Blossom's POV.
There was only so much silence a person could take before they started craving noise-even if it was the wrong kind. Even if it came dressed in danger and dipped in chaos. Even if that noise had a name, and that name was Vincent Marino.
I stared at the city from my apartment window, the skyline taunting me with a kind of indifference I'd grown used to. My apartment looked untouched-neat, organized, safe. The kind of place someone was supposed to breathe easy in. But I didn't.
Because I couldn't.
Not when every room I walked through whispered reminders of a man who hadn't been here, but whose presence filled all the space anyway. His voice, his touch, the way he'd say Little De like it was a secret between us. Like I was something only he understood. God, I hated that I missed that.
I ran a hand through my hair, pacing. I'd made lists. I'd tried to rationalize. I'd played the strong, detached woman. But all that thinking and breathing and healing had led me back here-to the same damn conclusion:
I wanted him.
Even if it was reckless.
Even if it was stupid.
Even if he shattered me all over again.
Screw logic.
I grabbed my bag, slammed the door behind me, and texted one person:
"Watch my place. I'm going back to him."
---
The city blurred outside the taxi window, and I didn't give a damn that I hadn't called ahead. I wasn't going to be polite about it. If he was going to slam into my life like a hurricane, then he was going to feel the aftershock too.
I stood in front of the Marino estate gates like I'd never left, heart pounding like a traitor. The security detail at the front blinked at me in surprise.
"I want to see Vincent," I said, loud enough to burn the hesitation out of their mouths.
"He's in his study," one finally answered, moving aside with a silent nod.
I walked in like I still belonged there.
Because maybe I did.
Because maybe I never stopped.
The house swallowed me whole. Same sharp edges, same velvet cold. Lily passed me in the hallway, froze, and blinked like she wasn't sure if I was real or another ghost this house had learned to live with.
"You're back?" she asked softly.
"For now."
She smiled, just a little. "He's in the study. And he's been drinking again."
Perfect.
---
I found him exactly where I knew he'd be-slouched in his chair, half-drunk, smoke curling from the corner of his lips like sin was something casual.
He didn't look up immediately. He never did.
But he knew.
"I figured you'd either show up or set something on fire," he said calmly.
I stepped forward. "There's still time for both."
He raised his eyes to mine, slow and heavy like he'd been waiting. I saw it then-the exhaustion, the battle scars in his gaze, the ache tucked between every blink.
"I don't want an apology," I said, voice low. "And I'm not here to be convinced."
"Then why are you here?" he asked.
I walked toward him, letting each step be a decision I didn't want to take back.
"Because I'm tired of pretending I don't want to be."
His jaw flexed, the cigarette trembling slightly between his fingers before he crushed it out.
"I told Adriel to cancel the contract," he murmured.
"I know."
Silence stretched, thick with tension and something else. Regret maybe. Want, definitely.
I stood over him now, eyes locked on his.
"I should walk away," I whispered.
He stood.
"You won't."
And just like that, we were gravity again-pulling, spinning, wrecking everything soft in our path. Not kissing, not touching, but closer than skin.
"You still call me Little De," I muttered.
"Because it still fits."
I stood there, barely breathing, watching him. The air between us was thick with something unspeakable. Not lust. Not longing. Something messier. Deeper. Something that never left-even after I did.
He was still. Silent. Like if he moved too fast, I'd disappear.
"I didn't come back for a moment," I whispered. "I came back to set it all on fire."
Vincent stepped forward. His eyes, god-those eyes were merciless. Even when they softened, they destroyed.
"You want fire, Little De?"
His voice was gravel and heat.
"I'll give you fire."
He reached out slowly, giving me time to step back. I didn't.
His fingers traced the line of my jaw, deliberate. My breath hitched, not because of the touch, but because of the restraint. The way he moved like he was memorizing skin.
"I've thought about this," he murmured. "What I'd do... if I got one more chance."
I swallowed, heartbeat tripping. "And?"
He leaned in, breath skimming my lips. "I stopped fantasizing. Started planning."
Then he kissed me.
No warning. No hesitation. Just heat-raw and brutal and deep. My back hit the wall behind us, and he pressed into me like he needed to feel every inch, like distance itself was an insult.
I fisted his shirt, dragging him closer, matching him breath for breath. His hand slid down, curved over my waist, possessive, grounding.
"Say it," he rasped against my mouth.
"I want you."
"Again."
I bit his lip. "I. Want. You."
His hands were on my thighs in a heartbeat, lifting me like I weighed nothing, settling me onto the edge of his desk with a thud that scattered papers and dignity.
He was everywhere-his mouth at my neck, his hands charting paths like he'd drawn maps of me in secret. He tugged the zip of my dress down with maddening control, never once looking away.
"This is the last time I hold back," he whispered, kissing the skin above my heart.
"Then don't."
The rest of the room fell away-no mafia, no past, no titles.
Just skin. Just teeth and gasps and the sound of my name breaking on his tongue.
Little De.
Again and again.
He worshipped. I devoured.
We lost hours to that room.
---
When it was over, we didn't move. I lay tangled in his shirt, my head on his chest, his hand slowly tracing circles into my back.
"I used to think having you would make me weak," he said quietly.
"And now?"
He looked down at me.
"Now I know... not having you almost killed me."
I smiled. A soft, aching thing. "You really are terrible at being sappy."
"Only for you."
He kissed my forehead, and for the first time in a long time, I felt full.
No chaos. No fear.
Just him. And me.
And the fire still burning slow and steady between us.
Vincent's breath still lingered on my skin-warm, slow, uneven. His fingers traced the curve of my spine like he didn't know how to stop holding me. My heart was a mess of uneven beats, my body humming in the aftermath of all we'd let ourselves feel.
But just when I thought the silence between us might stretch into something tender, something permanent... he pulled away.
Only slightly.
Only enough to tilt his head back, stare at the ceiling, and let out a slow, dark laugh.
"They're both gone," he said suddenly, his voice thick with something I couldn't name.
I blinked, breath still shallow. "What?"
He rolled his jaw, grabbed the wine glass from the edge of the bed like he needed to ground himself. "Rion. Riley."
That snapped whatever haze was left over me. "What do you mean they're gone?"
He looked at me then. Sharp. Cold. Unforgiving. But underneath that-something flickered. A twinge of... relief?
"Rion thought he could take his tantrum global. Crossed the wrong people in Germany. Mafians over there don't play politics, Little De. They play fire."
I swallowed. "He's dead?"
Vincent didn't blink. "Dead doesn't cover it. They turned his car into a firework show. Lit the entire street. I was almost disappointed-I wanted to be the one who ripped his jaw off."
The air thickened with smoke and memory.
"And Riley?" I asked quietly.
He shrugged, but I saw the twitch in his temple. "Busted. Drug smuggling operation. Real amateur hour. She tried to run, but apparently she's not as fast without betrayal to fuel her."
I stared at him. "You knew?"
He leaned back, eyes closed for a moment. "Adriel came in the morning. Laid everything out. I didn't want to tell you. Not tonight."
I shifted slightly under the sheets, suddenly cold. "Why not?"
"Because," he said, locking eyes with me, "tonight, you weren't supposed to carry anything. You were just supposed to be mine."
The silence hung again. Not awkward. Not bitter. Just... final.
"Do you regret it?" I asked, voice smaller than I intended.
"Regret?" He tilted his head. "Only that I didn't kill him first."
He reached for my hand-firm, grounding.
"I told you, Little De. Anyone who hurts you... they end up in ashes."
And maybe that should've scared me. Maybe it should've made me recoil.
But all I felt... was safe.
---
I watched him as he spoke, his eyes flickering in the dim light like they held ghosts only he could see. For a man like Vincent Marino-stoic, brutal, untouchable-this quiet was louder than any scream. And it wasn't just about Rion or Riley or what they did.
It was about me.
Us.
The war, the chaos, the blood in the water... and we were still here.
I reached out, gently touching the side of his face, letting my thumb drag along the faint scar at his jawline.
"I'm staying," I said.
He blinked once, slowly, like he wasn't sure if he heard me right.
I leaned in closer, voice firm. "With you, Vincent. Here."
His brow furrowed, that familiar tension building across his shoulders. "Blossom-"
"No," I cut in. "Don't try to change my mind. I've been running from shadows all my life, thinking light was the only answer. But now I know better."
I sat back on my heels, holding his gaze. "You think you're the dark. But you're not. You're the one who made me feel safe in it. And I'm not going anywhere."
He stared at me like I was the first sunrise he'd ever seen. And then, because he always had to test my resolve-
"So what now, Little De?" he asked, voice low, eyes hooded. "What are you planning to do? Spend your days dodging bullets and drinking with murderers?"
I smirked. "Not exactly."
I rolled over and pulled the sheets tighter, only half-covering myself, daring him to look away.
"I'm going into business," I said. "Fashion and beauty-like I always wanted. Sharly already offered to help launch the brand, and I've got ideas. Big ones."
He raised an eyebrow. "And you think you can juggle runway dreams while living under my roof?"
I kissed his shoulder. "I don't live under your roof, Vincent. I built one beside yours."
He tried to speak again, but I put a finger to his lips.
"I've made my choice. I've walked through fire, past betrayal, and nearly drowned in the ocean because of this world. And I'm still here."
My voice hardened just slightly.
"These shadows? I'm not afraid of them anymore. They don't own me. I choose to stay... because I finally understand."
He reached out, pulled me into his chest, and let the silence wrap around us one last time.
"You really are insane," he muttered against my hair.
"And you love it," I whispered back.