Chapter 10 Vince
Vince
By some miracle I got her home. We ate. I failed at flirting. She called it out. And by some grace of a higher power. She stayed the night.
When I woke up warm. My instinct was to tense. Then I heard her breathe. Her head shifted slightly on my chest. Her hand tightened at my waist, fingers tracing my ribs.
Fuck.
It almost broke me, how sweet it was. Like some part of her already thought I was home.
I moved slowly, careful not to wake her. I reached for my phone from the nightstand, unlocking it with one hand. I opened the family group thread.
CROWS // BUSINESS + BLOOD.
Vince
If no one is dying or about to die, don’t contact me today. That includes business.
I mean it.
It took exactly eight seconds.
Rome: So like what level of dying are we talking? Asking for a friend.
I rolled my eyes, locked the phone and dropped it face-down on the nightstand.
Then I turned my focus back to the only thing that mattered.
My hand found her back, and warm under the covers. I traced her slowly, up, then down. Like I was memorizing the shape of her rest.
She sighed in her sleep and curled in closer, her leg tangling with mine again.
My phone buzzed again from the nightstand. I sighed, rolled half over, and picked it up. The family thread had exploded.
Rome: Vince is definitely with someone. He’s way too quiet. Bet she’s hot.
Luca: She’d have to be. It’s Vince. He doesn’t fuck mid.
Bastion: He doesn’t fuck at all. He broods.
Rome: Maybe she likes brooding. Maybe she likes being stared at like a villain origin story.
Nikolai: Enough. Let the man breathe. Or not. I don’t care. If he’s not dead, I’m not dealing with this thread again today.
Rome: He’s definitely with someone. Odds on two women? I’m taking bets.
Luca: Explains the rumor he showed up at that dynasty art event last night. Tried to act low profile. Didn’t work.
Bastion: He doesn’t do low profile.
Luca: I was hoping it was a heist.
Rome: Knowing Vince, it was. A heart heist.
Bastion: If I could block you for that. I would.
I groaned and locked the screen, muting them all for 12 hours. They could set the city on fire and I’d still pick her over the cleanup.
Madeline shifted against me, tilting her face up. “Do you always text your criminal family while you’re in bed with women?”
I arched a brow. “Criminal family?”
“Sorry. That came out so wrong…”
I waited.
“I’m not saying you’re not a dynasty—” She fumbled. “I know you’re registered. In the sovereign I know you’ve got the crest. But it’s not the same. You’re not… heirs.”
My jaw clenched. “No?”
She sat up slightly, flustered now touching my chest. “I didn’t mean you’re syndicate. I’m just saying, in most dynasties, the heirs are born into contracts and inherit their position through law, bloodlines. But yours—”
She stopped herself, then groaned. “I’m making this worse, aren’t I?”
I let out a low chuckle. “You’re not wrong. We are violent. That’s what our blood is.”
She rolled her eyes. “Your blood’s not filtered with tech. That doesn’t excuse it.”
I turned to face her fully, brushing her hair back behind her ear. “You want to know how we got the crest?”
She blinked, then nodded once. Gently she stroked the back of my hand.
“We were enforcers,” I said quietly. “Our bloodline was designed to protect. That’s why it carries resistance markers. That’s what the crest tattoo syncs with, the island. Weapons. The vaults. It’s not just ink. It’s tech.”
She stared at me. “So you weren’t given the codex by birth.”
“No. We took it. We earned our place by force.”
She looked at me for a long second, then smiled faintly. “You probably shouldn’t have told me all that.”
“Probably. But you’re not anyone to me.”
She smiled so softly. The type of smile I didn’t deserve. How had this woman got such a pull on me already.
“Can I ask something else?”
I nodded.
“Is it true what they say? About your family. That your uncles, all of them, died? That your dad had six brothers?” She kissed the side of my hand. “And that they all died in a single syndicate war, same as your grandfather’s brothers?”
I nodded slowly. “Two generations. Gone.”
“Your dad won it, didn’t he?”
“He did.”
She paused. “And how did he die?”
The question was really fucking heavy. I wanted to say it. To own it outright.
I killed him.
But I didn’t. Instead, I reached for her again and traced a slow path down her back.
She sighed and tucked herself against me. “I have another question.”
Of course she did.
Great. One impossible question already, and she was queuing up a second.
“I’m starving,” she sighed. “Can we order breakfast? I didn’t eat yesterday, and if I die of low blood sugar, I want you to know it’s your fault.”
I blinked. I wasn’t sure how I could thank her for changing the subject. She pushed up slightly, swinging a leg over to straddle me. Still topless. Still infuriatingly calm about it.
In the middle of the night, Madeline was hot and took her top off while we slept. Right now, I was being reminded.
“How do I order?” she asked, glancing around.
“Datapad on the bedside table,”
Before I could move to get it, she reached for it instead, stretching, topless, on top of me. I groaned, dropping my head back against the pillow.
“Madeline…”
She glanced down. “Yes?”
“Are you trying to break my control?” I dragged my hands up her thighs without thinking. “Because I don’t have much left.”
She smirked. “Maybe. Or maybe I’m just an angel and forgot.”
“Forgot,”
She leaned down, close to my mouth. “Mm-hmm.”
I grinned, letting my hands rest on her hips. “Then I’m guessing this is amnesia-induced straddling?”
She kissed the corner of my mouth. “Must be.”
She leaned back and started tapping on the datapad.
Seated on top of me like it was the most natural thing in the world. Her fingers swiped through the menu while her free hand trailed faint patterns on my chest, distracting enough that I had no idea what she was even selecting.
“Okay,” she murmured. “Do I want pancakes or the muffins?”
“Both,” I traced her sides, trying not to stare at her breasts the whole time. “You’re eating in my bed. No rules here.”
She smirked without looking up. “So I can spill maple syrup on your chest and it’s still fine?”
I slid my hand up her thigh. “You spill anything on me, you’re licking me clean.”
“Noted.” Her breath hitched, but she kept scrolling. She kept tapping through the order. “Is family a no-go area?”
The question landed harder than expected.
She glanced at me. “I mean, when I ask things. I know I’m nosy. I push. But I don’t want to keep hitting things you’ve decided are off-limits.”
My jaw tightened. I didn’t answer immediately. It wasn’t family. It was parents. But I didn’t want to draw a line with her.
She set the datapad aside on the sheets, no longer pretending to scroll. “You’re good at asking questions without answering any. You never talk about what happened to your dad. Or your uncles. Or your mom. You deflect.”
“I don’t deflect,” I muttered.
She gave me a look. “Vince.”
I exhaled. “I compartmentalize.”
She smiled faintly. “Nice word for it.”
I let my hand rest against her back, anchoring myself with the contact. “There’s not a list. There’s no official ‘don’t ask me this’ rule. It’s more like… some things are easier to bleed for than speak.”
Her expression softened. “That’s fair.”
“I’m not trying to keep you out,” I added. “Some shit is just buried deep. Not because I don’t trust you, but because I don’t trust what it might do to us if I let it out.”
She nodded slowly, her fingers running up and down my chest. “So when I ask, and you go quiet… it’s not because I shouldn’t have asked?”
“It’s because I don’t have the words yet.”
She leaned down then, resting her forehead against mine. “Okay. That’s enough for me.”
I let my eyes close for a second, letting that sink in. “I’ll try. To give you more.”
“I know. Just maybe not before breakfast. You’ll need energy.”
I groaned. “Jesus, Madeline.”
“Okay. Let’s make parents an official off-limits topic. Mine’s… complicated.” She kissed my jaw, she stayed curled against me for a while after that.
I nodded once. “Deal.”
She shifted, her eyes dropping to my forearm. Her fingernail traced the black ink there, the smallest of my tattoos. That now blended into the rest.
“This one,” she murmured. “On your wrist. When did you get it?”
I glanced down. The lines were sharp, coded with Crow glyphs and dynasty script most people couldn’t even read.
“Seventeen,” I said quietly.
“You got it when you were seventeen?”
“It’s the Handler’s Oath. That’s when I was given custody of my siblings. It’s the mark they branded me with when I signed for them.”
Her gaze snapped back to mine. “You had custody? Of your brothers and sisters?”
I nodded again.
She sat up straighter, her hand still resting on my chest. “That is insanely young.”
“Crow power is branded. It doesn’t wait for you to be ready.”
“But what power could you even have at seventeen?”
I didn’t answer right away. My fingers skimmed down her back, grounding myself in the feel of her while my mind spiraled elsewhere. That day. Seventeen. Nik beside me. Being handed Villain as if it was just another set of keys.
City and siblings. If one slipped, we lost both.
Madeline let out a sudden gasp, her hand slapping my chest. “Wait, if you were seventeen…” She paused. “I was seven. Oh God. No, wait—you’re eleven years older so I was—”
“Don’t.” I cut her off. “Don’t ever phrase it like that again. It creeps me the fuck out.”
She grinned, smug as hell. “Because I’m younger?”
I narrowed my eyes. “Because it makes me feel like a cradle robber.”
Her smile softened, her fingers brushing across my stomach. Before she could say anything else, the door chime rang out. She practically sighed in relief. “Thank God. Food.”
She slid off me, grabbed the edge of the bed, and reached toward the chair where I’d dropped yesterday’s shirt. She lifted it halfway, then paused. “Can I borrow this?”