Rain fell like bullets that night, sharp and merciless, soaking the city in an unforgiving gray. The streetlights flickered like dying fireflies, casting eerie halos on the pavement. Every honk, every screech of tires, every distant siren blended into a muffled drone. New York City didn't stop for pain. It barely slowed down for death.
Aria Sullivan dragged herself through a narrow alley between two boarded-up buildings. Her legs barely held her up. Blood dripped from the corner of her mouth, and she was clutching her side like it was the only thing keeping her together. Her coat was torn, soaked through, and clung to her skin like dead weight.
She reached a dented dumpster and collapsed behind it, pressing her back against the cold brick wall. Her fingers trembled as they brushed over the raw, swelling bruise blooming beneath her ribs. She sucked in a breath through clenched teeth.
Don't cry.
Don't scream.
Don't be weak.
The words repeated in her head like a cruel lullaby. Words she'd learned long before tonight.
A door slammed somewhere nearby. She flinched. Panic surged through her, sharp and blinding. She closed her eyes, tried to disappear, to vanish into the dark. But the footsteps came anyway. Heavy, steady, unhurried.
Not like someone running away. Like someone who already owned everything they walked on.
Aria's heart hammered against her ribs. She squeezed herself tighter against the wall, praying the shadows would swallow her whole.
Then the footsteps stopped.
"You're bleeding."
The voice came low and calm, not raised in alarm, not filled with concern. Just a flat observation, spoken like the weather. She opened her eyes slowly.
He was tall. Lean, but powerful, wearing a long black coat that looked expensive and dry despite the rain. His face was angled and sharp, his eyes unreadable. Pale gray, like ash or winter storms. He didn't move toward her. Just stood at the edge of the alley, staring.
Aria tried to shrink further into the corner.
"Leave me alone," she croaked, voice rough with pain and cold.
The man didn't move. He didn't even blink. He just kept looking at her like he was studying something he couldn't quite name.
"You shouldn't be here," he said finally.
"No shit," she whispered, wincing as she tried to sit up straighter. "Thanks for the weather update."
For a brief moment, something flickered in his eyes. Amusement? Interest? She couldn't tell. He took a step closer, slow and deliberate.
She flinched hard. "Don't. Don't come near me."
He stopped. Not out of fear. But respect? Restraint?
"I'm not going to hurt you," he said, his voice steady. "If I wanted to, I already would have."
"That's… not exactly comforting."
He studied her for a moment. Then looked past her, scanning the alley like he was calculating something.
"You need a hospital," he said.
She shook her head quickly. "No. No police. No hospitals."
His eyes narrowed. "Who did this to you?"
She didn't answer.
He took out a phone and made a call, speaking in rapid Italian. She didn't understand a word, but the tone was firm, controlled. Whoever he was, he was used to being obeyed.
Two minutes later, the hum of an engine broke through the rain. A black SUV pulled up near the alley entrance. The man ended his call and looked back at her.
"I'm offering you a ride," he said. "Somewhere safe. That's it."
Aria stared at the vehicle. Then at him. Every bone in her body screamed not to trust him. He was too calm. Too clean. Too composed for someone who just found a bloody stranger behind a dumpster. Men like him didn't appear by accident.
"I don't even know your name," she said quietly.
"I didn't ask for yours either."
"Why help me?" she asked.
He tilted his head. "Because I hate seeing people crawl."
The way he said it didn't sound like pity. It sounded personal.
She hesitated. Her legs were shaking. She wasn't going to make it much longer in the cold. The pain in her ribs was a roaring ache. If she stayed, she'd bleed out. Or worse, he'd leave and someone else far crueler would find her next.
With a breath that tasted like rust, Aria let her pride die a little more. She reached for the hand he extended.
The moment their skin touched, something shifted. He didn't flinch. Didn't smirk. Just helped her up with quiet strength, like she weighed nothing at all.
Inside the SUV, the seats were warm and soft. It smelled of leather and cologne. Aria sat rigid, not sure whether to be relieved or terrified.
The man didn't look at her. Just tapped his fingers on the armrest in silence.
"I'm not going to thank you," she said after a long pause.
"I'm not asking you to."
"You're not a good man."
"No," he said. "I'm not."
She turned to look at him fully. "Then why are you doing this?"
Finally, he met her eyes. There was something in them now. Something deeper than indifference. Not kindness. Not exactly.
"Because someone should have done it for my mother," he said simply.
The rest of the ride passed in silence. But Aria didn't stop watching him. She had no idea who this man was. No idea what kind of world he belonged to.
But she already knew.
He wasn't her savior.
He was her warning.
And still, deep in the hollow ache of her body and the rawness of her mind, she wasn't afraid of him.
Because monsters didn't scare her anymore.
Men who wore masks of kindness did.
And this one… had shown her his face.
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