The phone vibrates in my pocket, a low, ominous hum that sets my nerves on edge. By the time it rings again, my heart feels like it's going to burst from my chest.
I answer on the second ring. "Who is it?" I demand, though I already know. Some deep, primal instinct warns me that my life is about to spiral out of control.
"It's a representative of the Valenti Syndicate," comes the clipped response, calm and professional, as if announcing the weather.
I barely have time to register the words before the alley is swallowed in shadows. Four men materialize behind the first speaker, their presence like a closing fist. Black suits, black sunglasses, and holstered weapons—the unmistakable uniform of Ren Valenti's enforcers.
Panic claws at my throat. My feet take a step back of their own accord, but the men move in, tightening the circle around me. My breath quickens as I realize there's no escape.
"Hello, Miss Elena," the leader says smoothly.
"H-hello," I stammer, my voice cracking. My gaze darts to the mouth of the alley, searching for an exit. There's none.
"Um...how is Mr. Valenti?"
"He's fine, thanks to you, Miss Elena. Very grateful," the man replies, his tone devoid of gratitude, though his words drip with menace.
I swallow hard. "Oh, good. I'm glad to hear he's...he's okay." My voice falters, and my knees feel like they might give out. My vision edges with darkness as the full weight of my mistake settles in, im going to pass out. Ren Valenti doesn't forgive, doesn't forget. I've thrown myself into the lion's den.
I force a weak laugh. "Tell Mr. Valenti thanks, but really, there's no need to express his gratitude. I'd rather not... um, get involved further." I take another step back, but one of the men is right behind me now, preventing me from going any farther.
"Too late for that." The man in front of me steps closer, his smile almost kind—almost. "You're involved now, whether you like it or not." His eyes flicker and paused to the blood seeping through my shirt...
My wound was kind of visible
"We can't let you walk around with a target on your back. Someone might get ideas. Might hurt you." His tone drops, as if to drive the point home. "We're going to protect you now."
I open my mouth to protest, but the words die in my throat. Two of the men step to my sides, their presence a physical wall.
"Where are you taking me?" I manage to croak.
"To see Mr. Valenti."
Oh no.
Oh no oh no oh no.
The bottom drops out of my stomach. "No, no, no. Please."
"Breathe," the leader says, his voice almost gentle. "We're not going to hurt you."
"Not until you get me to him," I whisper, trembling.
He frowns. "Why would Mr. Valenti hurt you? You saved his life, miss Elena"
"That's exactly why," I mutter.
The leader exchanges a look with his men, confused by my words. I take their moment of distraction as my opportunity.
Im not going to die without a fight, anyway.
I go limp and the men grab me to prevent me from falling.
With a desperate cry, I drive my fist into the nose of the nearest enforcer. Bone crunches under my knuckles, and he stumbles back with a curse.
"You little bitch" Blood streams down his chin as he lunges for me. "Im going to make you pay for that"
"Not if you can't catch me"
I duck and dart between his legs, the pain in my side a fiery scream, but adrenaline propels me forward. Two steps, three—
A hand clamps around my arm like a steel vice, yanking me backward.
Enough!" The enforcer twists my arm behind my back, slamming me into the side of a black SUV. The breath whooshes out of my lungs, and i bite down hard on my lip to keep from screaming.
I kick but its useless,
"You just made this worse for yourself," he growls, shoving me toward the open door.
"Don't struggle. It'll only get worse," he growls.
Tears of frustration burn in my eyes.
I'm in deep trouble.
I'm going to die.
Ren Valenti is going to have me killed. But why bother to take me to him first?
Maybe to torture me before I die?
To make an example of me to anyone who might think of trying to hurt him?
God. What did I do?
Why didn't I just mind my own business?
I'm going to go down in the annals of history as the stupidest girl who ever lived.
Ren Valenti's assassins are taking me to the man himself and there is nothing I can do to stop it. All I can do is close my eyes, pray and try not to throw up.
---
The room is cold.
Ren Valenti has a reputation for being cold. A man who can't be touched by emotion.
No one has ever seen him show weakness or kindness or even love. Some people say he was born without the capacity. Others say the ability to care was taken from him the day his father was killed and his mother forced into prostitution.
I never really believed those stories, even though my mother warned me about him the moment I started waitressing at the café before she passed away. She grew up on the streets of this city and knows all the rumors, all the stories. The worst ones are about the man I'm currently being dragged before.
Ren Valenti stands silhouetted against a wall of glass, the glittering cityscape stretching out behind him. His posture is rigid, arms crossed, his gaze fixed on the horizon like a predator surveying its territory.
This city is his and everyone in it, including me, is a pawn on his chessboard. My life is nothing but a game to him. I know I'm in trouble. I'm nothing but a problem for him to solve. And he's known to have a ruthless method of solving problems.
The men drag me forward, my knees nearly buckling beneath me. My ribs throb with every breath, but I force myself to stand tall.
"Leave us," Valenti orders without turning around.
The enforcers obey instantly, filing out and shutting the door behind them. The click of the lock echoes like a death knell.
"Sit," he commands, gesturing to the chair in front of his desk.
My legs move before I can think, and I sink into the chair, gripping the armrests to keep my hands from shaking.
I'm barely holding on to my sanity as it is.
Valenti turns, and I finally see him clearly. He's tall and broad ,his frame powerful yet lean. A tailored black suit clings to him like a second skin, immaculate despite the chaos of the day. His face is all sharp angles and cold precision, but it's his eyes that send a shiver down my spine.
His blue dark eyes. burning with a fury that threatens to consume me whole.
There's a cut on his cheek and one on his forehead,but other than that, there is no outward sign that he was just involved in a shooting. I half expect to see blood covering his clothes, but there isn't any. Just a man who looks like he belongs on the cover of a fashion magazine.
He steeples his fingers on the desk between us and studies me "Why did you save me?"
The question catches me off guard. "I... I don't know," I stammer.
"You don't know?" he repeats, his voice low and dangerous.
"I didn't think," I whisper, my throat dry. "I just acted."
"You acted," he repeats.
"Yes," I whisper. "And it was stupid and selfish and now you're going to make me pay. You're going to kill me."
He looks surprised. "Kill you?"
"Y-yes," I stammer.
"Why would I kill you?" he asks, his dark brows arching.
I blink. "Because you think I was involved in the assassination attempt."
"Why would you think that?"
I gape at him. "Because I took a bullet meant for you. Of course you think I was trying to kill you."
He doesn't speak for a long moment. Finally, he shakes his head. "No. That never occurred to me."
"What? Never?" I'm confused.
"I know everyone in this city, Miss Marlowe. I have eyes and ears in every corner of every street. If you were involved, I would have known about it beforehand."
"You're saying you have spies?"
"Yes," he agrees, leaning back in his chair. "If I didn't, I'd be dead by now."
"I suppose that's true," I say, staring down at my hands in my lap.
"Look at me," he says, and his voice is hard. Demanding.
Slowly, I lift my chin and meet his eyes.
Silence stretches between us, heavy with unspoken meaning.
Finally, he leans forward, his hands braced on the desk. "Miss Marlowe, you've done something no one else has dared to do. You risked your life for mine."
I flinch, expecting him to lash out, but instead, he studies me with an intensity that makes my skin crawl.
I stare at him for a full minute before I say anything.
"I don't...I don't understand."
"Don't play dumb, Miss Marlowe." His smile is thin and cold.
"You're under my protection now," he says finally. "Whether you want it or not."
His words are a sentence, not a promise. And I know, with chilling certainty, that my life will never be the same.