Chapter 9 Vince
Vince
I was known for a bad temper. But it got unbelievable the morning that box showed up.
A shirt.
A pair of heels.
A hoodie.
To anyone else, they were nothing—discarded clothes. To me, they were history wrapped in tissue paper.
The first gift I ever gave a girl. And the two pieces I’d sworn would never find their way back to me.
My chest burned when I saw them. Every inch of Villain seemed to shrink until it was just me and that box. That blonde ghost in stilettos, laughing, turning her head like she didn’t know she owned me back then.
By the time I hit the casino floor, the mood had already turned violent.
Dealers froze when they saw me. Security teams straightened. The pit bosses didn’t dare breathe too loud.
Every small mistake, delayed report, misplaced chip—I ripped through it. Because it was easier to destroy something I could control than admit what was clawing at me.
Nik found me near the back tables, sleeves rolled, a cigarette still burning between my fingers.
“Vince,” he said quietly, that calm dynasty tone that meant don’t make me drag you out of here. “What the hell’s wrong?”
“Everything. Shipments delayed. Port deal stuck. Two crews fighting over territory.”
He waited. Because he knew that wasn’t the answer.
Nik’s eyes tracked me like he was reading my pulse. “You look like you’ve been chewing nails all morning.”
“Business,” I said again, too fast. Not the beautiful blonde with the flawless body and a habit of wearing ridiculous high heels.”
His brow arched. “Right. Business.”
He turned toward the surveillance monitors, rattling off instructions to a handler. “There’s a dynasty event tonight. Some gallery opening. I was going to send one of the boys, but—”
“What kind of event?” I cut in.
“Art gallery. High class. Dynasty wives, heirs, collectors..”
That was all I needed to hear.
Madeline loved art.
And she never missed a dynasty showing if she could help it. I stubbed the cigarette out hard, ignoring the look he gave me.
Nik sighed. “Don’t even start.”
“I’m not starting. I’m going.”
He stared at me like I’d just grown another head. “You’re bleeding through your shirt and about to walk into a dynasty gala?”
I shrugged out of my jacket. “I’ll change.”
He pressed his fingers to his temple. “I don’t want to know.”
“Good,” I was already moving. “Then you won’t.”
“You’re out of your mind.”
Maybe I was.
But the truth was simpler than madness. There are some ghosts a Crow doesn’t exorcise. He hunts them. And I wasn’t done hunting her.
By the time I arrived at the place I already wished I hadn’t gone.
Misery.
That’s what it was. Pure fucking misery. Five minutes in that room and I already wanted to rip my own teeth out.
Lucky for everyone still breathing, I saw her.
Madeline.
It didn’t matter how much time had passed. One look at at her and… fuck. Her blonde hair was clipped to the side. And her body, perfect in that slow, ruin-your-life kind of way.
I forced my eyes away from her neck before my brain finished the thought of a collar. A white gold collar, sleek, metallic, something my hand could wrap around perfectly.
I stalked her for twenty minutes before I could even breathe normally again.
Apparently that’s what I did now…stalked her like a pathetic dog.
It wasn’t even real stalking. I was just watching. Admiring. If any other man had been doing it, I wouldn’t break his nose. I’d take his fucking eyes.
She stood in front of a piece of art. Real paint on canvas. The kind that only existed in dynasty circles now, human, and stupidly expensive.
Generated art wiped out artists along time ago. Which made real human artists that committed to learning their craft, rare. Human race always chose the easy option.
I walked up beside her.
Close enough to smell the faint perfume. She glanced at me once, then turned away completely.
Might as well have been a wall. She moved to the next piece, and I followed like gravity had been wired wrong.
This… this silence between us, was my fault.
Not walking her to the car. Letting her connect dots she shouldn’t have. Every mistake wrapped around my throat now, choking me with the memory of her voice.
When she drifted down the narrow stairs to the lower gallery, I motioned to my men.
Simple instruction. Keep everyone out. Down there, it was quieter. She was staring at another painting when I found her again.
“I’m sorry,” I stood next to her. “For not walking you to the car.”
“Okay.”
She didn’t even look at me, just took a slow step toward the next piece.
“Don’t ‘okay’ me.” I followed her. “Talk to me. Please.”
Her laugh was small. “Please? Since when do you beg?”
“Since you stopped looking at me.”
“Will you…” She sighed and turned halfway toward me. “Just stop okay.”
“Stop what?”
“You don’t have to explain anything, Vincent.”
The way she said my full name hit harder than a punch.
“What, I’m not Vince anymore?”
Her eyes were ice when she met mine. “We aren’t together, and we aren’t friends. So you’re in the clear.”
She took a sip of her drink like she was erasing me between sips. “Whatever secret you think I’d tell—I won’t. You don’t have to do this.”
I stepped closer to her. “I don’t care about secrets. I just wanted to talk to you.”
She shook her head. “You shouldn’t.”
“Why?”
“Because I’m not good enough for a lot of people already. I don’t need to disappoint you too.”
I opened my mouth, but she was already walking away, like something I’d never touch again.
I didn’t even try to hide it anymore. I’d given up the illusion of control the second I stepped into that gallery. Every piece of art on the walls looked like noise to me, overpriced brushstrokes for people who’d never bled for anything real.
“I don’t do anger well,” I kept my voice low.
She scoffed, not even glancing up from the next frame. “I think that’s all Crows, isn’t it?”
“Yeah. Maybe.”
The silence after that felt heavier than any fight I’d been in. I swallowed it down, the words I should’ve said weeks ago scraping the back of my throat. “I’m sorry,” It came out rough, quieter than I meant.
She nodded once, eyes still fixed on the painting.
“Okay.”
That was it. No forgiveness. Just that single word. But I took it anyway, because it was more than I deserved.
After a few minutes, I found myself speaking. Because apparently I’m not just desperate around her. I also become a chatty box.
“Did your cookie finale ever come out for your show?”
She turned at that, her brow arching, a faint, disbelieving laugh escaping her. “Don’t act like you care.”
“I do.”
She stared at me for a long moment. Trying to decide if I was lying.
“Madeline,” I stepped closer. “I care.”
“Vince. Stop.”
“I can’t.” I almost laughed at myself because I sounded desperate, and maybe I was.
She shook her head and looked away, but she didn’t move. I took another slow step until I was close enough to feel her.
“I’m not asking for anything. I just—fuck, I just wanted to talk.”
She exhaled. “You’re impossible.”
“Yeah.” I smiled faintly, even though it hurt. “But you seemed to like that about me.”
When she stopped to look at the next piece. I stepped in front of her, blocking her path, my body between her and the so called art.
“Vince,” she tilted her head
“I shouldn’t be here. I know that. I don’t know what this feeling is. But I can’t control it. It’s fucking annoying and apparently, I can’t just walk away from you.”
“Then maybe you should find a way to control that feeling.”
“I’ve tried.” I reached out, my hand catching her wrist before she could turn away. “You think I don’t know what I look like right now? You think I like feeling like this?”
I could see she was nervous. She didn’t answer.
“Madeline. You drive me out of my fucking head. I can’t stop thinking about you. It’s madness,” I brushed a strand of her hair behind her ear. “You made me mad. And I don’t even want to get better.”
My hand slid to the side of her neck, my thumb tracing the edge of her jaw. She didn’t pull back this time. Her breathing hitched, and that was all it took to undo every bit of restraint I had left.
“I want to get to know you more,” My words were raw.
Every part of me was tight with restraint, and every second she stayed in front of me, silent, was a kind of torture. I’d been tortured before. I’d been in a fucking concrete cell with my own head for a month. I knew torture but this was worse than all of it.
“Come home with me.”
She took a deep breath. Shook her head. Startled by how direct I was.
“What?”
“Please.” My voice cracked enough that I hated myself for it. “Just, come home with me, Madeline. You don’t even have to talk to me. You can sleep, scream at me, you can do whatever you want. Just come with me.”
“Why would I do that?”
“Because I’m begging you to.”
My thumb brushed her pulse.
She studied me for a long moment. “You’re impossible.”
“Yeah. I know.”
Her shoulders dropped a little.
“Fine. I’ll come with you.”
For a heartbeat, I didn’t move. I just stared at her, making sure I’d heard right. When it sank in, my breath broke on a half-laugh, half-exhale.
“Thank fuck,” I muttered, running a hand through my hair. “I really didn’t want to get on my knees.”
That earned me the smallest smile, barely there, but real.
“And you called me dramatic,” she murmured.
I reached for her coat, brushing her arm as I helped her into it. She didn’t flinch this time. We walked back toward the main hall, her heels clicking softly, my men falling back into formation without a word.
I didn’t say another thing. I didn’t have to. Every step she took beside me was enough.
And as we stepped out into the cold night air, all I could think was that I needed to get her out of here.