The first thing I felt when I woke wasn't pain. It wasn't even the dull, burning reminder of stitches pulled too tight. No. The first thing I felt was her.

Violet.

Her warmth pressed faintly against my side, her breath fanning across my shoulder like she had no idea she was lying next to a man who had ruined lives, who had enemies that could break through her door at any moment.

And yet there she was.

My chest tightened. My instinct screamed at me to get up, to leave, to keep her safe by keeping her away from me. But another part-one I'd spent years burying under arrogance and blood and a smirk that could silence men-didn't want to move. That part wanted to stay here, with her, in this absurd, fragile peace.

I turned slightly, ignoring the sharp stab from my side, and studied her face. Messy hair. Lips parted as she dreamed. Eyebrows furrowed like even sleep couldn't fully chase her worries away.

Dangerous. Reckless.

Beautiful.

I smirked at myself, shaking my head. "Get a grip, Virenson," I muttered under my breath.

Her eyelids fluttered, and for a second I thought she'd caught me staring. But she only shifted, mumbling something incomprehensible, then nestled back into the pillow.

I let out a quiet laugh-soft, almost foreign. Who the hell was I becoming?

---

The phone buzzed on the nightstand. My entire body stiffened.

I reached for it before the sound could wake her, grimacing at the pull in my ribs. Marco's name flashed across the screen.

Of course.

"Perfect timing, Marco," I growled, slipping out of bed. I closed the door behind me before answering.

"You alive?" his voice rasped, all smoke and nerves.

"Barely. Thanks to you," I snapped. "You want to explain why you disappeared in the middle of a knife party?"

"I didn't disappear. I was regrouping."

"Regrouping?" I repeated, nearly laughing. "You left me bleeding in an alley. That's not regrouping. That's betrayal."

Silence. The kind of silence that confirmed more than words ever could. My jaw clenched.

"Listen," he finally said, his voice low. "Things are changing. Deals are being made. Lines are being drawn. If you're not careful-"

"If I'm not careful, I'll end up dead. I know. Thanks for the pep talk."

"I'm trying to help you, Vincent."

"No. You're trying to help yourself. And when it comes down to it, you'll cut my throat if it buys you another hour of breathing."

I hung up before he could respond. My hand tightened around the phone, the urge to smash it against the wall almost overpowering.

Marco was a problem. And problems didn't get second chances in my world.

---

When I stepped back into the room, Violet was awake, sitting up against the pillows with her hair a chaotic halo around her. She narrowed her eyes at me instantly.

"Who was that?" she asked.

I arched an eyebrow. "Good morning to you too, darling."

She crossed her arms, clearly unimpressed. "Don't 'darling' me. You were whispering like a teenager sneaking out past curfew. Who was it?"

I smirked, sliding back onto the bed with deliberate slowness. "Jealous already?"

She rolled her eyes so hard I thought she might strain something. "You're insufferable."

"And yet you stitched me back together and let me share your bed. Curious, isn't it?"

Her cheeks flushed, and she glared daggers at me. "That was pity, not preference."

"Mm," I murmured, leaning closer, savoring the way she stiffened. "Keep telling yourself that."

She shoved me lightly on the shoulder, careful not to hit the wound. "You're impossible."

"And you're adorable when you're furious," I shot back, grinning despite the storm churning in my gut from Marco's call.

For a brief moment, it was easy to forget. Easy to let myself drown in her exasperation, in the strange comfort of being here. But reality has sharp teeth, and it never lets me rest long.

---

Later, she fussed over me like she didn't want to but couldn't help it.

"Don't move too much," she scolded as I tried to stand. "You'll rip the stitches."

"I've had worse."

"That's not the point."

"What is the point then?" I asked, smirking.

She froze for half a second, then muttered, "The point is... I don't want to deal with cleaning up your blood again."

I tilted my head, catching the truth buried under her sarcasm. "You care."

She shot me a look that could have frozen lava. "Don't flatter yourself."

But her hands trembled just slightly as she adjusted the bandage, and that was all the confirmation I needed.

---

The knock on the door shattered the fragile air between us.

We both froze.

Violet's eyes darted to mine. "Expecting someone?" she whispered.

"Not unless it's a bullet delivery service," I muttered, already scanning the room for a weapon. My gun was on the dresser, too far for comfort.

The knock came again, harder this time.

"Stay here," I ordered, pushing myself to my feet. The wound screamed in protest, but adrenaline drowned it out.

"Vincent-" she started, but I cut her off with a sharp look.

"Stay."

For once, she obeyed.

I grabbed the gun, cocked it, and approached the door. My muscles tensed, every instinct on fire. Slowly, I cracked it open.

And found Marco on the other side.

---

"Miss me?" he asked with that greasy smile of his.

My finger twitched against the trigger. "You've got a lot of nerve showing up here."

He shrugged. "What can I say? I'm a people person."

Violet appeared behind me before I could stop her, peering over my shoulder. "Who's this?"

I groaned inwardly. The last thing I needed was her anywhere near him.

"Trouble," I muttered.

Marco's smile widened as his eyes flicked to her. "And who's this lovely-"

"She's none of your business," I snapped, stepping between them.

Violet raised an eyebrow. "Rude, much?"

"Trust me, sweetheart," I said tightly, never taking my eyes off Marco. "This is the polite version."

Marco chuckled, clearly enjoying himself. "Relax, Vincent. I just came to talk."

"Funny. Last time we talked, you left me to bleed out."

His expression shifted, just slightly. Enough for me to see the crack.

"Things are complicated," he said.

"They always are," I muttered. "Get inside before someone sees you."

Violet gave me a look like I'd lost my mind, but she didn't argue. She shut the door as Marco stepped in, dripping sleaze all over her apartment.

---

The conversation that followed was blood and betrayal wrapped in humor sharp enough to cut. Marco danced around answers, I pushed, Violet interjected with sarcasm that almost made me laugh despite the tension.

But underneath it all, the truth crystallized.

Marco had made a deal. With people who wanted me gone.

And now, he was here, not to save me-no, he never would-but to use me. To buy himself time. To throw me to the wolves when the moment came.

The betrayal stung sharper than the knife wound. Because I had trusted him once. Foolishly.

Never again.

---

By the time Marco left, Violet was pacing, her arms crossed, muttering about how my life was a soap opera with more blood. I leaned against the wall, exhaustion finally sinking into my bones.

"Why do you let him get away with it?" she demanded. "He's clearly scum."

"Because," I said quietly, "sometimes you keep your enemies closer. Close enough to slit their throat when they finally turn their back."

She froze, staring at me like she wasn't sure if I was joking.

Spoiler: I wasn't.

And as the night deepened around us, I realized this was only the beginning.

Blood had been spilled.

Betrayal had been carved into the bones of this story.

And Violet... she was already tangled in it, whether she liked it or not.

And God help me, I wasn't letting her go.

Marco's hand trembled around the knife, but his voice didn't.

"You think you're untouchable, Vincent?" His tone carried a dangerous kind of desperation. "You think no one dares to play you? That's where you're wrong."

Vincent tilted his head, a cruel smile ghosting his lips.

"Careful, Marco. That knife is shaking so much it looks like it's dancing salsa. Should I play the music?"

Violet snorted before she could stop herself, earning a deadly glare from Marco.

"Oh, don't look at me," she said, crossing her arms. "If you stab anyone, at least aim better. You're embarrassing yourself."

Marco's eyes narrowed at her, then flicked back to Vincent. "You brought her here. You think she's on your side?" His voice cracked, revealing something ugly beneath it. "You have no idea who's whispering in your ear. Someone close. Someone feeding me pieces of you."

That made Vincent pause.

Just for a second, his smirk faltered.

Violet noticed.

The tiniest flicker in his usually unshakable armor.

"Ah," Marco grinned, teeth stained red with blood from where Vincent had struck him earlier. "Now you're listening."

The air between them thickened. Violet could almost hear the weight of that accusation drop like a stone. Someone close to Vincent - betraying him.

Vincent's gaze sharpened into steel again, though his jaw tightened. He let out a dark chuckle.

"So, let me get this straight..." He leaned closer, voice a razor's edge. "You're admitting you're too stupid to pull strings yourself, so someone else is pulling them for you?"

Marco's pride flared. "Laugh all you want. But you'll choke on that laugh when you realize you've been bleeding from the inside."

In a blink, Vincent moved.

The knife slashed - not at him, but toward Violet.

Her heart lurched, but Vincent caught Marco's wrist mid-swing, twisting it so hard the bone cracked. Marco screamed. The knife clattered to the ground, spinning across the concrete floor.

Blood spattered.

And that was when chaos exploded.

Vincent drove Marco back against the wall, fists raining down. Each punch landed with a sickening thud, the sound of knuckles breaking skin. Marco swung back wild and sloppy, his face already swelling, but desperation made him dangerous.

Violet stumbled backward, her breath shallow, watching the violence unravel like a nightmare made flesh. Yet when Marco's hand scrambled blindly for the fallen knife, her instincts screamed.

She moved.

Before Vincent could react, Violet kicked the blade away - hard - sending it skittering under a heavy metal shelf. Marco roared, lunging at her instead.

Vincent's fury became animal.

He yanked Marco back by the collar, spun him, and slammed his head against the wall with such force the plaster cracked. Blood streaked the surface as Marco sagged, coughing, laughing through broken teeth.

"You're already too late, Vincent," he rasped. "The betrayal's already inside. And when it surfaces-"

His words cut short with Vincent's fist smashing into his mouth, silencing him in a spray of crimson.

Silence fell.

Marco collapsed, groaning, semi-conscious on the floor.

Vincent stood there, chest heaving, knuckles split open and dripping with blood. The rage in him didn't seem human. His eyes darted to Violet, as if checking she was unharmed, though his expression was unreadable.

"Why-" she swallowed, her voice rough. "Why didn't you just kill him?"

Vincent's lips curled into something cold and cruel.

"Because dead men can't talk. And I need to know exactly who betrayed me."

Marco stood at the far end of the old warehouse, his shadow stretching long under the dim, flickering light. He didn't look like the friend I grew up with. No-he looked like a man who had peeled his soul off and sold it for power.

"You came," Marco's voice was calm, almost casual, but I could hear the smugness under it.

"I almost didn't," I spat. My fists were already balled at my sides. "But curiosity kills cats-and apparently best friends too."

Marco smirked. "Always with the dramatics, Vincent. You never change."

"Funny," I snapped, "I was about to say the same about you. Except-" I stepped closer, the air between us heavy, "-you changed everything."

His smile faltered, but only for a second. "You think betrayal comes easy? You think I wanted this?"

"No, Marco. I think you wanted more. And you didn't care who bled while you took it." My voice cracked, anger and hurt tangling together.

He scoffed, pacing like a caged wolf. "You're still clinging to honor. To loyalty. To some childish idea that people don't stab each other in the back when survival is on the line."

"Survival?" I laughed bitterly. "Don't dress it up. This wasn't survival. It was greed. You wanted my place, my power, my trust-and you got it. Congratulations. Except now you're standing in the ruins of both of us."

For a long moment, silence stretched. Only the buzz of the faulty light filled the space.

Then Marco chuckled, low and mocking. "You always were good with words, Vincent. Too bad words don't stop bullets."

And just like that-his hand brushed his coat, the metallic glint of a gun flashing beneath.

My heart didn't race. My blood didn't boil. Instead, a strange calm settled over me. "So this is it then? Best friends to blood brothers to... murder scene of the week?" I tilted my head. "At least make it quick. I've had a long day."

Marco's eyes narrowed. "Still joking?"

"It's either that or cry," I said with a crooked grin. "And honestly, I'm not in the mood for mascara stains."

His lips twitched like he almost laughed, but the gun stayed steady.