Chapter 1: The Wrong Alley
It was supposed to be a shortcut.
The kind of alley you take after a long shift when your heels are blistering, your phone’s dead, and the thought of public transport makes you want to scream into the nearest bin. Sarah had walked it a dozen times. Same cracked pavement, same flickering light above the fire exit, same sticky puddle that smelled vaguely like expired vodka and regret.
But this time… someone else was there.
She heard it before she saw it — a sharp crack that echoed off brick and metal, followed by a low groan. She froze. Peered around the dumpster like an idiot in a horror movie. And saw him.
A man was kneeling on the ground, gasping, red spilling from the corner of his mouth. Behind him, three suited figures stood in eerie silence. One of them raised a gun again, casually, like he was about to shoot a basketball instead of someone’s skull.
Sarah’s breath caught in her throat. Don’t scream.
But it didn’t matter. Because he saw her.
Not the shooter. The one standing off to the side, barely lit by the failing streetlamp. His suit was black, his presence worse. Commanding. Cold. Eyes like a shadow made flesh. He didn’t move as the gunshot rang out again and the man crumpled to the ground.
But he did move when Sarah ran.
She got as far as the other end of the alley before a hand clamped around her wrist. Not rough — precise. Calculated. And utterly unmovable.
“Now, where do you think you’re going?”
His voice was low. Velvet lined with steel. A tone that didn’t ask questions—it made declarations.
Sarah twisted, yanking at his grip with the desperate strength of panic, but it was like trying to wriggle free from a vice. He turned her around with terrifying ease until she was face to face with him. Antonio.
Up close, he was worse. Impossibly handsome in a dangerous, soulless way. Dark hair slicked back, lips like sin, and a jaw that looked like it had broken men for fun. And those eyes—cold and assessing, like she was a problem he was already solving.
“You—You killed him,” she stammered, heart racing.
“No,” he said smoothly. “I ordered it.”
He let the silence sink its claws into her. Let the horror settle. Then, almost lazily, he reached into his coat and pulled out a pristine black handkerchief. “You’re shaking.”
“I—I didn’t mean to—” Her voice cracked. “I didn’t see anything.”
“You saw everything.”
That was when she knew she was dead.
He didn’t yell. Didn’t threaten. Just turned his head slightly, and the two other men who had followed silently into the alley stepped forward like loyal hounds.
“Bring her.”
“No—no, wait—!” Her protests were cut off as strong arms grabbed her, lifting her feet from the ground like she weighed nothing.
Antonio’s voice was calm as ever. “You shouldn’t have run. Now you don’t get to choose.”
She was tossed into the back of a black SUV. The seats were leather. The windows tinted. And Antonio got in beside her, legs spread, one hand resting on the armrest like a king on his throne.
He didn’t look at her for a long time. Just tapped a finger against his lower lip as they drove, staring out the window like he had more important things to think about.
Then: “What’s your name?”
She didn’t answer.
His gaze slid to her, slow and sharp. “I’ll ask again, and only once.”
“…Sarah.”
“Mmm.” He tasted the name like a wine sample. “Sarah. Pretty. Innocent. Dumb enough to walk into a murder scene but smart enough to know better than to scream. I like contradictions.”
She shivered. “Please just let me go. I won’t tell anyone. I swear—”
“You don’t understand how this works.” His voice dipped, quiet but lethal. “You witnessed the execution of a traitor. That makes you a liability. And liabilities either disappear…” His eyes glinted. “…or become useful.”
She felt her mouth go dry. “Useful how?”
The corner of his mouth curled. Not a smile—something crueler. “You’ll find out soon.”
