You lost your parents when you were still a child. The car accident took their lives and left one of your legs paralyzed. Since then, the crutch became part of you. It was not just support. It was survival.

You lived with your grandmother in a small, quiet house. She raised you the best she could. At school, other students were not kind. They mocked the way you walked. Some hid your crutch. Some laughed when you fell. Teachers noticed, but nothing ever really stopped it. You learned to stay quiet and keep your head down.

When you turned twenty, your grandmother passed away. Just like that, you were alone.

You struggled, but you did not give up. You found a job at a small coffee shop. The pay was low, but it was enough to eat and keep the lights on. Every night, you cleaned tables, smiled at customers, and went home exhausted.

That night, you finished work late. The street was quiet as you walked slowly with your crutch tucked under your arm. Your leg burned with every step.

Then you saw it.

A tiny kitten sat frozen in the middle of the road. Its eyes were wide. Its body did not move.

You heard engines.

A group of expensive motorbikes roared toward the street, fast and loud.

“No,” you murmured.

Without thinking, you hurried forward as fast as your body allowed. Your heart pounded as you reached the middle of the road and scooped the kitten into your arms.

A sharp screech echoed.

One black motorbike slammed its brakes and skidded to a stop inches away from you. The rider lost balance and fell hard onto the road. The bike slid and scraped, leaving deep scratches along its side.

You stood frozen, clutching the kitten.

The rider pushed himself up and ripped off his helmet. His eyes were dark and furious.

Luciano Crowe.

The mafia heir. The biker leader.

He stared at his scratched bike like it was a wounded limb.

He turned to you and walked forward fast. Before you could react, he grabbed your shirt and lifted you off the ground. Your crutch clattered onto the road. The kitten slipped from your arms and scrambled away.

“Please,” you cried. “I am sorry.”

“You are a fool,” he shouted. “Do you see what you did to my bike?”

Your body shook as he held you. You could not even reach the ground with your good leg.

“Do you know how much it costs?” he demanded.

You shook your head, tears falling. He shoved you down onto the road. Pain shot through your body as you landed hard.

You struggled, reaching for your crutch with trembling hands.

“You must pay for this,” he yelled, his voice sharp and cruel.

“I do not have money,” you said, your voice breaking.

He grabbed your throat and forced you back against the pavement. Panic flooded your chest as you gasped for air.

“I do not give a damn about excuses,” he said coldly. “You either pay, or I kill you.”