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Matteo thinks that he’s lucky.
That he was born under the lucky start with Mother Fate herself smiling down on him when he took his first breath. That Matteo is absolutely, the luckiest bastard that was ever born in this world.
How could he not, when he managed to achieve the coveted seat of Vongola Decimo’s husband? Well, saying that he achieved that is wrong by itself. Considering that it was mostly his father and the entirety of his family that managed the job.
But still- he really is lucky, sitting here, in the dining room inside of the famous Vongola mansion (truthfully, it’s more of a fortress, but oh well). Sitting here, with the Vongola decimo herself sitting in front of him, sharing their dinner together after a long and tedious day.
He likes to ignore the fact that It’s not only the two of them here at the table. All of the guardians are also present, making idle chatter amongst themselves, but the point persists. Matteo is a lucky man to be sitting here as Vongola Decimo’s husband.
Matteo Lombardi is the third child of a big mafia family in Italy. While, of course, his family can’t rival the likes of Vongola or Millefiore, it still holds a decently respectful position within the mafia community. He has an older brother – the family's heir, the next head – and one older sister – already married off to another family for a political alliance.
Because isn’t it that just so mafia-like?
Everything that happens, happens for a reason. Every move and every smile. Every flicker of eyes and every twitch of fingers. Especially for the bigger and more established families.
Marriage is sacred. Not because it’s a holy union of love between two people. It’s sacred because of all the opportunities that can come with the act of marriage itself. Ties that bind two families for a lifetime. An alliance that would be hard – almost impossible, in their circle - to break.
Matteo had watched the reality of that sacred union unfold in real time.
He still remembered the raw, suffocating scent of cheap mascara and copper blood in his room years ago, sitting across from his sister. There’s two cups of tea between them, faint tendril of smoke wafting through the air as his sister sniffed tearfully. He had stared at the dark, ugly bruises peeking out from the lace of her collar as she wept, her voice trembling like shattered glass.
(“A cage,” she had whispered, her fingers digging into her own trembling arms. “It’s nothing but a fancy cage, created by father.”)
Ever since he was a child, Matteo fully believed that he would stay within the family. That he would become his brother’s right-hand man or maybe the family consigliere, considering that he does have a law degree from the University of Bologna. He does have a younger brother, but he was still young. Too young and too innocent.
His younger brother was far too soft for their life - an innocent child raised under their mother's gentle wing, shielded from the violence and ruthlessness that father had beaten into the older three. Knows nothing about what the family truthfully is.
The duty of maintaining the Lombardi legacy fell on the elder siblings' shoulders.
Matteo was prepared to be the mind behind his brother's sword. He had his sharp mind, his expensive suits, his legal expertise, and a clear vision of his future within his family's ranks. He had believed he was the one Lombardi child who would stay grounded, useful, and free from the terrifying auction block of political matrimony.
(Matteo had stared at his older sister tear stricken face and hidden bruises. He had stared at her tears and swears that that it will never be his fate.)
But of course, everything changed when the Vongola Decimo appeared.
A small Japanese girl that appeared within the iron fortress of Vongola and took it over as if it’s her own backyard.
To start, everyone knows that the Vongola had an inheritance crisis. Three of the Nono’s children had been brutally murdered and Xanxus di Vongola is already the leader of the Varia. It won’t be the weirdest thing to happen if Xanxus move from being the leader of Varia to become the Vongola Decimo.
But no.
Every major family heard the hushed, terrifying rumors of the colossal clash between Nono and his son. Whispers of an attempted coup flooded the underworld - how Xanxus had stormed the main estate, his guns blazing, demanding that Nono step down while the bodies of his three older brothers were still practically fresh in their graves.
(“Did he kill his older brothers?”
“Who know? He is the head of Vongola’s assassination unit.”)
That violent night ended with Xanxus vanishing completely for years, leaving the mafia in a state of deep paranoia. When Nono appeared at the next annual syndicate meeting, he carried a grim, unreadable expression, calmly announcing to the gathered dons that no heir had been officially appointed yet.
Despite his silence, the consensus remained clear. The throne would eventually go to one of two men. Xanxus di Vongola, the Black Lion, or Sawada Iemitsu, the Young Lion and formidable head of CEDEF. Both were ruthless, seasoned, and fiercely terrifying figures in the underworld. Capable of maintaining Vongola’s undisputed reign at the pinnacle of global syndicate power.
Then Tsunayoshi Sawada arrived.
Long brown hair and doe eyes. People says that she has a smile that resemble a rabbit. Always so frail looking and hounded by her guardians as if she’s something precious. The daughter of Iemitsu, the Young Lion of Vongola. A quarter Italian girl who has the blood of Vongola Primo running through her veins.
Everyone knows how Vongola coveted bloodlines. How they think that after years and years of secondo blood taking the lead of the family affair, finally someone with primo’s blood appear to take their rightful seat as the head of Vongola.
Besides about her bloodline, there’s also another thing that managed to push Tsunayonshi as Vongola Decimo. A girl, with the purest sky flame to exist.
Everyone knows how precious Sky Flame is, not only to Vongola but to the entirety of the mafia community.
Tsunayoshi Sawada, now known as Tsunayoshi di Vongola took the mafia world by storm.
There had been doubts, of course. There were always doubts when a girl tried to take a seat that had belonged to men for generations. Especially a girl who had grown up as a civilian, far removed from the blood and politics of the underworld.
But well, she proved everyone wrong.
She proved them wrong spectacularly.
Under her leadership, Vongola's already staggering wealth doubled, then tripled - or perhaps more. Honestly, who the hell was still keeping track? The numbers had become so obscene that even the people handling the family's accounts had stopped pretending they were surprised.
She expanded Vongola's business interests both legally and illegally, building an ironclad network of legitimate companies that provided the perfect respectable face for the family's less-than-ideal ventures. Money flowed through Vongola's hands from every direction, and by the time anyone realized just how deeply the family had embedded itself into legitimate industries, it was already too late.
But that was only the beginning of everything.
Besides that, Vongola’s already firm grip on the underworld only had become firmer under her leadership.
They had assumed that the girl with the gentle smile and supposedly kind heart would balk at the uglier parts of leadership. That perhaps she would be reluctant to spill blood when negotiations failed. That maybe, besides the business side of things, she would be more comfortable for her father or even Xanxus to take charge.
Tsunayoshi di Vongola personally ordered the deaths of the majority of the major family heads who opposed her within the first month of her ascension. Some was assassinated. Dissapeared. Others simply woke up one morning to discover that every business, every ally, and every piece of territory they had spent decades building now belonged to Vongola. Tsunayoshi di Vongola replaced them with men she trusted, took over their business, and successfully made all of the underworlds bow under her heels in the first year of her leadership.
Tsunayoshi di Vongola is a ruthless woman who has the right capabilities and personality to rule the world’s largest mafia family.
She was ruthless and decisive. She managed to rule everyone under her small smile and gentle eyes. And, perhaps most importantly, she had the power to back up every threat she made. Tsunayoshi di Vongola had everything necessary to rule the largest mafia family in the world.
Which, naturally, made her the most coveted bride in the entire underworld.
No one’s delusional enough to hope that they can tame the woman. No one looked at Tsunayoshi di Vongola and thought wife before they thought power. What made her the ultimate prize was the staggering promise of her connections, her riches, and the formidable shadow of Vongola backing whichever family secured her hand. A single marriage contract could elevate a minor syndicate into a global superpower overnight.
A single marriage could elevate an entire family overnight.
It could turn a minor player into a force that other families would have to reckon with. It could turn his Lombardi family into a powerhouse within the underworld.
It’s clear that whoever is lucky enough to marry Tsunayoshi di Vongola won’t become the head of Vongola, but instead her trophy husband. Still, men all across the underworld and vying for that position, with ruthlessness glinting in their eyes. After all, there were worse things a man could be than the most valuable piece of arm candy in the mafia world.
Matteo Lombardi knew this better than most.
His family had been watching Vongola's rise with the same interest as everyone else. At first, it had been simple curiosity. Then caution. Then something much closer to fear.
Fear of the growing power of the already influential Vongola family. Fear of the Decimo turning her gaze towards them and deciding that their heads are next on the chopping block. Fear, of the small girl with a warm smile and blazing eyes.
There’s no way, even in a million years, that the Lombardis will be powerful enough to challenge the Vongola. But they were established enough to be useful. An old Italian family with respectable connections, a profitable network of businesses, and - most importantly- a name that carried enough weight to ally with Vongola worth considering. It’s a bit of a long shot, but a chance is still there.
So when his father summoned him to the study one evening, Matteo already has an inkling what was coming.
“Be happy,” said the man, already smiling. A smile that had been brighter and bigger than what Matteo had ever seen in his life. "You're going to marry Vongola Decimo."
Matteo blinked. “Excuse me?”
His father huffed. “Am I not clear enough, or have I raised a daft son?” he said. “You will be marrying Tsunayoshi di Vongola, the Vongola Decimo.”
Matteo sat there in silence, staring at his father as the weight of the announcement slowly settled over him. It sounds downright insane and almost unbelievable, to be honest. His father continued as though he had just informed Matteo of a particularly lucrative business deal.
"The agreement has already been discussed,” continued the man.
"With Vongola?" asked Matteo again, still full of disbelief.
The older man nodded. "With Vongola."
"And they agreed?"
His father barked out a triumphant laugh. "They proposed it!” he boomed, sounding downright gleeful. “Can you believe it? Have I managed to grow this family enough for Vongola to finally take notice of us?”
That surprised him. For all the talk about men clawing their way toward the position of Vongola's husband, Matteo had never once imagined that Tsunayoshi di Vongola would actually need to look for one. The woman had never seemed to be someone who was in rush to marry someone, and he also didn’t think there was someone that can actually pressure her into marriage.
Apparently, she did. Or perhaps she simply needed one specific kind of husband.
Someone respectable enough to satisfy the old families. Someone politically useful enough to stabilize whatever alliances had been frayed by her ascension. Someone who could stand beside her at galas, dinners, and formal meetings without embarrassing her.
Someone who understood that a marriage between families was not necessarily a marriage between two people.
(Someone who’s family is not big enough to stand in Vongola’s way)
His father had made that last part very clear. "This is an excellent opportunity for you," said the man again. “Can you even imagine it, son? You as a Vongola! My son as a Vongola!”
Matteo almost laughed. An opportunity.
Of course.
His older brother would inherit the family. His older sister had already been married off for an alliance. And Matteo? Matteo was being handed to Vongola. Like a trophy or a prize.
There were worse fates, he guessed. Much worse. Like losing his inheritance or being kicked out of his family and living off of the streets.
And, if he was being honest with himself, something was intoxicating about it. About the new position that’s dangling in front of him.
To become the husband of Vongola Decimo.
To walk into a room with the most powerful woman in the underworld on his arm.
To have every mafia family know his name.
Matteo Lombardi, husband of Tsunayoshi di Vongola.
It sounded sweet. And at that moment, Matteo foolishly let himself believe that being chosen meant he was a very lucky man.
Tsunayoshi di Vongola is beautiful.
Matteo knows that ever since the female took up the mantle of Vongola decimo all those years ago, ever since she appeared in the annual Vongola gala for the first time with the blood-red dress that had hugged curves in all the right places.
It had been difficult not to stare.
At the time, Matteo had only seen her from a distance. A young woman surrounded by the most dangerous men in the world, standing beneath the enormous Vongola crest with her shoulders straight and her chin held high.
Long brown hair cascaded down her back as her bright – almost glowing – Her eyes are bright—an almost unnatural shade of orange, glowing against her pale complexion. The woman in front of him looks like an angel. She looks like she doesn’t have a speck of blood on her hands. As if she’s an angel descended from the sky to grace mere mortals with her presence.
And when those eyes settle on him, there is no coldness in them.
Ever since their marriage had been decided, he had seen countless pictures of the woman. From official reports to sneaky shots someone would take during galas or other events. Now, sitting in front of her, he realizes that none of the photographs had done her justice.
Tsunayoshi di Vongola is a woman who could take every man’s breath away.
“Hello, Matteo,” greeted the woman, eyes crinkling as she entered the room. “Did you wait long?” asked the woman.
"No, Decimo. Not at all,” he said almost immediately, though he cringed at how stiff he sounded.
Tsunayoshi laughed at that. “Just relax, hm?”
Matteo was about to reply when he noticed another presence following behind Tsunayoshi closely. He immediately recognized them as the rain and storm guardian, as well as Vongola’s external advisor, the world’s greatest hitman, Reborn.
And, if the rumors are to be believed, the man responsible for turning the civilian daughter of Iemitsu Sawada into the woman sitting before him. A woman who had ordered the murder of countless people without care.
Dread settled in his stomach as he watched the hitman saunter inside; the hitman didn't bother with the formalities. He walked straight toward the sofa and dropped himself onto it beside Tsunayoshi, stretching his legs out until his shoes rested casually on the coffee table. Both the Rain and Storm Guardians opted to stand behind the sofa, flanking Tsunayoshi’s back like bodyguards.
“Oh? So, this is the guy?” asked Reborn, head tilted a bit as he put his legs on top of the coffee table between them, just right next to Matteo’s coffee. It’s such an impolite manner to show in front of your boss, but this is Reborn and Vongola Decimo. They must’ve had a close relationship. “He looks wimpy.”
“Reborn, please don’t be rude,” said Tsunayoshi, a bit chiding before she turned her gaze back towards Matteo. “It’s really nice to finally meet you, Matteo,” continued the woman. “I had met your father before, to discuss the details of our marriage, but I had hoped that we could meet before our wedding too.”
At this, Tsunayoshi let out a tinkling laugh. "It seemed a little unfair that I only met your father to discuss everything while you and I hadn't even properly met."
“And again, I’m saying that it’s not a bad thing, Dame-Tsuna,” continued Reborn, looking bored. “Right, Lombardi?”
He flinched at the sudden address. Reborn is an intimidating man after all, a famous killer who has more blood on his hands than anyone else in their line of business. “Yes,” answered Matteo, a bit dazedly, before he nodded his head. “It’s an honor to meet you, Decimo-“
“Please,” laughed the woman. “Call me Tsuna, we’re about to be husband and wife, no?”
Matteo swears that flowers are blooming around her as she let out that smile. Her laugh sounds like ringing bells to his ears. Their wedding bells, preferably.
“Tsuna," he repeats. The name feels strange on his tongue. Far too intimate for a woman he has known for less than an hour. But she seems pleased. Matteo, too, thinks that he is pleased by the turn of event.
(He missed the small twitch that both the Rain and Storm Guardians let out at that fond nickname. He missed the glare that Reborn shot him and the small tsk that escaped his mouth.
He too, certainly missed the small coldness that crept into Tsunayoshi’s eyes as she stared at him with the same warm smile that she had worn ever since she entered the room.)
"Much better,” grinned the woman.
And just like that, Matteo Lombardi thinks that perhaps his father was right.
Perhaps he really is lucky.
Because how many men in the world could say that they were going to marry Tsunayoshi di Vongola? How many men could look at the most powerful woman in the underworld and see such an angel?
Matteo doesn't know yet that the flowers he sees around her are only flowers from his side of the room. He doesn't know that the wedding bells he hears are ringing only in his own head.
And he certainly doesn't know that, in the world Tsuna has built around herself, there are already others living inside it.
The wedding of Tsunayoshi di Vongola was, naturally, the event of the year.
Perhaps even the decade.
Every important family in the underworld wanted an invitation. Every family that didn't receive one wanted to know why. Did they offend the Decimo? Are they not influential enough to be on Vongola’s radar?
The Vongola estate had been transformed for the occasion. Flowers lined the long driveway leading toward the mansion, white roses woven together with deep crimson ones.
There were guards hidden behind every column, men stationed along the rooftops, snipers posted at every possible vantage point, and enough armed personnel surrounding the estate to start a small war. Most are Vongola’s. Men who were trained to be part of the family combat unit.
Matteo expects nothing less.
After all, this wasn’t simply a wedding. Vongola had chosen its ally. And the Lombardis had been fortunate enough to be chosen. Now, the Lombardis are marrying into the Vongolas. That for the first time since the creation of their family, the Lombardis can finally hold their heads up.
At least that’s what his father is thinking, considering the loud, booming laugh of the man that can even be heard from Matteo’s dressing room.
Matteo stood in front of the mirror in his dressing room, adjusting his tie for the fifth time. His hands were sweating.
Ridiculous, he thinks. But fuck, he’s so nervous.
Today, he was getting married. Today is his wedding day to Tsunayoshi di Vongola. His bride. His bride, who is the most coveted in the whole underworld.
The thought still felt surreal.
He looked down at the wedding ring resting inside the small velvet box on the table. It’s a simple golden band that’s simple in design but expensive in price. He knew the Vongola crest had been engraved on the inside. Matteo also knew that there was no Lombardi family crest inside Tsuna’s wedding ring – a twin of his with a diamond in the center.
Political marriages were always so wonderfully unromantic.
His thoughts are interrupted by a series of knocks on his door. Looking up, Matteo stared at the clock hanging inside the room. Yeah, it’s almost time.
And as expected, his father appeared. He could already smell the alcohol on his breath as he sauntered closer to him. “You look presentable,” said the man. “Fitting to be the Decimo’s husband.”
Despite everything, Matteo laughed at that. “I know,” he said with a grin. “I look ravishing today.”
The older man barked out a laugh. “Let’s go,” he said. “Don’t want to keep your pretty bride waiting.”
The ceremony was held in the grand ballroom. It had been decorated beautifully.
Hundreds of guests filled the room, dressed in black, white, and the occasional flash of Vongola orange. Mafia bosses sat beside politicians. Businessmen sat beside assassins. Men who would ordinarily never share the same room without weapons drawn now sat politely, waiting for the bride.
Matteo stood on the altar as he nervously stared at the closed door in front of him.
It was only then, standing beneath the enormous Vongola crest with hundreds of eyes turned toward him, that Matteo realized he was seeing all of Tsuna’s guardians gathered in one place for the first time.
All seven of them.
He had met some of them individually, of course, like both the Rain and Storm Guardians who always seem to be on Tsuna’s side. Everyone in their world knew their names. It was impossible not to. They were the men and woman who stood closest to Vongola Decimo, the people who had followed her long before she became the woman everyone in the underworld feared.
But he had never seen them together like this. They were all sitting in the front row, alongside Tsuna’s and his immediate family.
Hayato Gokudera sat with his back straight and his arms crossed over his chest, sharp green eyes fixed toward the altar – not on Matteo though. Even dressed formally, there was something almost… unruly about him. He looked less like a wedding guest and more like someone assigned to protect the bride from an assassination attempt.
Beside him sat Takeshi Yamamoto, looking almost absurdly relaxed for someone attending his boss's wedding. He wore an easy smile, occasionally leaning toward Ryohei to say something that made the older man laugh. But every now and then, his eyes drifted toward the closed doors. Ryohei Sasagawa too, looked completely at home despite the formality of the occasion.
Rokudo Mukuro sat with one leg crossed over the other, wearing that same infuriating smile Matteo had seen the man always wear in each of his public appearance. The one half of the mist guardian is a hard man to see after all. He looked bored, but his mismatched eyes were far too alert for someone who was supposedly uninterested.
Chrome Dokuro sat beside Mukuro, quiet and composed. She looked considerably more approachable than the man beside her, offering polite smiles whenever someone greeted her. Matteo had heard that she had been with Tsuna almost from the beginning as well, though he knew far less about her than he did the others.
Kyoya Hibari sat a little farther away from the others, as expected. His arms were folded, his expression cold and distinctly displeased by the sheer number of people packed into the ballroom. He looked as though he would rather be anywhere else.
And finally, there was Lambo.
The youngest-looking of them all sat toward the end of the row, dressed properly for once, though he still looked as though he was barely containing the urge to complain about something.
Seven people who had been beside Tsuna long before Matteo had ever heard her name.
Matteo swallowed.
He had expected them to resent him. None of them had openly confronted him. None had threatened him. None had even given him the sort of blatant hostility he had been expecting from men who had spent years protecting the woman he was about to marry. To be fair, he had never met all of them formally before, so he didn’t really know if they actually resented him or not.
Chrome seemed genuinely happy for Tsuna. Ryohei looked excited about the ceremony. Even Lambo, despite his restless expression, appeared more like a younger member of the family attending an important occasion than someone personally affected by the marriage.
The rest, though…
There’s something inside their eyes. Something unnerving that made Matteo get the urge to avert his eyes, not daring to look.
Maybe it’s still a bit hard to process, the wedding of their boss. Perhaps, once they saw that Matteo genuinely cared for her, they would accept him. That maybe if they see that Matteo will be a great husband for Tsuna, they will welcome him.
The thought made him smile faintly. Him, the husband of Tsuna.
Suddenly, he could hear the orchestra begin to play as the ballroom slowly fell silent. It was a sign of the start of the ceremony.
Matteo straightened his shoulders and took a slow breath. This is it, he thought. The start of everything. The moment that his life would be changed.
Whatever those four men thought of him didn't matter. Today, he was marrying Tsunayoshi di Vongola. Today, he would be the luckiest man in the underworld.
And for the first time, Matteo allowed himself to believe that perhaps, despite everything, he really had been chosen.
The reception was considerably less suffocating than the ceremony.
At least, that was what Matteo told himself.
The ballroom had been transformed since the ceremony. The rows of chairs had disappeared, replaced by long tables covered in white linen and arrangements of white roses intertwined with deep crimson ones. Crystal chandeliers cast warm light across the room, catching against the gold embroidery of expensive suits and the jewellery worn by women from families Matteo had only ever heard about in whispered conversations.
There was champagne flowing freely, music playing somewhere in the background, and enough food arranged across the ballroom to feed an army.
People were laughing now. Or at least, they were pretending to. Even her guardians didn’t look as grim as they were back at the start of the ceremony.
The atmosphere was lighter than it had been during the ceremony, though Matteo knew better than to mistake lightness for relaxation. This was still a room filled with mafia families. Every smile had a purpose. Every conversation had an angle. Every person here had something to gain from the alliance that had been announced today.
Vongola and Lombardi. An alliance dressed up in flowers and champagne.
Matteo had already lost count of how many times someone had congratulated him.
“Congratulations, Lombardi.”
“What an incredible match.”
“You must be very proud.”
“You’re a lucky man.”
Lucky.
There was that word again. Matteo smiled politely at another guest, accepted another handshake, and listened to another older man talk about how fortunate the Lombardi family was to have secured such an advantageous connection.
He knew.
His father had made sure he knew.
The Lombardis had climbed to the top of the ladder. They had been given a place at Vongola's table. During galas, they would not sit at the side table. Starting today, they will be given a seat at the main table alongside Vongola.
And Matteo was the reason they were allowed to stay there.
He glanced down at his wedding ring as the gold caught the light. For a moment, he wondered whether everyone else could see it as clearly as he could. A symbol of love or contract? Who knows at this point.
All he knows is that Matteo is an incredibly lucky man.
His attention returned to Tsuna. Tsuna had looked ethereal today in her white wedding dress. When he opened the veil to kiss the bride earlier, he could feel his breath being stuck in his throat as he stared at those glowing orange eyes and Tsuna’s warm smile. Now, after changing into her reception dress – a mermaid-style one, different from the white ball gown that she had worn earlier - she stood beside him, one hand loosely resting against his arm as she spoke with several older members of the Italian mafia.
She looked completely at ease there, conversing with men that could make ordinary men tremble with fear. Of course she did; this was her world.
She may not have been born and raised into it, but Tsuna managed to conquer it and made it hers. She was never born ready to hold these kinds of conversations, but she managed to do it easily with that damn smile of hers.
Matteo was merely learning how to stand inside it without looking like he didn't belong in those conversations. Tsuna laughed softly at something one of the men said, her expression warm and bright eyes.
She looked nothing like the woman Matteo had heard described in the reports - the woman who had ordered the deaths of those who opposed her, who had taken entire territories from families twice her age, who had turned Vongola into something even more formidable than it had been before.
Here, she simply looked like a beautiful young woman enjoying her wedding reception.
His wife.
The thought still made something strange flutter in his chest.
His wife.
He was still getting used to saying it inside his head. Matteo was about to reach for his glass when a familiar voice came from somewhere behind them.
“Oi.”
Tsuna's shoulders stiffened slightly.
So slightly that Matteo might have missed it if he hadn't been watching her so closely all evening. Her fingers tightened around his arm for less than a second before she relaxed.
Matteo turned at the same time as Tsuna, staring at the source of the voice.
Xanxus di Vongola stood there.
Of course.
The infamous leader of the Varia looked exactly like Matteo imagined he would look at someone else's wedding, bored and irritated. He wasn't dressed particularly differently from the rest of the guests, but somehow the suit looked less like formalwear and more like something he had been forced into against his will.
His scarred face was impassive as he stared at the two of them silently. His dark eyes moved from Tsuna to Matteo. Then back to Tsuna. He stared at her for several long seconds.
Not at her wedding dress but at the ring on her finger. There’s something – maybe amusement? But because it was Xanxus, it felt darker - that slipped into his blood-red eyes as he locked onto the metal.
Matteo couldn't tell what the look meant.
Then, unexpectedly, one corner of Xanxus's mouth twitched.
“Can't fucking believe you're married, Tsuna.”
Tsuna blinked. For a brief moment, her carefully constructed composure faltered, and she looked genuinely surprised. “Shut up, Xanxus,” she replied, her voice dropping into a tight, sharp octave.
Matteo stared at her.
That wasn't the voice she had used with the older family heads. It wasn't the carefully controlled tone she had used during the ceremony. It wasn't even the warm, polite voice she had used with him earlier.
It was casual.
Xanxus snorted, and he could feel Tsuna’s hand twitch a bit at that.
“What the boss means!” interrupted another loud, abrasive voice. Matteo realized Xanxus was accompanied by Superbi Squalo, the Varia’s second-in-command. The long-haired swordsman stood there with a permanent scowl carved into his face. “...Congratulations on your marriage!
“Aw, I know you care,” Tsuna said dryly.
“In your fucking dream, you brat,” said Xanxus back.
“Must be a nightmare then,” snapped Tsuna without missing a beat.
A beat of silence.
Then Xanxus let out an amused snort. It was so sudden and so loud that several people nearby turned their heads.
Tsuna laughed too at that, completely amused. And Matteo simply watched them, wondering what the hell does that mean.
“Have you guys met before?” asked Tsuna, motioning towards both Xanxus and Squalo. “Xanxus, Squalo, this is Matteo Lombardi, my husband. Matteo, this is Xanxus, my… cousin? And Squalo, his right-hand man.”
Xanxus’ dark red eyes turned towards him. “Lombardi, huh?”
Squalo let out a sharp laugh. “Not Vongola?” the swordsman asked, a wry, mocking smile spreading across his face.
A tight smile appeared on Tsuna’s face. “Ignore them, Matteo. They should’ve known that the name of Vongola is only for those born into the family.”
An amused snort escaped Xanxus at this. Something about it felt wrong. Though, seeing both Tsuna and Xanxus in the same place feels wrong by itself.
He knew about the inheritance crisis. Everyone knows about the inheritance crisis.
He knew about Xanxus's attempt to take the title of Decimo. He knew that the two of them had once stood on opposite sides of something that had nearly torn Vongola apart. But whatever that history had been, it clearly hadn't survived in the way Matteo expected.
There was no bitterness here.
Matteo couldn't understand it.
His train of thought was interrupted when he realized that Xanxus was still staring at him. His red eyes stared at him with contempt, making Matteo wonder what the hell this man was thinking. But Xanxus's expression made Matteo feel as though the man had already decided exactly what he was.
Finally, Xanxus spoke.
“Take care of her,” said the dark-haired man gruffly.
It was such a simple sentence, but something about the way he said it made Matteo's stomach tighten. There was no smile nor joke. There was no smile, no warmth, no hint of a blessing. No hint that he was merely offering a customary blessing to the newly married couple.
It’s a warning, he thinks. A warning from the leader of Varia for Matteo.
Matteo glanced at Tsuna and he could see that from her spot besides him, she was watching Xanxus. Her expression had changed, only slightly.
The smile remained, but something colder had settled underneath it.
Something Matteo couldn't name.
“I will,” Matteo replied.
Xanxus continued staring at him. Then his eyes dropped briefly to the wedding ring on Matteo's finger. Something unreadable passed through his face.
“Don't screw this up,” he said again, though this time it was not directed towards Matteo.
It was directed towards Tsuna.
For a heartbeat, the grand ballroom, the clinking champagne flutes, and the swell of the orchestra seemed to fade entirely. The quiet, heavy tension between the two of them felt like a drawn bowstring ready to snap.
Tsuna’s brown eyes didn't widen in shock, nor did she flinch. Instead, her posture locked. The warm, gentle mask she had worn for the guests dropped for a split second, revealing the cold, unyielding Decimo beneath. Her jaw set tight as he stared at the man that she just called cousin.
Then, with a slow, deliberate exhale, Tsuna rolled her eyes, forcing her shoulders to drop as she shoved the serious air away. “Go bother someone else,” she said, “Squalo, please show him the closest alcohol table.”
“Wasn't planning on staying,” answered Xanxus as he walked off, leaving Squalo to hurry behind him without even bothering to say goodbye to both Tsuna and Matteo.
Matteo watched him disappear into the crowd. For several seconds, he didn't say anything.
The orchestra continued playing. People continued laughing. A waiter passed by carrying another tray of champagne.
The entire room had continued moving as though nothing had happened. But Matteo couldn't quite make himself move.
He turned back toward Tsuna.
“What was that about?” he asked, pausing her hand for reaching towards another glass of champagne.
Tsuna looked up. “Hm?” she hummed.
“Xanxus.”
Tsuna took a small sip. “Nothing,” she replied. “Just Xanxus being Xanxus, I guess?”
Nothing.
Matteo stared at her. Staring at the beautiful woman in the wedding dress that he would call his wife starting from today.
Tsuna, too, is staring at him as she drinks from the glass. She smiled over the rim. Distantly, he notes that it was the same smile she had given him when they first met.
Warm.
Gentle.
Perfect.
“Right,” he said. “Nothing.”
Looking around from their spot, it’s easy to spot the Varia entourage, considering how loud they are. Xanxus was already standing across the ballroom now, one hand holding a glass of alcohol, and was speaking with one of the Varia members.
Matteo's eyes lingered on him. He couldn't shake the feeling that he'd just witnessed something he wasn't supposed to see.
The way Xanxus had looked at her, there was something there. Like a secret that everyone knows. A secret that everyone knows except Matteo.
Something that had existed before Matteo.
And that was what bothered him. Because Matteo had spent weeks learning about Tsuna through reports, photographs, political briefings, and conversations with his father.
But he was beginning to understand that knowing facts about a person was not the same thing as knowing the person. Everyone in this room seemed to know Tsuna in a way that he didn't.
And Matteo-
Her husband.
The man standing beside her in the photographs.
The man wearing the wedding ring.
The man who had supposedly been chosen to become part of her life-
He looked down at Tsuna's hand resting lightly against his arm.
She was smiling at someone across the room.
Beautiful.
Warm.
Perfect.
Matteo smiled too. Because that was what a husband was supposed to do. What a husband of Vongola Decimo supposed to do. He smiled when she smiled. He stood where he was supposed to stand. He said what he was supposed to say.
He played his part perfectly.
And yet, for the first time that evening, Matteo wondered if perhaps he had misunderstood what it meant to be chosen. Because everyone else seemed to already have a place in Tsuna's world. He had been given a title and a ring. A seat beside her.
But somehow, he still felt like a guest.
A very honoured guest.
A very well-dressed guest.
A very lucky guest.
But a guest all the same.
And Matteo hated the fact that he couldn't tell when exactly that realization had begun.
“Ah,” said Matteo after the reception. “I’m given my own room?”
The butler stared at him. The two of them are standing in front of a grand door that the butler had just announced as Matteo’s room. Almost in a different wing from Tsuna’s own room.
“It’s tradition,” said the man. “For a wife and husband to sleep in a different room.”
Weird, he thought. But it’s not like he knows everything about the Vongola and their ways of living.
“I see,” he said and left it at that.
It took both Matteo and Tsuna some time to consummate their marriage after their wedding.
It took Matteo three months to realize that he had never once been alone with his wife.
Not really.
Even on their formal "dates" - carefully orchestrated dinners in private dining rooms of Michelin-starred restaurants or quiet walks through the manicured gardens of the estate – there’s always someone there.
Takeshi would be leaning against a nearby doorframe, fiddling with the hilt of his sheathed sword with his hands. Hayato would be standing by the window, the faint smell of tobacco clinging to his pristine suit as he stared at them walking through the garden. Mukuro sometimes would follow behind Tsuna, an unsettling smile already on his face. Or even the stare of Kyoya that could be felt from a distance.
At first, Matteo had forced himself to believe it was standard security for the most powerful woman in the underworld. That she needed to be accompanied by her guardians at all times, but looking back, Matteo simply hasn’t realized the truth.
The illusion of privacy had bled out entirely on their very first night together.
Matteo had thought - foolishly, naively - that once the bedroom doors locked, the world would finally shrink down to just the two of them. He remembered the heavy silence after they finished, the heat of the sheets, and the quiet rhythm of Tsuna’s breathing beside him. For a fleeting second, he had allowed himself to feel triumphant. She is mine, he had thought. In this room, at least, she is mine.
Then the door to the room had clicked open.
Mukuro Rokudo had walked into the master bedroom as if he were stepping into another empty room. He was dressed in sweatpants and a loose shirt, carrying a fresh set of silk sleepwear and a warm basin of water for Tsuna. He didn't knock. He didn't pause. His dark eyes flicked over Matteo's bare chest with the absolute indifference one might grant a piece of misplaced furniture, completely unbothered by Tsuna’s explicit nakedness beneath the tangled sheets.
The Mist Guardian had smiled, something… that’s akin to mocking that it shocks Matteo for a bit.
Even more jarring was Tsuna. She hadn't flinched. She hadn't pulled the covers up to hide herself. She had simply sat up, her long brown hair spilling over her shoulders, and offered Mukuro that same soft, gentle, bunny-like smile.
"Thanks, Mukuro,” she had murmured, leaning into his hand as the mist guardian casually wiped a stray drop of sweat from her collarbone before handing her the robe.
Matteo had frozen, the breath trapped in his lungs, his knuckles white as he clutched the sheets over his waist. He had wanted to scream, to demand privacy, to assert his rights as her husband. But the easy, domestic silence between Tsuna and Mukuro had choked the words right out of him.
Is this normal, he thought?
Is this a standard protocol every time Decimo sleeps with anyone? Even her own husband?
Since that night, their intimate encounters had devolved into a practiced, sterile routine. Every single time Tsuna allowed him into her bed, she would tilt her head up, frame his jaw with her delicate, warm hands, and look at him with those wide, glowing orange eyes.
"Condom, hm?" she would whisper, her voice dripping with sweet, fake affection.
And every time, Matteo would cave. He would nod, swallow his pride, and reach for the foil packet on the nightstand.
The realization didn't come with a dramatic confrontation or a tearful confession. It came in the quiet, suffocating chill of early morning, wrapped in the scent of expensive cigar smoke and crisp linen, when Matteo watched Hayato Gokudera slip out of Tsuna’s private quarters.
Matteo knew that he is not supposed to be here. The head butler had warned him to not approach the Decimo’s private room without warning, not to invite himself into the woman’s bed without an explicit invitation from Tsuna herself. At first, he had thought it was to protect Tsuna, to protect the woman from outsiders. Then he had thought that it was to protect him, that surely the private quarters of Vongola Decimo would be heavily targeted by their enemies.
Now, standing frozen in the dim morning light, he realized the restriction had never been about physical safety. It was a mercy rule. It was designed to spare him the humiliation of seeing the reality of his marriage laid bare.
"Ah," Hayato drawled, his sleepy, emerald eyes flicking toward Matteo with utter indifference.
The Storm Guardian made no effort to conceal himself. His red shirt was half-unbuttoned, exposing a sliver of tanned chest, the shadow of a tattoo, and the silver chain resting against his skin. His dark jacket dangled casually from one finger, his belt was loose, and his shoes scraped against the marble floor, unlaced. But it was the marks on his throat that silenced any possibility of denial
Dark, desperate hickeys scattered across his neck like a violent constellation, fresh and impossibly clear. Theirs, as if it wants to mark.
(She never left a mark on me, though Matteo distantly. Nor does she allow him to leave any mark on her.)
Matteo’s mouth went dry. He knew the rumours - that Hayato was the first to yield to Tsuna, the right-hand man who had stood beside her before she ever wore a crown. As her lawful husband, Matteo knew what he was supposed to do. He was supposed to feel a surge of possessive fury, to shout, to demand how Hayato dared touch the woman whose ring sat heavy on Matteo’s own finger.
Instead, a suffocating silence settled over him.
He felt the staggering weight of the power balance crushing him where he stood. In this house, he had no authority over Hayato, and certainly none over Tsuna. To voice his outrage would be a fatal miscalculation.
Hayato stepped closer, looking down at Matteo with a quiet, dismissive pity that cut deeper than any blade. He knew Matteo wouldn't scream. He knew that if Matteo dared to demand a choice - if he forced Vongola to pick between a convenient political trophy and the deadliest Storm in the underworld - Matteo wouldn't even survive the conversation.
"You're here to see the Tenth?" Hayato asked, his voice low and raspy from sleep.
At this angle, he could also see the zip of his slacks left open; it really takes no genius to guess what had just happened inside the room.
But… what is the point of that when it’s so obvious already?
Hayato and Tsuna are… involved. He knows that both of them are close, considering that the man had been there since the start, had been there since they were young and naïve.
It’s humiliating.
Hayato knows that Matteo won’t have the guts to confront him here. He knows that if Matteo miraculously has the guts to rage and rage, to demand something from Tsuna or Hayato here, he will lose his life. He knows that if Matteo ever asked Tsuna or Vongola to choose, they would choose Hayato over Matteo.
"Ah. Yes," Matteo managed, his voice sounding hollow, even to himself.
A slow, mocking smirk tugged at the corner of Hayato’s lips. "She’s still sleeping. Had a late night."
"...I see."
Hayato brushed past him without another word, his shoulder glancing lightly against Matteo's pristine, ironed suit.
Matteo stood alone in the corridor, staring at the closed double doors of his wife's bedroom. The title of Vongola Decimo's husband felt less like a prize and more like a silk leash, holding him neatly in place while the real owners of the house walked free.
He didn't move for a long time.
The silence of the hallway pressed into his chest like a physical weight, thick with the lingering scent of smoke and the subtle, intoxicating perfume Tsuna wore. Every beat of his heart felt embarrassingly loud against the stillness of the otherwise silent hallway.
Slowly, Matteo raised his left hand. The heavy gold band on his ring finger caught the soft morning light filtering through the stained glass windows. Husband. The word felt laughably hollow now.
He thought of his father’s wide, greedy grin back in the study. “Can you even imagine it, son? You as a Vongola! My son as a Vongola!”
He thought of his sister, Angela, staring at him with dark, dead eyes over her teacup, her pristine high-collared dress doing a terrible job of hiding the purple bruises beneath. “It’s nothing but a fancy cage, created by father.”
Matteo had pitying tears for her back then. He had wanted to save her, to drag her out of the underworld's gilded traps. Now he realized they were simply birds in different cages. Hers was made of cheap lead and violent handprints; his was forged from Vongola gold, lined with silk sheets, and guarded by monsters who shared his wife’s bed.
A click shattered the quiet.
The grand mahogany door opened slightly. Tsuna stood in the threshold, wrapped in a plush cream robe that drowned her small frame. Her long brown hair was tangled, falling over her shoulders in wild waves, and her doe eyes - usually so bright and unnervingly sharp - were still soft with sleep
She looked small. Fragile, even. The kind of girl you’d expect to find in a quiet café in Sicily, reading a book while the rain came down outside. Not the ruthless Decimo who had wiped out half of the Italian mafia families in her first month.
"Matteo?" she murmured, her voice scratchy and low. She rubbed one eye with the back of her wrist, looking up at him with a gentle, sleepy blink. "What are you doing out here so early?"
For a terrifying second, Matteo felt his resolve crumble. She looked so innocent. So entirely untainted by the bloody throne she sat upon. He wanted to ask her. He wanted to demand why she had dragged him into this farce, why she let Hayato leave her room looking like that,
(Why she treated her marital bed like a shared courtyard for her guardians.)
Then his gaze drifted to her collarbone.
The robe had slipped down just an inch, revealing pale, flawless skin - and right above the curve of her left breast, a deep, angry red bite mark. Fresh. Violent. Unmistakable.
The words died in his throat, suffocated by a wave of cold, sharp reality.
Tsuna saw where his eyes landed. She didn't hurry to pull the robe up. She didn't flush with embarrassment, nor did her expression shift into guilt. She simply offered him that same sweet, soft smile - the one that had swept the entire underworld off its feet.
Beautiful.
Warm.
Perfect.
"Did you need something, Matteo?" she asked softly, stepping aside just enough to invite him in.
Matteo forced his shoulders to drop, smoothing down the front of his tailored suit. He adjusted his cuffs, felt the slick metal of his wedding ring scrape against his skin, and plastered a bright, effortless, picture-perfect smile across his face.
"Not at all, Tsuna," he replied smoothly, his tone as light and hollow as a pop song. "Just wanted to make sure you slept well."
Tsuna’s glowing orange eyes lingered on him for a heartbeat, sharp and calculating behind her warm facade. Then she giggled - a sound like silver bells.
"I did," she said softly. "Come in. Let's have breakfast together."
Matteo stepped past the threshold into her room, stepping over the threshold of his cage, fully aware that he was entering a drama where the script was already written, the ending was already set, and his only job was to play the happy trophy until the curtains finally fell.
Matteo met Tsuna that very afternoon in the drawing room, though the ghost of the morning had followed him into the light. The image of a disheveled Hayato Gokudera - shirt open, skin marked, smirk intact - strained every corner of his sanity
“You want to see me?” asked Tsuna, a smile already on her lips.
Matteo opened his mouth to speak, but the words withered in his throat.
There, just beneath the collar of her silk shirt - unbuttoned just a fraction too far- hung a mark. A deep, angry bite mark, stark and crimson against the porcelain pale of her chest. It was fresh. It was deliberate. A silent, violent claim carved directly into his wife's skin.
It was different from the one that had marked her skin this morning.
Oh, he thought, numb. This is new.
He wants to ask.
He wants to demand for an explanation.
Are you cheating on me?
Did you sleep with Hayato last night? Was it the first time?
Is he-
Is Hayato the only one?
(Does she even have an inkling of feelings towards him?)
He wanted to scream. He wanted to play the part of the betrayed husband, to demand an explanation, to shatter the delicate porcelain teapot sitting on the table between them.
Instead, Matteo swallowed the bile in his throat, forced a smooth, empty smile, and chose survival. He asked her nothing.That afternoon, Matteo didn’t ask Tsuna about anything.
In the weeks that followed, the veil didn't just fall - it completely disintegrated. Once Matteo stopped blinding himself with the naive fantasy of a normal marriage, he began to notice everything.
And Tsuna-
It seems she already stopped bothering to hide after all.
Matteo had thought he was slowly adapting to the grotesque rhythm of his marriage. He had learned to turn a blind eye to Hayato slipping out of her room in the dim light of dawn, but catching her with Takeshi Yamamoto, however, was a completely different kind of cruelty.
It happened on a quiet Tuesday afternoon in the mansion’s inner courtyard garden - a secluded, glass-roofed conservatory filled with white roses and blooming jasmine. Matteo had wanted to clear his head for a bit. The past few days had been so jarring, after all, to the point that he was struck by the constant attack of headaches.
He had stepped softly across the polished stone path, only to freeze behind a sprawling marble archway.
Tsuna was there, seated on a stone bench surrounded by lush greenery.
She wasn't wearing her usual immaculate suits or her sharp Decimo persona. She was dressed in a white sundress, looking so much like the blushing bride Matteo had seen during their wedding day. Looking fragile and shockingly young. Like a fairy inside a garden.
And then when he looked down-
Resting comfortably between her parted knees was Takeshi Yamamoto. The Rain Guardian was sitting on the grass, his long legs stretched out, his back resting lightly against her thighs. His usual sheathed sword leaned against the bench beside them.
Matteo’s breath caught in his throat. He’s frozen there, staring at the two of them with shock clear on his eyes.
Ah, he thought. Is this happening again?
Takeshi had his head tilted back, resting his neck directly against Tsuna’s knee as he looked up at her with an effortless, unguarded warmth. Tsuna’s small, pale fingers were lazily tangled in his dark, messy hair, gently scratching his scalp in a rhythm so intimate, so deeply domestic, that it made Matteo’s stomach drop.
(“Please, no marks,” said Tsuna every time during the head of the moments and between rumpled sheets. “Also, don’t muss up my hair, hm? I have a meeting after this.”
Matteo had nodded his head, completely agreeable. Almost like a dog.)
No words were being spoken. There was no grand display of authority or political posturing. It was a quiet, comfortable sanctuary built on years of shared trauma and unconditional devotion - a space Matteo could never hope to enter.
Then, Takeshi reached up.
Without breaking the rhythm of her hand in his hair, Takeshi grabbed Tsuna’s free hand, bringing her knuckles to his lips. He lingered, pressed his mouth against her skin, turning her palm over to bite softly at the fleshy base of her thumb.
Tsuna let out a low, breathy laugh - a sound so real and devoid of her usual polite, icy mask that it struck Matteo like a physical blow. She leaned down, resting her forehead against Takeshi’s, her brown hair falling over both of their faces like a velvet curtain.
"Takeshi, stop," she murmured softly, though her fingers only pulled him closer. "Someone might see."
Takeshi didn't pull away. He simply smiled, his dark eyes crinkling at the corners with easy confidence. "Let them," he replied, his voice a low, raspy purr. "Nobody in this house is foolish enough to say a word."
He raised his head, claiming her mouth in a slow, deep kiss that carried no hesitation, no shame, and complete disregard for the golden band sitting on Matteo's finger just fifty feet away. Completely disregarding the cold metallic band on Tsuna’s finger as it pressed into his jaw.
It’s clear that this is not the first time. Nor will it be the last.
Matteo stepped back into the shadows, his heels clicking faintly against the marble floor.
Neither of them looked up. Neither of them cared. And they knew that no one in this house would dare to comment on it.
Including Matteo.
And well, it was as if a floodgate finally opened up. That the buried secrets are finally unearthed after being hidden for so long.
It happened late on a rainy Thursday night. Matteo had been tossing and turning, unable to sleep in his separate quarters.
Should he tell his father?
Should he confront Tsuna?
Should he tell… someone?
("Nobody in this house is foolish enough to say a word,” Takeshi had said, smiling warmly at Tsuna before capturing her lips in a deep kiss.)
Countless thoughts appeared inside his head, keeping him from sleeping completely. Giving in to a restless impulse, he decided to visit the mansion’s private archive to grab a book. To reach it, he had to cross the quiet, dimly lit gallery outside Tsuna’s private study.
He didn't expect the heavy mahogany door to be slightly ajar.
Matteo stopped, his slippers making no sound on the thick velvet carpet. Through the crack, the room was bathed in the warm, flickering amber light of the fireplace.
Tsuna was sitting at her desk, buried under a mountain of paperwork. It didn’t surprise him to find Tsuna still working at this late at night. What surprised him more was the presence just behind Tsuna.
Mukuro stood directly behind her leather chair. He was dressed in his sleek black tailored suit, his long blue hair cascading over one shoulder. One of his gloved hands rested heavily on Tsuna’s shoulder, his thumb lazily tracing the curve of her collarbone beneath her dark silk blouse. His mismatched eyes - one indigo, one glowing ruby - were fixated on the back of her head with a terrifying, hungry intensity.
"You are pushing yourself too hard," Mukuro’s low, melodic voice drifted into the hallway, rich with dark amusement. He let out a chuckle, leaning closer towards the woman. “When was the last time you were asleep?”
"Someone has to clear the northern territory disputes, Mukuro," Tsuna murmured, though her voice lacked its usual sharp edge. She sounded exhausted, leaning her head back against the leather seat and directly into the palm of Mukuro's hand.
This reminds Matteo of the scene he had just seen between Tsuna and Takeshi. The complete trust and how relaxed Tsuna had looked around them.
Mukuro bent down, his face inches from hers. "Let them bleed a little longer. You spend far too much time playing the dutiful Decimo... and far too little time playing with me."
Tsuna let out a soft, breathy sigh as Mukuro’s fingers slid up her neck, tilting her head back to expose her throat. He didn't hesitate. Bending lower, Mukuro pressed his lips against the sensitive pulse point just beneath her ear, tracing a slow, deliberate trail of kisses down toward her collarbone.
(“Please, no marks,” Tsuna had said breathily to Matteo.)
Matteo’s breath caught in his throat. He watched, paralyzed, as Tsuna’s eyes fluttered shut. Her small hands reached up, her fingers tangling tightly into Mukuro’s blue hair, pulling him closer rather than pushing him away as the man grabbed her and put her on top of her deskl. There was no hesitation, no guilt.
No thought of the husband sleeping down the hall.
"Mukuro..." she whispered, her voice laced with a raw, needy vulnerability she never, ever showed Matteo.
"Yes, my Sky?" Mukuro murmured against her neck, his hand slipping inside the lapel of her blouse, his fingers sliding just underneath her breast.
The Mist Guardian raised his gaze then.
Without breaking the kiss, without lifting his lips from Tsuna’s neck, Mukuro’s mismatched eyes flicked directly toward the crack in the door.
He looked straight at Matteo.
Mukuro knew he was there. He had known the entire time. A slow, sinister smirk spread across Mukuro's lips against Tsuna’s skin. The illusionist didn't try to hide, nor did he pull back. Instead, he intentionally deepened the kiss, his ruby eye flashing with absolute triumph and cold contempt as he locked eyes with Matteo through the dark.
It was a clear, unspoken message.
Tsuna let out a low moan, completely oblivious to the silent execution happening over her shoulder, her arms wrapping tighter around Mukuro's neck.
Matteo felt a cold sweat break out across his back. His knuckles turned white against the wooden doorframe. Slowly, carefully, he took a step back into the shadow of the hallway, letting the door slip shut without a sound.
Standing alone in the dark corridor, hearing the faint, muffled sounds of his wife and her Mist Guardian, Matteo gripped his left hand. The gold ring felt ice-cold against his skin.
He was the Decimo's husband, the trophy of the Lombardi family, and the luckiest man in the underworld. And as he walked back to his empty bed in the dark, Matteo realized he had never felt more entirely invisible.
If Mukuro’s behaviour was active psychological warfare, Kyoya Hibari’s was absolute, unyielding indifference. He didn't mock Matteo, nor did he look for an audience. To Kyoya, Matteo simply did not exist.
It happened late on a rainy Friday evening in the estate’s private training dojo. Matteo had been searching for Tsuna to sign off on a routine financial report for the Lombardi family’s shipping accounts. After everything that had happened these past few days, he hoped that he would still able to put a normal poker face in front of Tsuna.
Hearing the sharp clack of bamboo from behind the heavy sliding doors, he pulled one open just an inch.
The dojo was quiet save for the heavy patter of rain against the roof and the sound of uneven breathing.
Tsuna was on her knees in the center of the tatami mats. She was drenched in sweat, her breath coming in short, ragged gasps. Her hair was damp and clinging to her neck, her cheeks flushed a deep, high pink. It was clear that it seems that the woman was just done practicing.
Standing over her was Kyoya Hibari.
He had tossed his tonfas onto the bench nearby. His dark suit jacket was off, the sleeves of his white shirt rolled up to his elbows, exposing lean, corded muscle. He wasn't smiling. His face maintained that signature, cold impassivity, but his dark eyes burned with an intense, quiet heat as he looked down at the panting Decimo.
"You're slacking,” Kyoya said, his low, smooth voice cutting through the damp air.
"I've been... reviewing documents... for eight hours, Kyoya," Tsuna wheezed out, offering a weak, lopsided smile as she tried to catch her breath. "Give me a break."
Instead of stepping back, Kyoya closed the distance between them. He dropped to one knee on the mat directly in front of her. Without a word, he reached out, his long, calloused fingers wrapping firmly around her throat, tilting her face so she had no choice but to look at him.
Matteo’s grip tightened on the paper folder until the cardboard crumpled in his fist.
Tsuna didn't pull away. She didn't reach for a weapon, nor did her orange eyes light up with her formidable Sky flames. She simply let out a long, trembling breath, leaning her weight forward into his hand, placing her palms against his chest.
"You’ll die if you keep this up,” Kyoya murmured, his thumb trailing over the sensitive skin of her jawline.
"How could i? When there’s you guys around me?” she whispered back softly.
Kyoya’s dark eyes narrowed slightly, a subtle shift in his expression that anyone else would have missed - a rare, dangerous softening. He pulled her forward by her chin, closing the space between them and pressing his mouth to hers in a hard, possessive kiss.
It wasn't gentle like Takeshi’s, nor was it theatrical like Mukuro’s. It was a silent, unyielding assertion of ownership. Tsuna’s eyes fluttered shut, her fingers clutching tightly at the front of his white shirt, pulling him down until she was sitting back on her heels, completely yielding to the Cloud Guardian's quiet storm.
Kyoya parted her lips with a low hum, his free hand sliding down her back, pressing her body flush against his.
When he finally pulled back, a thin trail of saliva connected their lips. Tsuna’s head rested heavily against his shoulder, her chest heaving as she tried to clear her head.
Kyoya’s gaze shifted then.
He didn't look startled to see Matteo standing in the gap of the sliding door. He didn't smirk or gloat. His icy, dark eyes simply settled on Matteo with the utter lack of interest one might give to a fallen leaf on the driveway. To Kyoya, Matteo is an irrelevant piece of background decoration that meant nothing to the Sky sitting in his lap.
Kyoya reached for Tsuna, casually picking up the woman and stood up without ever acknowledging the man at the door.
"Again," Kyoya commanded her softly, stepping back into a fighting stance.
Tsuna pushed herself up off the mat, her lips swollen, her eyes soft and completely devoted as she looked up at her Cloud.
Matteo slowly slid the dojo door shut, stepping back into the quiet, empty hallway. He looked down at the crumpled Lombardi financial report in his hand, then at the gold ring on his left finger.
He turned around and walked back down the corridor, carrying his useless papers back to his empty room.
It’s the four of them, he thought almost hollowly.
In the days that followed, the weight of everything Matteo had witnessed - Hayato leaving her room at dawn, Takeshi’s quiet intimacy in the garden, Mukuro’s mocking gaze in the study, and Kyoya’s absolute indifference in the dojo - began to suffocatingly compress his chest.
The silence of the mansion was no longer peace, it was an open secret everyone in the Vongola household seemed to share while he played the ignorant husband.
Seeking an escape from the heavy atmosphere of the main quarters, Matteo found himself wandering toward the estate's sunlit training grounds early one morning. He didn't expect to find Ryohei Sasagawa sitting alone on a stone bench, meticulously reviewing a stack of squad assignments and physical evaluation reports.
Of all the guardians, Ryohei was the only one who didn't carry an aura of active hostility or cold indifference toward him. But as Matteo stepped closer, the Sun Guardian looked up, his sharp eyes pinning Matteo where he stood. There was no theatrical cruelty in his expression, only a quiet, grounded gravity that told Matteo the illusion was finally over.
“You know right?” was the first thing that came out of Matteo’s mouth. “You know the actual reality of this sham marriage?”
Ryohei set the folder down on his lap, gesturing vaguely to the spot beside him, before letting out a soft breath.
“Answer me!” demand Matteo. The rage that has been boiling inside his chest burst open. The words that he didn’t dare to utter in front of Tsuna appeared inside his throat as he stared at the man who was smiling so widely on his wedding.
Ryohei hummed.
“When Tsuna’s marriage was announced, the guardians raged,” he said quietly, keeping his sharp, focused eyes fixed entirely on the document resting in his hands. He let out a slow exhale. “Everyone.
Matteo stood motionless, feeling the cool courtyard breeze against his skin. He didn't need to read between the lines to know that the man sitting in front of him disapproved of this marriage just as deeply as the rest of them did.
“…And?” prompted Matteo, though he sounds hollow.
“The relationship between Tsuna and her guardians is… particular, to put it lightly,” Ryohei continued, his voice lacking any malice, carrying only the weight of stark reality. “I suppose my own bond with Tsuna differs from the others because I came from a happy home. I had loving parents, a normal life, a healthy support system. But the other guys? They weren't so fortunate. They came to her broken, scarred, and looking for something to anchor them to the world.”
Ryohei finally set the paper down on his knee, his expression growing solemn.
“Tsuna was in a dark place, too, when Reborn first showed up to force that bloody inheritance onto her shoulders,” he said softly. “When you throw traumatized kids into the fire together and demand they survive, the ties they form aren't normal. They became dependent on each other. Highly dependent. It’s an obsession forged in blood and survival.”
Ryohei turned his head, locking his intense, piercing gaze directly onto Matteo.
“It would be a lie to say I was shocked when Tsuna eventually started sleeping with them, because I wasn’t,” the Sun Guardian admitted bluntly. “It was only ever a matter of time. Reborn saw it coming, her father saw it coming, everyone in our inner circle accepted it as natural.”
Matteo already knew. He had seen the disheveled shirts, felt Mukuro’s territorial glares, witnessed Takeshi’s quiet intimacy, and stood by as Kyoya kissed her on the tatami mats. But hearing the truth spoken out loud, stripped of all ambiguity and laid bare in the sun, felt like a cold blade sliding between his ribs.
She’s sleeping with all of them.
My wife.
“Matteo, I know you understand this deep down, but to them - and to the rest of us - you will always be an outsider,” Ryohei said, his tone surprisingly gentle despite the devastating truth of his words. “To know that an outsider, a stranger who didn't bleed with her, was brought in to share a bed with Tsuna? It nearly pushed them past the edge.”
He leaned back, looking out over the rose gardens with a heavy sigh.
“The only reason Tsuna decided to marry someone was to stabilize her position in the underworld,” Ryohei explained. “Her transition as Vongola Decimo frayed too many alliances, and the bloodbath she orchestrated during her first year in power severed some of our most critical political ties. She needed a major, respected Italian family to cement her legitimacy, and your father was eager to hand you over.”
Like a trophy. Always like a trophy.
(“A cage,” Angela had whispered, her fingers digging into her own trembling arms. “It’s nothing but a fancy cage, created by father.”)
Ryohei turned back to him, offering a small, pitying look.
“She couldn't marry one of her guardians, Matteo. Marrying one of them brings Vongola zero political leverage. The underworld already knows the guardians are completely, unconditionally loyal to her anyway. So why would she waste a strategic marriage on someone who already belongs to her?”
Matteo didn't reply. He stood on the manicured grass, watching a few crimson rose petals drift down to the marble pathway, paralyzed by the sheer, honesty of Ryohei’s words.
A strategic marriage.
(“A cage.”)
He had known it, of course. He had told himself back when his father first announced the arrangement that political marriages were unromantic contracts. But hearing it laid out so plainly in front of him only made him feel numb.
Ryohei stood up from the stone bench, smoothing down the front of his jacket. He gave Matteo a gentle, almost sympathetic pat on the shoulder - a gesture that felt far too heavy for comfort.
"Don't take it personally, Matteo," Ryohei added softly as he began to walk away toward the training grounds. "You're playing your part well. Just... don't go looking for things that were never meant for you."
Matteo watched the Sun Guardian’s retreating back until he disappeared around the corner of the estate.
Alone in the courtyard, he looked down at his left hand. The polished gold band gleamed brilliantly under the mid-morning sun, pristine and unblemished. It was the exact copy of the ring Tsuna wore on her own finger - the one with the Vongola crest etched inside.
He remembered standing at the altar, feeling his heart race as the heavy wooden doors opened to reveal her. He remembered believing, even for a fleeting second, that out of all the men in the underworld, he had been chosen.
(“A cage,” the word that keeps repeating inside his head.)
What a pathetic, naive joke.
He wasn't chosen because he was special, or handsome, or smart. He was chosen because he was safe. He was a respectable Lombardi with a law degree and a clean face - the perfect, obedient arm candy to present to old mafia dons while the real ruling of Vongola happened behind closed doors, soaked in blood and shared touch.
A soft breeze rustled the bushes, carrying with it the distant sound of laughter from the upper balcony.
Matteo turned his head, looking up toward the private quarters. Standing near the open glass doors of her study was Tsuna. She was leaning against the railing, her long brown hair fluttering in the wind, a bright, genuine laugh escaping her lips as Hayato stood beside her, holding out a lighter to ignite his cigarette while Takeshi leaned casually against the doorframe behind them.
She looked radiant.
Now he realized, even during their wedding day, she didn’t look this happy.
Ah, you poor poor naïve Matteo.
A bird inside a cage singing this pointless tune. All of them must’ve been laughing behind his back. Looking at him with all of his proud and haughty act when he was basically nothing inside Tsuna’s heart.
Matteo adjusted his silk tie, smoothed his cuffs, and forced his lips to curve upward into that bright, practiced, empty smile his father had taught him to wear. He turned on his heel and walked back toward the guest wing, stepping carefully so as not to scuff his polished leather shoes.
He was the husband of Vongola Decimo. He was the luckiest man in the underworld. And he would keep singing in his golden cage until the final curtain fell.
Matteo had spent days rehearsing the conversation in his head, trying to find a boundary - any boundary - he was still permitted to hold.
When he finally entered her private study, Tsuna was sitting behind her massive mahogany desk, framed by the afternoon light pouring through the arched windows. The room was quiet, save for the soft scratch of her fountain pen against thick parchment.
Matteo cleared his throat softly, standing across from her with his hands clasped tightly behind his back
“If you’re ever pregnant,” said Matteo. “… it would be wise if the child looks like you. So, there’s no legitimacy issue with my family.”
There’s silence between the two of them as he let the words float between the two of them.
It’s a declaration to Tsuna. A subtle, terrifying declaration that he knows everything. All the secrets, the late-night visits, and the hushed whispers echoing through the manor halls. He was laying his cards on the table, offering a trade. He would keep his mouth shut, play the dutiful trophy, and swallow the humiliation, provided she gave his family the bare minimum cover of plausible deniability
Matteo doesn’t know what to expect from this conversation. Rage? Embarrassment? A threat from the mafia don being caught in the corner?
Tsuna looked up from her paperwork.
“Hm?” she asked, her voice impossibly light, like a gentle chime. “I don’t see any problem with it?”
He didn’t expect indifference.
There was no sudden flush of guilt on her pale cheeks, no sharp flare of anger, and certainly no embarrassment. Instead, her doe-like brown eyes seemed to shift, catching the afternoon light until they glowed with that terrifying, unnatural shade of liquid orange that made the world's most dangerous men bow at her feet. The gentle, warmth-radiating civilian facade slipped away for a fraction of a second, leaving only the iron ruler of the underworld staring back at him.
Beautiful.
Warm.
Perfect.
(It’s chilling.)
He swallowed hard, forcing the words out. “I’m not objecting to your... relationship with your guardians. But if you fall pregnant and give birth to a child who bears a striking resemblance to one of them, it will bring unwanted questions. To my family. To society.”
Tsuna tilted her head slightly, studying him as if he were an intriguing piece of art that had suddenly spoken.
Then, she laughed.
It was a soft, musical sound filled with genuine, unbridled mirth - the kind of laugh one might offer a small child who had made a charmingly naive observation. The tension in her shoulders vanished, and her gentle, sweet smile returned, wide and bright.
"Even if I have a child who is the spitting image of Mukuro, or Kyoya, or any of my guardians," she said softly, her voice dripping with warmth, "do you really think anyone has the nerve to ask me?"
She rested her chin in her hands, her bright orange eyes crinkling at the corners.
"Do you think anyone is brave enough to challenge Vongola Decimo?"
The absolute weight of her authority crashed down on Matteo all at once. There was no anger because he wasn't a threat; there was no shame because she answered to no one. She was reminding him, with a smile that could melt glaciers, that she hadn't just conquered the underworld. She owns it.
If she gave birth to a silver-haired child or a boy with mismatched eyes, the mafia world would simply nod, smile, and congratulate the Lombardi family on their good fortune.
This is the woman who had murdered half of the underworld mafia bosses.
This is the woman who had managed to conquer the entirety of the underworld under her heel in just one year.
This is Tsunayoshi di Vongola as Vongola Decimo. Not the beautiful smiling woman he saw for the first time all those months ago. Not the blushing bride in white that had stood by his side during their wedding day.
The woman in front of him, is someone unfamiliar.
Matteo’s mouth went completely dry. The boundary he had spent days building dissolved into dust before it even touched her desk.
"I... understand," Matteo managed to whisper, feeling the heavy gold band on his left ring finger drag him back down into reality.
"Good," Tsuna hummed pleasantly, picking her pen back up and dipping it smoothly into the inkwell. "Thank you for your concern, Matteo. You're always so thoughtful."
She didn't look up again as he turned and quietly exited the room, leaving him alone in the corridor with the cold realization that even his silence was not a bargain - it was simply expected.
Matteo walked down the expansive hallway of the Vongola estate, his shoes making no sound against the hand-woven carpets.
The weight of the golden ring on his finger felt heavier than ever, dragging his left hand down like lead. He had tried to play the clever legal strategist - the Bologna graduate who knew how to frame an ultimatum to protect his family's honor.
He reached his private quarters - a set of rooms lavishly appointed in velvet, mahogany, and fine marble, yet completely detached from the heart of the estate.
Closing the door behind him, Matteo walked over to the tall wall mirror near his wardrobe. He unbuttoned his crisp white collar, loosening his tie, and stared at his reflection.
Pristine skin. Perfect hair. A suit tailored by the finest hands in Milan.
He was spotless. No bruises like Angela had. No raw, bitten skin like Hayato or Tsuna carried. He was untouched physically, yet he felt entirely hollowed out. His father’s words echoed in his head, booming and triumphant: “You as a Vongola! My son as a Vongola!”
If his father could see him now - standing in the shadow of seven deadliest killers in Europe, sharing a wife who treated him like a polite houseguest - would the old man even care?
No, Matteo thought bitterly, a cold, empty smile spreading across his lips in the glass. He wouldn't care at all. The Lombardi name is on the guest list of the most elite party out there. The business contracts are signed and their vault are looking fatter and fatter.
That's all that matters.
A soft knock at his door broke the quiet.
Matteo turned, adjusting his shirt before opening it. Standing outside was one of the senior house servants, holding a silver tray bearing a single, sealed envelope marked with the Decimo’s personal wax seal.
"From the Decimo, Signor Lombardi," the servant said with a polite bow. "She requests your presence at tomorrow evening’s charity gala in Venice. The driver will have your car ready at six."
Matteo took the envelope. "Thank you."
He shut the door and broke the seal, pulling out the gold-embossed invitation. It was a high-society event hosted by several old-money European families who had hesitated to acknowledge Tsuna’s ascension. They needed to see her standing beside a respectable Italian heir. They needed to see the shiny, traditional trophy that proved Vongola was still playing by the rules of society.
Matteo unfolded the card. At the bottom, in Tsuna’s fluid, elegant hand, a short note was penned:
Look handsome tomorrow, Matteo. We have a family to represent.
Matteo let out a soft, breathy chuckle that died quickly in the empty room.
He walked over to his desk, carefully placing the invitation beside his leather briefcase. He took off his watch, set his cufflinks down, and looked out the window toward the central gardens where the Sky flame burned softly in the distance.
He was the trophy husband. He was the arm candy. He was the golden mask over a terrifying, chaotic throne.
Tomorrow, he would put on his finest tux, wrap his arm around Tsunayoshi di Vongola, tilt his chin up for the cameras, and let the world envy the luckiest man in the underworld.
He doesn’t even know what’s humiliating.
Tsuna not even hiding it anymore or-
Or the guardians’ complete indifference to it. How none of the four even try to talk to him. None of them taunt him, clarify, or apologize. They all just went ahead and did nothing about it.
As if-
As if Matteo just doesn’t matter.
Tsuna is smiling in front of him.
Beautiful.
Warm.
Perfect.
“Matteo," she said, her voice like chiming glass. "I have good news."
He stood across from her, his hands clasped neatly behind his back, playing the part of the perfect, dutiful spouse. "What is it, Tsuna?"
Tsuna looks radiant as she smile at him with that warm smile of hers. The smile that had trapped him and tangled him with the most powerful woman in the underworld.
"I'm pregnant," she announced casually, placing a small, delicate hand over her stomach.
Matteo felt the floor tilt beneath his polished shoes. His heart hammered violently against his ribs as cold sweat broke out across the back of his neck. Pregnant.
It was mathematically impossible. He had been meticulous. He had used protection every single time, terrified of ruining the delicate balance they had established. The child growing inside her wasn't his. It couldn't be. It was Hayato’s, or Mukuro’s, or Kyoya’s, or Takeshi’s - a child born of the tangled, co-dependent web she wove with her guardians behind closed doors.
His mouth opened, a sudden, desperate urge to voice the truth bubbling up his throat. It isn't mine.
Tsuna rested her chin on her hands, watching him intently. Her orange eyes flashed with a cold, terrifying clarity that belied the warmth of her expression - the look of a woman who personally ordered the execution of mafia dons before breakfast.
"It's a wonderful thing, isn't it?" Tsuna said softly, her smile widening just a fraction. "A true miracle. Everyone will be so pleased to hear that my husband has given Vongola an heir."
The unspoken warning hung heavy in the silence between them.
It is yours because I say it is yours. You will wear the title, you will take the credit, and you will keep your mouth shut.
Matteo stared at her, feeling the golden band on his left ring finger weigh heavier than lead. He thought of his sister’s bruised skin, his father’s booming, opportunistic laugh, and the invisible bars of the gorgeous velvet cage he had walked into with his eyes wide open.
He was a trophy, an arm candy, a convenient cover story for the underworld's most dangerous woman and her inner circle.
Slowly, carefully, Matteo forced his lips to curve upward into a bright, vacant, charming smile.
"Yes," Matteo whispered, playing his part to perfection as his heart broke in complete silence. "A miracle. I'm... the luckiest man in the world."
There’s tea in front of him, still hot. The steam curled into delicate porcelain swirls before vanishing into the quiet room.
His sister is sitting across from him. He could still see some of the bruises peeking out from the collar of her dress, but it seems she can hide it better now. More refined in her suffering.
“How are you?” he asked, eyes flickering towards the faint smoke wafting from the tea.
Angela – his sister, always so pure and angelic – stared at him.
“Great,” she said, clipped. “How are you?”
Matteo stared at her.
He stared at the hidden bruises. He stared at the memories from all those years ago of her tear-stricken face and mascara running down her face. He stared at how much of a mess she had been, and he also remembered how he had dragged her to their father’s office.
“It’s okay,” he had said back then. “Father would understand! Look how much of a mess you are, Ange- there’s no way he would disapprove of you wanting a divorce!”
She had shaken her head, frantic. She didn’t believe him, but he could still see the flicker of something inside her eyes. Hope, maybe.
And it was dashed immediately when their father stared at her with cold eyes.
Even with his own daughter standing in front of him, broken and bruised. Even with his own daughter standing in front of him with bleeding feet as she had run barefoot towards their mansion. Even as his own daughter cried, collapsed, and begged on her knees for him to end the nightmare of her political marriage-
“No,” their father had said without a second thought, without even putting down his cigar.
So, what would happen to Matteo if he ever stood in front of his father with the same demand?
Matteo with his pristine suit and slicked-back hair. Matteo with his fancy and shining shoes that had been polished by the Vongola butler this morning. Matteo, who managed to secure an alliance with the biggest and most influential mafia family in the world?
How could he ever explain that his wife didn't belong to him? How could he tell his father that he was forced to share a bed, share a home, and share his wife’s bed with four deadly guardians who regarded him as nothing more than an arm candy, a cover story, and an intruder?
Angela’s skin was marked by violent hands, but Matteo, despite his pristine, unblemished skin, held a bruised and bloodied heart
He was just as trapped. He was just as broken. But his cage was crafted from Vongola gold, lined with silk, and sealed with a heavy wedding ring he could never take off. Letting out a small huff, he closed his eyes, shutting down the agonizing memory behind his lids. Instead, he flicked his gaze once again toward Angela, picking up his teacup with a steady hand.
“I’m great,” he answered, a large, brilliant smile spreading across his face. Charming, effortless, and radiant, full of empty, hollow happiness. Just like a trophy.
It really was a cage, wasn't it? And they were both going to sing inside theirs until the very end.