Glish!

The sharp blade tore Marcella's blouse and pierced her abdomen. The sting passed a shiver through her spine and perspiration formed on her forehead. Her ears rang loudly.

Before her brain computed what happened there, Marcella found herself holding the ruffian's wrist. It was out of instinct. He had wrapped his arms around her as if he was surprised by a serendipitous meeting with a long last friend.

The chatters around came back as she got a hold of herself.

"I'm not giving up! Try harder, assface!"

A glint of danger shone in her squinted caramel eyes.

"A fucking knife, seriously? I'm insulted!"

She veiled her pain behind her scoff. The ruffian looked astonished. He must not have expected a woman to have this strong a grip.

She was no regular girl. He should have known.

The strong gaze she inherited from her father was not to be messed with. Her father named her after Mars, the Roman god of war. Her name meant "Warlike". She very well lived up to that name if she was pushed.

"Tell them to get more creative next time."

Marcella surprised him further by kicking him between his legs. Men are easier to handle. He grunted and kneeled on the stone pavement holding his crotch.

Marcella felt the blood wetting her blouse. The autumn wind sent a shiver to her bones. Covering herself with the coat, she walked forward mingling with the sea of people.

All she wanted was to get a toy for her nephew. This was supposedly a safe neighborhood with no gangs, and so she thought, she too would be safe there.

Apparently, she thought wrong. No place is safe for Don DeAngelo's youngest daughter.

This guy walked straight at her without losing eye contact. Her senses warned her but before she could gather herself, this guy succeeded in drawing her blood.

The wound hurt a lot but it did not need immediate attention. Her internal organs are safe. What was he thinking coming at her with a pocket knife?

Ah, there are more, aren't they?

The scent of hotdogs from the stand nearby made her stomach turn. She bowed her head only to see a rat as big as a cat entering the drain.

She despised rats.

Marcella looked around her to distract herself. The street was lit brightly. Girls wearing their evening best were joking around with their friends. Some were shopping and others were interested in the nightclubs on the other side of the street.

She saw some couples walking around. The girl leaning on the guy's shoulder, holding hands and giggling to his jokes… What a simple life!

It was lively around her. It's the city that never sleeps, after all.

To her front, she saw another guy walking toward her. Hiding his face with a baseball hat, his hands were in his jacket.

Ah, here they are…

As the daughter of Don DeAngelo, her life was in constant danger even though she left her home a decade ago. She changed her surname to Dominic. Her father proclaimed her dead, angry that she left his house. But even that was not enough for her father's enemies to leave her alone.

After her father's death two years ago, the threat to her life only increased. Her father's enemies want to annihilate Don DeAngelo's bloodline on Earth.

She successfully hid in this part of the city for more than a year. Guess, they found her out. Now it appears that they won't allow her to see another sunrise.

Her heart pounded as past memories flooded her. Her palms went cold as she recalled how cold her mother was.

Lying in a pool of her blood her mother's eyes were open and lifeless. There were more than forty knife wounds on her body… Her father didn't allow her mother to enter the kitchen because she was careless around knives in the kitchen. Her mother couldn't bear a simple paper cut. But she was mercilessly hacked to pieces by those ruffians who were hired to kill her. They refused to listen to her pleas.

I refuse to go that way!

She clutched her purse and the gift close to her chest and walked into the road. The taxi approaching her honked horn but she ran without stopping.

She'd rather take her chance with the traffic than with those goons.

*Screech*

The taxi came to a halt.

"Fuck you!"

The taxi driver shouted behind her as it was an unwritten rule to curse at strangers. Not minding that, she joined the group of girls waiting to enter the nightclub that was in front of her. The bouncer looked at her from top to bottom.

Punk rock was the favorite music of the youngsters during that time. She could hear the music even on the street. She was more of a fan of blues. She didn't go to discotheques often. But she never had trouble getting into one.

She worked as a telephone switchboard operator in one of the biggest office buildings in the city. At 28, she was well past the age when she was asked to show her ID to enter these places.

If her mother was alive, she would have complained worrying that she has well passed the marriageable age.

Marriage was the least of her concerns. Marriage requires love—so her mother told her.

She'd rather kiss a rat than fall in love!

The bouncer let her in. She looked back. The guy who came at her was still on the other side of the street. The ruffian she kicked earlier had joined him too. There were two other men behind them. They cussed at her as she entered the club.

They sure are creeping out of the woodwork!

She winced at the sting of the knife wound as she was pushed inside. The bright disco lights and the loud music inside caused her a headache. But she cannot rest if she wants to survive.

She walked past the sweaty young ones enjoying their youth.

"Dance with me, Holly Golightly!"

A blonde man held her arm. Marcella smiled and her feminine allure only made the man swoon.

Was it her cat eyeliner? Or her deep brown hair? Or was it the hairstyle? People often complimented her on her appearance saying that she resembled the young Audrey Hepburn. It always made her blush although she was not a lady like the icon.

"Oh, but my boyfriend is waiting for me," she smiled.

"The good ones are always taken!" The guy sighed in disappointment and let her pass.

Marcella walked through the hall and got out through the service exit. It led to an alleyway on the other side. She was unsure if those men are there. But she needed to take a chance.

On one side was brightness and cheerful youth and on the other side was the filthy, vermin-infested dark alleys. She never belonged anywhere.

The alleyway was empty just like her heart. She preferred it that way too. It's better to be alone.

Sighing in relief, she walked out. She turned to see if she was followed out. She was startled to feel something creeping up near her feet.

"Fucking rats!"

She jumped to the sidewalk.

*Bam*

She banged on someone who was walking on the street. "Aww!" she said rubbing her nose. Her wound started bleeding too. It was her fault for barging out of the alleyway out of nowhere. Today is definitely a bad day.

She turned left. She needed to get to the subway if she has to survive.

"Sorry, miss. My bad!"

She stopped hearing a magnetic deep voice to her side. It was odd for someone to apologize in this city. Not when they are not in the wrong.

She's bounced through various parts of the city. Never once had she found such a breath of fresh air.

Well, she had, once upon a time. There was one.

She turned to see this odd specimen who didn't cuss her but apologized to her. It was not mandatory to know who that was. Driven by her instinct, she turned.

He towered her by almost six inches even when she was wearing her heels. He should be more than six feet tall. Wearing a long coat, he looked lean and fit. His blue eyes matched the navy-blue suit.

His eyes twinkled in the street light as his lips curved.

Isn't he familiar?

That smile…

Antony Crawford? Is that really him? Or am I dreaming?

Is he really the boy who took me to prom?

How did he appear just when I thought about him?