Chapter 10 Vince #3
“That’s the system that protects unaltered blood. We breed and barter. The codex ensures the blood stays ‘clean’ so it can be inherited, married, and rewarded with more wealth.”
She shifted slightly. “So if you believe in the sanctity of unmodified blood, Vince, then you believe in this. In what I am.”
I stared at the ceiling for a long moment.
I didn’t agree with neither. I wished that the human race never decided to change their blood and bodies without thinking about consequences in generations to come. A promise to be skinny. A promise to be ageless. And one, doesn’t care what was injected, inserted, or changed.
What did they expect when they started wiping genes, ridding the body of what it was made to be.
“Biotech doesn’t get to rewrite the soul. But legacy doesn’t get to own it either.” I turned to face her. “You’re not a traitor for wanting to protect your blood. And you’re not a fool for wanting to be more than just what it’s worth.”
She watched me. Silent now.
“Just because one devil’s quieter, doesn’t make him less the devil.” I gently traced her bottom lip. There was no sadness in Madeline’s eyes, and perhaps that was worse.
She exhaled quietly, took my hand from her cheek and kissed the edge of my thumb.
“Can you give me a tour of the house?”
I blinked. “House?”
She sat up, sweeping her arm around the room. “This insane place. The skyline. I’m trying to act normal, but come on…this is obscene. The views alone are like… your empire in high definition.”
I watched her, amused. How did she manage that…every time the conversation got heavy, she could redirect it flawlessly.
“I’m not impressed easily,” she said, like it was a warning. “I am dynasty, Vince. I grew up in mansions that cost more than countries.” She gave me a pointed look. “But this place? This place is stunning. It’s giving syndicate chic meets old money.’”
I smirked. “Is that a compliment?”
“It’s a demand. Tour, please.”
I stretched back against the pillows. I’d much rather keep her in bed with me.
“I barely sleep here. It’s a base. A secured location with decent water pressure.”
She stared at me like I’d just told her I used the crown vault to store socks. “Your wardrobe has a temperature control panel. And you’re telling me this is just a crash pad?”
“Correct.”
“You’re impossible,” she muttered, tossing off the covers and standing. “Get up. I’m touring it. With or without you.”
She started walking, like she wasn’t half-dressed and in a syndicate penthouse with reinforced steel infrastructure and a blood-coded security system.
I caught up to her just past the vault hallway, slipped my arms around her from behind, and pulled her in until her back hit my chest.
She laughed softly. “Scared I’m going to find a body?”
I smirked against her neck. “I don’t bring work home.”
She opened the next door.
Stopped dead.
The room was lined, wall to wall, with emergency weapons. Coded blades. Firearms. Disguised pressure triggers. Racks of tech that didn’t exist on the open market yet.
She turned to me slowly. “So this is…?”
“Sometimes I can’t make it to the war room vault in time. This is convenient.”
She stared at me for a moment.
“We need to work on your priorities,”
I raised a brow. “Define we.”
She stepped out of my arms, already heading for the next room. “Exactly. We could be swimming in your indoor pool right now. But instead, I’m discovering your apocalypse stash.”
I watched her round the corner, then heard her voice echo from the next space.
“Oh my God. Is that a bathtub sunken into the floor?”
I followed.
She stood at the threshold of the main ensuite, a room wrapped in stone and black tile, with arched lighting, gold fixtures, and a sunken tub large enough to fit four people in.
“Do you even use this?” she asked.
“No.”
She looked back at me, expression shifting.
“Do you plan on keeping your whole life empty?” Her eyes widened, like it slipped out faster than she wanted, “I mean… it’s just really clear you’re all work. Everything here is weapons, logistics, communications. What about other stuff, that isn’t work?”
I didn’t answer right away. The truth was the crest was my life.
She turned back toward the sunken bath, slowly around its edge, trailing her fingers along the smooth black stone like she was appraising it for herself.
“Seriously,” she said over her shoulder. “If you had one full day off, no syndicate, dynasty, what would you even do with yourself?”
I leaned against the doorway, arms crossed. “Sleep.”
She scoffed. “You’re boring.”
“Efficient.”
“Not a word most people use when they talk about how they spend their free time.”
“I don’t take free time.”
She turned toward me, eyes narrowing playfully. “Okay, but if you did. Hypothetically. What would you do?”
I shrugged. “Eat. Sleep. Probably check the cameras even though I’m not supposed to.”
“Vince.”
“What?”
“That’s the saddest thing I’ve ever heard.” She stepped around the tub toward me. “You have a bathtub designed for royalty. There’s a sauna through that wall, isn’t there?”
I didn’t answer. She already knew she was right.
“You could swim in your indoor pool. Read something that isn’t encrypted. Take a drive with the roof down. Eat cake. Make a mess. Be human.”
“Cake?”
She grinned. “Preferably chocolate. Ideally stolen. Eaten somewhere wildly inappropriate, like in bed. Or in a weapons vault.”
She paused near the edge of the bath, glancing over her shoulder with that curious glint in her eye again. “Didn’t you say this was just one property?”
I nodded.
“And I know you own the estate,” she added. “So how many are there?”
I shrugged. “I don’t know. Seven…nine… a few.”
“A few?”
“Depends where the day ends. Which part of Villain. I go wherever’s closer.”
She blinked. “You mean… you just pick a property based on proximity?”
“Yeah.”
Her jaw dropped slightly. “That’s insane.”
I lifted an eyebrow.
“No, really,” she said, turning to face me fully. “You just go to whatever penthouse or fortress is nearest and crash? Like you’re choosing between corner stores?”
I tilted my head. “They’re not that different.”
She laughed. “You realize this place is insane right? I know I said it already but it’s not normal, Vince. Most people don’t casually rotate through luxury residences like they’re changing socks.”
I shrugged again. “Didn’t know this one was that nice.”
She looked at me like I’d just said water wasn’t wet. “That’s even crazier.”
“It’s practical.”
“It’s concerning.”
“It works.”
“For who?” she pressed. “You? Or all your girlfriends?”
I blinked. “What girlfriends?”
“Well,” she said, glancing out at the city, “if you’re a man who refuses to commit to an address, I figured maybe you commit to a different woman per property. Like… one per house. Rotation.”
My mouth actually opened. “No.”
She held up a finger. “Wait. Let me guess. Penthouse girl. Estate girl. Northside girl. Casino girl. Strip-club-adjacent girl.”
I stared at her while she was fighting a smile.
“Are you done?” I asked.
“Nope,” she grinned, “So, seriously. Women. How do they know where to meet you? Do you text a daily address? Is there a map in a group chat somewhere?”
I stepped inside the bathroom because I couldn’t stand the distance anymore. “Madeline. There are no women.”
“There were women.”
“None who mattered.”
“And they all… what? Knew you lived like a migrating crow?”
I rubbed a hand down my jaw. “Are you done?”
Her grin turned to a smile. Running a hand down her arm. “I don’t know how you do it. I like my bed. Even when I travel, I miss it. I miss my things. My books. My stuff.”
“Stuff,” I said.
“Yes, stuff.” She stepped closer and poked me lightly in the chest. “People own things other than weapons and trauma, you know.”
Fuck. She is so cute.
“That so?” I asked. Purely to keep her talking.
“I had a favorite remote,” she said, entirely serious. Which I wanted to point out was concerning. “One with all the buttons worn off. Could only turn on the bedroom TV. But it was mine. And if someone borrowed it without asking, I’d stage a coup.”
“You’re very passionate about this remote.”
“It was elite. The batteries were taped in and everything.”
I let out a low laugh. “Let me guess. You’ve named it.”
She grinned. “Reginald.”
“Jesus Christ.”
“Respect the king.”
I looked at her, in my shirt, talking about a busted old remote like it was priceless. And I couldn’t stop staring. Worse. I couldn’t stop listening. I wanted to know about her stuff. I needed her to keep talking to me.
“Do you even own any comfort items?”
I raised an eyebrow. “Comfort items?”
She looked back at me with mock patience. “Yes. Something that makes you feel… normal. Human. Safe.”
“I’ve got a few guns I trust.”
She groaned, rolling her eyed. “Of course it’s a gun.”
“It’s better than your remote.”
“That is slander against Reginald,” she said, lifting her chin. “He never missed a beat.”
It was stupid. But I was starting to get jealous of her passion for this remote.
“Bet he never cleared a room either.”
She pointed at me. “That’s not the point. Comfort is about feelings.”
“I feel better when I’m armed.”
“Vince.”
I smirked.
She sighed. “Okay, fine. Cars?”
“I have garages.”
Her eyes narrowed. “Garages?”
I nodded.
“With an s?”
“Correct.”
“You have multiple garages,” she said slowly, like I was the villain in a crime novel. “You rotate penthouses, don’t know how many homes you own, and sleep next to weapons but don’t have a favorite shirt or a blanket or a snack stash—”
“I have black T-shirts.”
She threw her hands up. “I give up.”
I leaned against the stone vanity, arms crossed, watching her shake her head at me like I was a broken toy.
“Let me guess,” she said. “You’ve never named a car either?”
“No.”
“No comfort item?” she asked again, hopeful.
“No.”
She gave me a look that bordered on tragic. “That’s bleak.”
I shrugged. “You?”