The morning sun bled gold through Ria's curtains, spilling across her unmade bed like an accusation. She groaned, rolling over and burying her face in the pillow—trying to hold on to the warmth of last night at *Velvet*, to Aris Thorne's low voice, his quiet laughter, the way his eyes had softened when she mentioned her mother.
It had felt like magic.
But reality came rushing back with a text from Maya:
*"You survived?? Spill everything. Also—don't forget your internship papers are due today."*
Right. Back to life.
She dragged herself out of bed, showered quickly, slipped into a cream blouse and navy skirt—professional enough for the law firm where she was interning as part-time admin support—and grabbed her tote bag before heading out into the crisp city air.
Verona Heights woke slowly—coffee carts steaming on corners, delivery bikes zipping past taxis stuck in gridlock—but as Ria turned down an alley shortcut behind Stirling Avenue (a route she'd taken dozens of times), something stopped her cold.
A car with blacked-out windows was parked crookedly against graffiti-stained brick walls. Doors open. Two men in dark suits stood guard like statues—one holding a phone casually against his ear; the other cracking his knuckles without blinking.
And then there was *him.*
In front of them all stood a man who looked like he'd been forged from shadows and sin itself—and dressed too well for either.
Tall—over six feet four—with shoulders so broad they seemed carved by war instead of genes or gym hours alone—he wore an Italian-cut charcoal suit tailored so perfectly it might've been poured onto him rather than stitched around him. No tie. Top two buttons undone at his chest revealing just enough shadow beneath skin that should be illegal under fashion laws somewhere—
But it wasn't just how he looked—it was how he carried himself that made every nerve inside Ria scream danger even before sound reached her ears.*
His jaw? Sharp enough to cut glass.
His hair? Dark as coal swept back slightly at temples not slicked but effortlessly controlled.
And those eyes?
Black—not brown or gray but truly black—as if no light could reflect inside them because they absorbed everything… even hope.*
He stepped forward slowly toward another man trembling on knees—the debtor? He didn't raise his voice when he spoke.*
"Miss another payment," said mafia boss softly,*voice deeper than midnight thunder,* "and I'll take more than your shop."
"I—I can get it!" stammered victim.* "Just give me three days!"
Three." repeated boss tone dropping colder somehow despite already sounding arctic.* Then walked away dismissively not threatening further violence only silence heavier terrifying anyway."
One guard yanked debtor up roughly tossing something small metallic ground beside overturned briefcase scattered papers fluttering wind now filled sudden gap left empty spot where once someone ordinary now someone broken piece city system forgot exist…"
Ria hadn't realized she'd stepped backward until one foot hit loose pavement causing soft crunch echoing far louder alleyway confines…
All four men snapped heads toward direction instantly alert predatory stillness hunting animals scent blood miles ahead...
Especially *him.*
Dark gaze locked hers across twenty feet separating worlds—one side law student trying survive rent bills future dreams intact other side pure controlled destruction wrapped luxury fabrics designer shoes soaked unseen sins past present coming fast future too likely same fate anyone crossed path willingly unwillingly didn't matter end day…"
Time stopped breathing along pulse ticking throat pounding ears drowning white noise except one single thought repeating:
*Run.*
She turned—
"Wait," ordered mob boss raising hand palm facing outward command unquestionable authority laced every syllable uttered calmly disturbing ease absolute certainty would obey whether wanted did mattered point already lost choice moment caught eye contact first place…"
Slowly—for reasons unknown even herself possibly curiosity stupidity adrenaline high survival instinct kicked wrong gear entirely—
Ria turned back meeting stare head-on though knees nearly gave way underneath weight being seen seen really meant stripped layers confidence composure armor built years learning hide fear trauma grief loss never fully healed began unravel right there street cracked asphalt beneath heels heart hammering cage ribcage begging escape fight freeze options narrowing down single unavoidable truth:
She should've stayed home today."
"You lost?" Mafia Boss asked tone deceptively mild given context surrounding moment." This isn't tourist area."
"No," replied shakily lifting chin defiant reflex learned childhood older brother taught protect dignity whenever bullies surrounded playgrounds schoolyards later workplaces meetings boardrooms wherever boys tried intimidate girls smarter braver hearts tougher bones any deserved respect demanded earned either case worked sometimes failed many more times anyway kept trying—that part always mattered most kept going forward motion momentum gravity pulling sideways dragging darkness swallowing light whole eventually?"
"I'm fine," added stepping forward slightly less afraid maybe foolhardy now instead."Just taking shortcut."
The mafia boss didn't move. Not a muscle. But his dark eyes narrowed—just slightly—as if recalibrating her in his mind. From background noise to something… notable.
"Shortcuts," he said slowly, voice like smoke curling through silence, "have consequences."
Ria swallowed. Her fingers tightened around the strap of her tote bag, knuckles whitening.
"I'll risk it," she said, voice steadier now—defiant even when every instinct screamed *run*. "Better than wasting time on pointless detours."
A beat.
Then—one corner of his lips twitched.
Not quite a smile. More like the ghost of one—the kind that flickered before violence or seduction, impossible to tell which until it was too late.
"You've got spirit," he murmured. "Irritating… but rare."
Before she could respond—one guard suddenly stepped forward, blocking her path with sheer mass alone.
"Boss," the man grunted. "Car's ready."
The moment shattered like glass under boot heel.
The mafia boss turned without another word—not dismissing her so much as deciding she wasn't worth further attention anymore—and strode toward the black sedan parked at the alley's mouth like a predator returning to its den.*
But just as the door closed behind him—engine growling awake—he rolled down his tinted window with one slow command spoken directly to Ria:
"Don't take this route again."
His eyes locked onto hers one last time—dark and unreadable—and added:
*"...unless you want me to remember your name."*
Then they were gone—tires screeching once before vanishing around the corner like they'd never been there at all.
Silence returned—but not peace.*
Ria stood frozen in place long after dust settled and city sounds crept back in—the honking cabs, distant sirens, laughter from a café two blocks over—all felt disconnected now.*
Like reality had shifted underfoot without warning.*
Her heart still pounded—not just from fear—but from something else too.
Something dangerous.
Curious.
Alive.*
Who *was* that man?
And why did those final words echo louder than any threat?
She pulled out her phone numbly.
One missed call: **Aris Thorne**.
Two new messages:
> *"Hey Ria — thought about you last night. Coffee sometime this week?"*
> *"You free tonight? There's an event I'd love for you to attend—with me."*
She stared at them both... then slowly looked back down the empty alley where smoke still curled off asphalt where tires had burned rubber seconds ago...
One man offered warmth—a future painted in light and possibility...
The other offered only shadows... but made her pulse race harder than any gentle promise ever could...
And for reasons she couldn't explain—even terrified as she was—
She found herself saving that number into her phone instead.