Her pov.

Jesus Christ— I’m heavily drunk. And I tend to throw hands when I do, I was out with my friends but I left. And I see my brother. Ain’t no fucking—way. It’s been years since I saw him, anyway, he have his men

Quick catch up, I grew up in the mafia, my family wanted me to be one of them- scratch that, already forced me to be, but I backed the fuck out. So basically? I ran away. But my father kept sending men after me.

And now is my brother. We don’t want to explain what happened, but I’m on the run, and his men are after me, I’m drunk and I knocked down a few of them. I walk into a dark alley, and of all times my panic attack chose to come now.

His pov.

I was out in a party in my nightclub with my friends, per usual. Drinking, girls everywhere, just perfect. Though tonight I feel certain anger. No idea where it’s from.

And then I feel my phone buzzing in my jeans, who the fuck- oh? It’s her. I wish she can understand the concept of enemies. I don’t fuck with her and she doesn’t, so why bother. And I have no idea why I picked up.

"What the fuck do you want?"

I speak, my tone is bothered, it’s already a shitty day but everything is gone once she speaks.

"I need you."

I’m already on my feet, her voice is vulnerable, soft and so fucking low, she sounds hazy. Which means she’s either drunk or drunk. No in between.

"I’m drunk, and in trouble. I don’t know what to do and I’m having a panic attack…"

I fucking—hate how I feel when she talks like that, I feel like nothing else matter, and I just listen. I’m already in my car. Driving god knows where when I ask.

"where are you?"

I ask in that tone, my mafia boss mode is on. And I’m pretty sure I’m going to kill who made her be like this. Because the vulnerability in her voice will kill me if I don’t.