks at you. Like you're his property. Like he owns you."
Vinny's chest tightened.
Tom kept going, voice sharp. "And you eat it up, don't you? You like being claimed. Like being his."
Vinny stood. "You don't get to talk to me like that."
"Oh, I don't?" Tom snapped. "After everything I've done for you? Everything I am to you?"
"You're not anything to me right now," Vinny hissed. "Not if this is who you really are."
Tom's face twisted into something darker. "You'll come crawling back when he hurts you. And I'll be there. Again."
Vinny turned on his heel, slamming the door behind him.
He didn't know if Matthew was right about Tom—but he was starting to realize that something was very, very wrong.
Across the city, Kieran watched from the shadows.
He'd followed Tom after the café, seen him make calls, watched him send messages from burner phones, observed the men coming and going from a warehouse on 9th Street.
And now?
Now he had evidence.
He dialed Eliza.
"You might wanna brace yourself," he said.
"What happened?"
"Tom's not just obsessed—he's orchestrating something big. And he's not done."