The first attempt on Vinny's life came quietly.
No explosions. No dramatic gunfire tearing through the mansion walls. Just a single, almost invisible shift in routine—so subtle that anyone who didn't know Vinny the way Matthew did would've missed it entirely.
Matthew noticed because Vinny didn't drink his coffee.
The cup sat untouched on the small marble table near the window, steam long gone cold. Vinny stood with his back to the room, staring out over the gardens, shoulders tense, jaw set too tight.
"You didn't even pretend to sip it," Matthew said.
Vinny didn't turn. "It smells wrong."
That was all it took.
The room snapped into motion.
Rafe was there within seconds, gloves already on, lifting the cup with careful precision. He didn't smell it. Didn't taste it. Just studied the faint residue clinging to the rim.
"Smart," he muttered. "Too light to kill immediately. Delayed onset. Cardiac mimic."
Matthew's expression went cold. "How long?"
