Chapter 1 : Blood in the Office

Zen was never supposed to see this side of Matteo.

The side covered in blood.

The side that doesn't hesitate.

The side that ends lives like it's routine.

But when Zen walks into the wrong room at the wrong time... he sees everything.

And instead of running away like he should have...

He speaks.

That single moment changes everything between a mafia boss who owns the world... and a hybrid who was never meant to question him.

Because Matteo doesn't tolerate defiance.

But Zen?

Zen doesn't understand fear the way he should.

And now Matteo is watching him differently.

Closer. Colder. More dangerous.

Maybe the hybrid isn't just a pet after all.

Maybe he's something Matteo can't control.

...______________________...

Matteo smiled faintly as he glanced at his phone.

The hidden cameras in his bedroom showed Zen sleeping peacefully under the blankets. Curled up. Small. Safe.

His hybrid.

Matteo's gaze lingered a moment longer than usual.

Zen always looked different when he slept. Less guarded. Less aware of the world that wanted to use him, sell him, break him.

Matteo locked the screen.

And stood up.

Across the room, a man knelt on the floor-trembling, bruised, sweating.

A debtor.

One of many.

"You had one job," Matteo said quietly.

No shouting. No anger.

Just disappointment.

That was worse.

The man tried to speak, but Matteo didn't listen.

Because Matteo didn't negotiate with failure.

By the time Zen woke up and wandered through the hallway, something felt off.

Too quiet.

Too heavy.

The air itself felt wrong.

Zen stopped in front of Matteo's office door.

His hand hovered over the handle.

A strange pressure built in his chest.

Then he opened it.

And froze.

Blood.

Everywhere.

His breath caught instantly.

The smell hit him first-metallic, sharp, suffocating.

His fingers tightened around the door handle so hard it hurt.

"Master..." Zen whispered, voice breaking. "Blood..."

On the floor, a man groaned weakly.

Barely alive.

Above him stood Matteo.

Calm. Straight-backed. Unbothered.

His knuckles were stained dark red. His suit jacket splattered. His expression unchanged, like he was simply finishing paperwork instead of destroying a man.

He didn't even look at Zen at first.

Then he did.

And everything stopped.

Zen's heart dropped instantly.

Those black eyes locked onto him-cold, unreadable, sharp enough to cut.

Zen's ears flattened instinctively.

Fear crawled up his spine.

Matteo slowly wiped his hand with a silk handkerchief.

As if he had all the time in the world.

"Go back to bed," he said calmly.

Zen blinked.

Not angry.

Not soft.

Just final.

"B-but-" Zen hesitated.

Matteo turned fully now.

The movement alone made Zen's body stiffen.

Blood sat at the corner of Matteo's lips.

He had bitten himself during the beating.

He looked almost... bored.

"I said go back to bed, Zen."

The voice dropped lower.

Heavier.

A command.

The kind you didn't argue with.

The man on the floor coughed weakly.

Without even looking, Matteo kicked him again.

Zen flinched violently.

His stomach twisted.

"But he'll die like this," Zen said quickly. "Please..."

Silence.

Everything stopped again.

Even the man stopped breathing for a second.

Slowly, Matteo turned his head toward Zen.

Not anger.

Something worse.

Curiosity.

"You care about this trash?" Matteo asked quietly.

Then he stepped forward.

One step.

Then another.

Zen couldn't move.

The air felt heavier with every second Matteo approached.

Like the room itself was shrinking.

Matteo stopped right in front of him.

And grabbed Zen's chin.

Firm.

Controlled.

Unavoidable.

Zen's breath hitched sharply. His mind felt like it was lagging behind his body.

Matteo's fingers were still under his chin-firm, steady, grounding in the worst possible way.

Zen hated that he wasn't pulling away.

He should've.

Every instinct in his body screamed at him to move, to run, to escape the heat of that stare.

But his feet stayed planted.

Why?

Because Matteo wasn't just terrifying.

He was stable in a room that smelled like chaos.

Zen swallowed hard. His throat felt dry.

"I... I hate it," Zen repeated again, softer this time, like the words might disappear if he didn't say them properly.

He didn't even know why he said it.

Maybe because lying felt worse.

Maybe because something about Matteo's silence demanded honesty.

For a second, Zen thought Matteo would laugh.

Or punish him.

Or tighten his grip until it hurts.

But none of that happened...

Matteo just looked at him.

Like he was trying to understand something that didn't fit inside his world.

Zen had never seen that expression on him before.

Not during meals.

Not during orders.

Not even during violence.

Confusion didn't belong on Matteo's face.

And yet it was there.

Then, just as suddenly, it vanished.

Matteo released him.

The air snapped back into place like a broken thread reconnecting.

Zen almost stumbled from the absence of pressure.

Matteo turned away.

And ended it without emotion.

Zen couldn't bring himself to look at the body again.

He didn't need to.

He already knew what silence like that meant.

Death wasn't dramatic in Matteo's world.

It was just... finished.

Cleaned up.

Deleted.

Like a file.

Matteo was already on his phone again.

Zen watched him carefully now, like he was seeing him properly for the first time.

There was something wrong about how calm he was.

Not in a chaotic way.

In a controlled way.

Like Matteo didn't experience consequences the same way other people did.

Zen's chest tightened again.

Why was he still here?

Why hadn't he run?

Because he could still feel the warmth of Matteo's grip from seconds ago.

Because that same hand had just killed someone.

Because both things existed in the same person.

And Zen didn't know which version was real.

"Clean it up," he repeated.

Matteo finished the call.

Then silence returned.

Like nothing had ever happened.

Like life and death were just interruptions in his schedule.

Zen finally forced himself to move.

His legs felt heavy as he stepped back toward the door.

But he didn't leave immediately.

He shouldn't have stayed.

He knew that.

But something kept him there.

Something he didn't have a name for yet.

Matteo finally looked at him again.

Not sharply this time.

Just... observing.

Like Zen had become a question he didn't expect to encounter.

Then Matteo walked closer again.

Zen stiffened instantly.

But this time, Matteo didn't grab him.

He just looked at him.

Longer.

Quieter.

Then removed his blood-stained jacket.

Zen didn't understand what was happening until it was already on his shoulders.

Warm.

Heavy.

Still carrying his scent.

Zen froze completely.

"This is unnecessary," Zen whispered before he could stop himself.

Matteo tilted his head slightly.

A faint pause.

Like he was processing that sentence.

Then, without answering, he stepped forward.

And pulled Zen into him.

The movement was sudden.

Controlled.

Not affectionate in a normal sense.

More like... possession.

Zen's breath caught.

Matteo's arm locked around his back, steady and unyielding.

Zen could feel the faint rise and fall of his chest.

Slow.

Measured.

Like nothing in the world could disturb it.

Zen stayed frozen for a moment.

Then, slowly... his hands lifted slightly.

Not returning the hug.

Just existing in it.

Matteo noticed everything.

Zen could feel it.

Every second of hesitation.

Every breath.

Every tremor.

Then Matteo released him.

Just as abruptly.

As if the moment had never happened.

"Go rest," he said.

Zen didn't respond immediately.

Because his body still didn't understand what had just happened.

So he left.

That night felt wrong.

Not dangerous.

Not loud.

Just... heavy.

Zen lay in bed, staring at the ceiling.

The smell of blood wouldn't leave his memory.

But neither would the warmth of Matteo's jacket.

Or the way he had held him.

Like Zen was something worth anchoring himself to.

Zen turned slightly.

His fingers gripped the blanket.

Why would someone like Matteo do that?

Kill without hesitation...

But hold someone like that?

It didn't make sense.

And that was the problem.

Nothing about Matteo made sense.

Except one thing.

Zen hadn't been afraid enough to obey completely.

That night, the mansion was quiet again.

The door opened silently.

Matteo entered.

He didn't speak.

Just walked in like he belonged everywhere.

Like nothing could ever stop him.

He removed his jacket and loosened his shirt.

And climbed into bed behind Zen.

Zen stiffened instantly.

Matteo didn't care.

An arm wrapped around Zen's waist.

Pulling him closer.

Not asking.

Not waiting.

Just taking.

Zen could feel his breath against his neck.

Warm.

Steady.

Alive.

Matteo buried his face slightly into Zen's hair.

And for once...

There was no violence.

No orders.

No blood.

Just silence.

Just breathing.

Just the dangerous calm of a man who owned everything-

And still refused to let go of the one thing he couldn't explain.

And slowly...

Matteo fell asleep.

Holding Zen like letting go was never an option.

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