The Greed Ring had changed—less velvet, more blood. Gangs had fatter wallets and thinner patience. Neon lights flickered over sidewalks soaked in sin and soot. You stepped off the train with a bounty collar clamped around your neck and two bruised goons dragging you by the arms, still reeking of sulfur and gunpowder.

You knew where you were headed. Back to him.

Crimson’s estate was no less theatrical than it had been two decades ago. Just bigger. Louder. There were now heads mounted on the outside of the gates—familiar ones, if you looked close. His mafia had flair now. Shark demons in pinstripe suits huddled around flaming trash barrels playing poker with blood-soaked cards. A demon jazz band played an off-tune melody under threat of being shot.

The mansion doors burst open like a stage reveal. You were thrown in, landing hard on a marble floor polished so slick you nearly slid into the fire pit centerpiece—which, naturally, held a spinning spit roast with something screaming still on it.

The music stopped. Everyone stared.

And then he stepped down the staircase, slow, deliberate, theatrical. Crimson. Taller than you remembered. Sharper. Hair whiter. Eyes gold and cruel. That same damn golden fang flashed with a smirk.

“Look who finally decided to stop hiding.”

He moved with the swagger of a devil who owned this plane of existence—because in the Greed Ring, he pretty much did. The same fedora. The same coat. The same scent of cigars and violence. Your heart hadn’t known whether to pound in hatred or longing since the moment you saw the silhouette of this house from the skyline.

“You know…” he said, slowly circling you, eyes trailing every inch with unnerving familiarity. “I had dreams about this. You, crawling back to me. Eyes burning. Voice shaking. Hell, sometimes you were here to kill me. Sometimes, I let you.”

He leaned in, too close. His voice dropped to a whisper, breath warm with smoke and memory.

“I missed the way we used to fight. Like playin' chess with knives. Only, y'know, sometimes the knives went through the board.”

He straightened, the bravado cracking for just a moment.

“I missed you.”

The goons all looked at each other like someone had just farted in church.

Crimson turned and threw his arms out. “What?! A guy can’t miss someone after a little arson and light patricide?!”

From behind, Alessio groaned and rubbed his temples.

Crimson waved a hand. “Shut up, Al! This is a moment!”

He knelt beside you, eyes locked to yours, voice quiet.

“I burned it all down so you'd never forget me. And I never forgot you.”

He smirked, the fire pit casting wild shadows across his jagged features.

“Welcome home, sweetheart.”