My fingers graze the rough stone wall as I press my back against it, my chest heaving. The alley is dim, shadows stretching like grasping hands. My heart pounds so hard it hurts. The cold, damp air should be soothing, but I feel like I'm burning from the inside out.
I can still hear the gun shot echoing in my ears.
I shouldn't have gotten involved. But I did.
Shit.
I squeeze my eyes shut, trying to steady my breath. How long have I been hiding here? Five minutes? Ten?
My mind is too jumbled to tell. I should be running, putting as much distance as possible between me and what just happened. But my legs refuse to move. Maybe it's shock. Maybe it's fear.
Or maybe it's the fact that I just saved Lorenzo "Ren" Valenti.
I didn't think. I just moved. One second, I was taking out the trash behind the café, the next, I saw the glint of a gun aimed at him. Instinct took over ... I ran, shoved him, and the bullet that was meant for him barely grazed my waist. A small price to pay for saving the head of the Shadow Court.
What the hell was I thinking?
A rustle pulls me from my thoughts. My muscles lock. Footsteps, small, quick ones ... echo down the alley. A child appears, no more than ten, his eyes wide as he skids to a stop in front of me.
"Holy crap!" he blurts. "You're bleeding!"
I glance down. My black dress is torn, my apron stained with blood. The gash isn't deep, but it stings like hell.
"It's fine," I say, forcing my voice to stay steady. "What are you doing here?"
"Going home." He gives me a wary look. "Where else?"
"Right." I nod, stepping past him. "Be careful."
"I'm always careful!" he calls after me as I stumble out of the alley and onto the empty street.
The silence is unsettling. Normally, this part of the city is bustling, even at dusk. But tonight, after a shooting in broad daylight, the streets are eerily vacant. People are hiding behind locked doors, waiting for the danger to pass.
It feels like a ghost town.
The streets, lined with old brick buildings are eerily silent. Shops have their metal shutters pulled down, doors locked tight.
My footsteps light against the cracked pavement.
The air is thick with an unspoken warning ... don't make a sound.
Behind the closed curtains of apartment windows, shadows move ... eyes peeking out, watching, waiting. The fear is palpable, clinging to the air like mist. Somewhere in the distance, a car engine rumbles before fading away, leaving only the hollow sound of the wind rushing through the narrow alleyways.
I quickens my pace, my heart matching the rhythm of my steps. The streetlights above flicker as i pass.
I'm being watched.
Not by curious neighbors, but by something unseen.
A dog barks once, then silence.
I keep my head down and quicken my pace. I need to get home, clean my wound, and pretend none of this ever happened.
Then my phone vibrates.
I freeze. An unknown number flashes on the screen.
Against my better judgment, I answer. "Hello?"
A deep, gravelly voice responds. "Is this Miss Elena Marlowe?"
My stomach knots. "Who's asking?"
"I'm a representative of the Valenti syndicate."
My breath catches. I grip the phone tighter. "Is… is Mr. Valenti all right?"
"He's alive because of you." There's a pause, then, "He's grateful for your quick thinking."
My fingers tremble. Quick thinking. That's what they're calling it?
The voice continues, sharp as a blade. "Mr. Valenti would like to meet with you."
Every instinct screams at me to refuse. To disappear. To pretend today never happened.
But I know better.
No one refuses Ren Valenti.