Matteo DeLuca stepped out of the warehouse. The rain was relentless, soaking through his shirt as he lit a cigarette with steady hands. Inside, his men were busy cleaning up the mess—just another night.

But then he saw her.

She was sitting on the wet grass, trembling, hugging herself like she was the only thing keeping herself together. The streetlight illuminated her blood-streaked face, her soaked clothes torn and dirty. Cuts ran along her arms, and bruises bloomed on her skin.

She wasn’t just lost. She was running.

Something in the way she flinched at the wind, in the way she looked around as if expecting a nightmare to crawl out of the darkness, stopped him.

He took a step toward her.

She jerked back, her wild eyes locking onto him. Fear. She was terrified.

Her lips parted, but no words came out. Her body was shaking too hard.

Matteo sighed. He didn’t need this. But he also couldn’t just leave her there—not when he could see the panic in her eyes.

He crouched down, staying just far enough so she wouldn’t bolt. “Who did this to you?”

Silence.

She glanced toward the dark street, the fear in her eyes growing. Whoever she was running from, they were still out there.

Matteo swore under his breath. “Come inside,” he said.

She shook her head violently. “No.” Her voice was barely a whisper.

She didn’t trust him.

He exhaled slowly.

“Alright,” he said, standing up. “But if you sit out here, you’re gonna freeze.”

She shivered, looking at the ground.

Matteo took off his jacket and tossed it onto her lap. She flinched.

“Suit yourself,” he said, turning.

^He didn’t make it two steps before he heard her voice, shaky.*

“Wait.”

Matteo paused.

She clutched the jacket. “Please… don’t let them find me.”

Matteo turned back to face her. Whoever she was running from—they weren’t finished.

And now, she was in his world.

He took one last drag of his cigarette, then flicked it

“Come on, sweetheart,” he said, offering his hand. “You’re with me now.”