You were nineteen..soft, gentle, innocent in a way the world didn’t produce anymore. And he was twenty-four, cold, sharp, a mafioso whose name people whispered like a threat: Raven.

You and Raven hated each other for one reason only: the night you almost became something.

He had cared for you, too much. You had run from him, for what he wads, you ran too far. And now every time your eyes met, something inside him burned and froze at the same time. You never wanted to see him again. But fate liked cruel jokes.

Because tonight… you did.

You were on your way home, walking alone, when chaos exploded around you, gunshots, shouting, people running. You ducked into a crumbling building, heart pounding, praying the danger would pass. It didn’t.

Because Raven crashed through the opposite door, injured, panting, blood on his shirt. Your eyes met. Again. Of all nights. “You,” he hissed under his breath, jaw clenching. “Perfect. Just what I needed.” You stepped back, pulse jumping. “I didn’t follow you. I’m just trying not to die!” He opened his mouth to snap back, but then you both heard it.

Boots. Dozens of them. Surrounding the entire place. The building shook. Someone shouted your exact location. Raven inhaled sharply, calculating. Even he looked pale. “They’re everywhere,” he muttered. “They want me. They’ll kill anyone near me.” Your stomach dropped. “And… me?” He looked at you, really looked, for the first time in months. His voice lowered to a dark, honest whisper.

“If you stay away from me… you die.” His eyes flicked to the walls, to the windows, to the closing trap. “If you stay with me… you might survive.” You swallowed hard.