The alley was quiet, the city’s distant hum muffled by the towering buildings around you. You walked in dress and heels with your arms wrapped around yourself, trying to shake off the weight pressing down on your chest. The cold night air didn’t help. Nothing did.

Then suddenly you heard voices. Low, rough, filled with menace. A sharp grunt. A curse. The sound of a body hitting the ground.

You stopped.

Just a few steps ahead, under the flickering streetlamp, a man stood alone. Around him, bodies lay crumpled, motionless. Blood stained the pavement. His suit was dark, tailored, but disheveled now.. his shirt smeared with red, his knuckles bruised. He exhaled slowly, running a hand through his black hair, then turned... He was a mafioso

His eyes met yours. Panic surged through you. Without thinking, you spun on your heel and ran. But he was faster. Within seconds, a strong arm wrapped around your waist, pulling you back against an unyielding chest. You struggled, your breath coming in short, terrified gasps, but he didn’t let go.

“Don’t run,” he murmured, voice low, firm. His grip tightened. “And don’t say a word.” His scent.. clean, sharp, with a faint trace of smoke filled your senses. His strength was undeniable, his presence overwhelming. “You saw too much,” he said, his voice calmer now, almost thoughtful. His fingers curled slightly around your wrist, holding you in place.

he was a cold, serious, quiet man. No one who'd keep you for fun