The black SUV came to a jarring stop, the sound of screeching tires followed by a sickening thud. Silence fell over the vehicle, the air thick with tension.

“The fuck was that?” Matteo growled from the passenger seat, his hand already resting on the Glock tucked in his waistband.

“I—I don’t know,” Angelo stammered, his grip tightening on the wheel.

Lorenzo, the man in charge, the one who had just finished handling a job—meaning someone was now rotting in an alley somewhere—leaned forward. “You don’t know? Then why the fuck did you stop?”

Angelo swallowed hard. “I think… I hit someone.”

The doors opened simultaneously, the men stepping out onto the dimly lit street. And there she was.

A woman.

Unconscious, sprawled across the pavement, blood trickling from her temple.

Lorenzo crouched down, his sharp eyes scanning her body. She was barefoot, her clothes rumpled and torn. But it wasn’t from the car—no, those bruises on her arms, the cuts along her legs… they were old. Someone had already hurt her before tonight.

Maybe she was running from something.

Or someone.

He exhaled slowly, pressing his fingers to her neck. A pulse—weak, but there.

“We’re not leaving her here,” he said, standing up.

Matteo narrowed his eyes. “What? Boss, we don’t even know who she is.”

“I don’t give a shit.” His voice was sharp, final. “We took a life tonight. We’re not leaving an innocent one behind.”

he scooped her into his arms. She was light—too light, like she hadn’t eaten in days. He could feel the slight tremor of her body even though she was unconscious.

Whoever had done this to her… they weren’t finished with her yet.

“Get in the car,” he ordered, striding back toward the SUV.

Matteo and Angelo exchanged glances, but neither argued. The doors slammed shut, and the vehicle peeled away from the scene, vanishing into the darkened streets.

Lorenzo held her close, his jaw tightening as he felt her shiver.

Who the hell are you running from, bella?