The Grey Angel
Luca sat in his usual corner booth, a dark silhouette against the dim light, his presence a heavy anchor in the room. His black shirt, stretched taut across a chest carved from years of silent work, disappeared into the shadows. Intricate black ink crawled up his neck, disappearing beneath the collar, hinting at the tapestry of tattoos that adorned his muscular frame. His gaze, twin pools of gray, rarely left the stage. Not for the music, which barely registered, but for her. Mia.
She moved with a fluidity that defied the stage's worn planks, her body a whisper against the velvet backdrop. Her auburn hair, a vibrant flame under the spotlight, whipped around her as she spun, a green-eyed storm. Once, her movements had graced grander stages; now, they painted stories for a different audience, but the passion, the raw, untamed fire, remained. She wore a simple, shimmering dress that caught the light, revealing the elegant lines of her legs, the strength in her calves as she leaped, landed, and flowed into the next movement. Luca watched, a tremor of something unfamiliar coiling in his gut. He had seen death, dealt it, breathed it, but this, this vibrant life, threatened to unravel him.
A heavy hand clapped his shoulder, pulling him momentarily from his trance. "Still staring, eh, Luca?" Sal's voice, a gravelly rumble, cut through the din. The owner of The Grey Angel, a man whose face was a roadmap of past fights and hard-won wisdom, settled onto the opposite bench. His thick gray hair was slicked back, and his eyes, though tired, held sharp intelligence. "She's a vision, that one. Got a fire in her, even after all she's been through."
Luca grunted, his eyes already drifting back to Mia. "She dances like she's trying to fly."
"She is," Sal said, with a rare, soft note in his voice. "Always has been. Hurt her leg badly years ago. Thought she'd never dance again. But this place, it's got a way of bringing things back to life, doesn't it?" He gestured vaguely around the room. "Even for old dogs like me." Mia finished her set, a final, graceful arch, her chest heaving, a sheen of sweat on her brow. The scattered applause was a faint ripple against the music that immediately took over. She bowed, a genuine smile gracing her lips, before disappearing backstage. Luca felt a hollow ache in her absence.
"She sees you, you know," Sal continued, looking at Luca's face. "Always has. You're not exactly subtle, nephew of the Don." A faint smirk touched Sal's lips. "Good man, your uncle. Taught you well. Never saw him stare at a woman like that, though. Not even your aunt." Luca met Sal's gaze, a flicker of something close to annoyance in his gray eyes. "It's nothing."
"Nothing?" Sal chuckled, a dry, rusty sound. "You, Luca, nothing? You're like a goddamn statue when she's on that stage. And when she's not, you're just… waiting." He leaned forward, his voice dropping. "She's a good kid, Luca. Got a heart bigger than this whole damn bar. And she's got no one but us now. You mess with that, you mess with me."
"I wouldn't," Luca said, his voice low, a promise, and a threat intertwined. "I wouldn't hurt her."
"Good," Sal grunted, pushing himself up. "Because if you did, Don or no Don, you'd have to answer to me. And a few others around here who feel the same way." He paused, his eyes narrowing slightly. "You've got that look in your eyes, boy. The one that says you're going to do something stupid. Don't do it here." Sal walked away, leaving Luca to the quiet thrum of the bar, the ghosts of Sal's words hanging in the air. Stupid. Maybe. But the thought of Mia, her vibrant energy, her green eyes, made the world feel less gray, less empty. He had known only duty, loyalty, and the cold efficiency of his trade. She was something else entirely.
A few minutes later, Mia reappeared, now in her server uniform, a simple black dress that still clung to her curves, with a tray of drinks balanced expertly on her hand. She moved through the tables, a polite smile for each patron, a quick, almost imperceptible glance in Luca's direction. Their eyes met — a spark, a silent acknowledgment across the smoky room. His gaze was possessive, hungry, and hers, for a fleeting moment, held a mirror to it—a mixture of curiosity, apprehension, and something else, something warm and inviting.
"Another whiskey, Luca?" Her voice was soft, melodic, as she approached his booth, setting down a fresh glass before he even asked. He nodded, his throat suddenly tight. "Thank you, Mia."
"You always sit in the same spot," she observed, her green eyes twinkling slightly. "Like you're guarding the stage."
"Something like that," he admitted, a rare, genuine smile touching his lips. It felt foreign, unfamiliar.
"You like the music?" She asked a polite question, but her eyes searched his, looking for something deeper.
He shook his head slowly. "I like your dancing." A blush bloomed on her cheeks, a delicate flush that made her even more captivating. "It's… it's just something I do."
"It's more than that," he corrected, his voice firm. "It's life. It's fire." She looked away, with a small, almost shy smile playing on her lips. "You always say the nicest things." She picked up the empty glass. "Anything else for you tonight?"
"Just you," he thought, but he simply shook his head. "No. Just the whiskey." She nodded, turning to leave, but paused, glancing back at him over her shoulder. "Goodnight, Luca."
"Goodnight, Mia."
He watched her go, the sway of her hips, the graceful turn of her head as she greeted another customer. He was a man of steel and shadow, but she, with her light and fire, was melting something inside him. And he knew, with a certainty that chilled and thrilled him that he would burn the world down to keep her safe. Later that night, as the bar slowly emptied, Mia found herself at the counter, polishing glasses alongside Bella, another dancer and close friend.
Bella, with her quiet demeanor and intense dark eyes, was a stark contrast to Mia's more expressive nature, but on stage, Bella transformed into a creature of raw, untamed beauty. Her movements were less about grace and more about primal energy, captivating, especially for the two Irish brothers, Kaden and Killian, who frequented the bar and always seemed to find a seat near the stage when Bella danced.
"He was watching you again," Bella murmured, not looking up from the glass she meticulously dried.
"Who?" Mia asked, though she knew exactly who Bella meant.
"Luca," Bella stated, with a hint of amusement in her voice. "He never takes his eyes off you when you're up there. And when you're not, he just… broods."
Mia laughed softly. "He's sweet in his own way."
"Sweet?" Bella lifted an eyebrow. "He's a hit man, Mia. A very dangerous one."
"He's been nothing but kind to me," Mia countered, with a defensive edge to her voice. "And he always looks at me like I'm the only person in the room."
"Maybe you are," Bella conceded, shrugging. "Doesn't make him less dangerous. Or his family." She glanced towards the empty table where Luca usually sat. "Those gray eyes of his… they see everything."
"Yours do too," Mia pointed out, nudging Bella playfully. "Especially when Kaden and Killian are here."
Bella's cheeks flushed, a rare splash of color across her pale skin. "They just… they're intense. Both of them."
"They watch you just like Luca watches me," Mia teased. "Like they want to devour you."
"Maybe," Bella whispered, a faint shiver running through her. "But it's a different wanting. More… primal." Sal emerged from his office, keys jingling in his hand. "Alright, girls. Time to call it a night. Long day tomorrow."
"Coming, Sal," Mia called out, setting down her polishing cloth.
They walked out together, Sal locking the heavy front door behind them. The alley was a canyon of brick and shadow, the city's distant hum a low thrum in the night. A single flickering streetlight cast long, distorted shadows. Mia pulled her light jacket tighter against the cool air.
"Almost forgot my bag," Bella mumbled, turning back towards the door.
"I'll wait with Sal," Mia offered, already stepping out into the alley's deeper shadows. Sal was fumbling with his own keys, his back to them. Mia took a deep breath of the surprisingly cool, clean air, a welcome reprieve from the bar's stale atmosphere. Then, a sound. A wet, sickening thud.
Her eyes snapped open wide at the scene unfolding before her. Luca. He stood over a slumped figure, a dark stain spreading across the man's pristine white shirt. A knife, wickedly sharp, gleamed in Luca's hand, reflecting the distant streetlight. The man on the ground gurgled, a desperate, choking sound, his eyes wide with terror, staring up at Luca.
"You talked." Luca's voice was a low growl, devoid of any warmth, any trace of the gentleman who watched her dance. "You talked to the Russians. My uncle doesn't like traitors."
He twisted the knife — a sickening squelch — and the man went still, a final, shuddering breath escaping his lips. Luca pulled the knife free, wiping the blade methodically on the dead man's jacket, his movements precise, practiced, and chillingly calm.
Mia froze, her blood turning to ice. Her breath hitched, catching in her throat, a tiny, terrified gasp escaping her lips. Her green eyes, wide with horror, locked onto Luca's. His head snapped up, his gray eyes, usually so soft when they met hers, now cold, predatory, utterly devoid of emotion. He saw her. He saw Bella, who had just stepped out of the doorway, her bag clutched to her chest, a silent scream frozen on her face.
Silence descended, heavy and suffocating, broken only by the distant city hum and the frantic pounding of Mia's own heart against her ribs. The air, moments ago fresh, now tasted of copper and death. Luca, the man who looked at her like she was fire, was a monster. A beautiful, terrifying monster. His gaze swept from Mia to Bella, then back to the dead man at his feet. A flicker of something–regret? panic?–Crossed His face, but it was gone in an instant, replaced by a hardened resolve. He knew. They knew. And in their world, witnesses didn't survive.
"Mia?" Sal's voice, a harsh whisper, cut through the silence. He had turned, his own eyes wide, taking in the tableau. He knew the rules. Everyone knew the rules. Luca didn't move, didn't speak. He simply stood there, knife still in hand, his gray eyes burning into Mia's, a silent battle raging between the man he was for her and the man he truly was. The silence stretched, unbearable, until the distant wail of a siren pierced the night. "We need to go," Sal urged, his hand reaching for Mia, pulling her back towards the bar's entrance.
But Luca moved faster. He dropped the knife; the clatter echoing unnervingly in the alley. He closed the distance between them in two swift strides, his hand clamping around Mia's arm, his grip surprisingly gentle despite the urgency. "No," he said, his voice low, rough, a desperate plea. His eyes, still cold, held a desperate intensity when they met hers. "Mia, listen to me."
"Luca…" Her voice was a shaky breath, barely audible. She couldn't tear her gaze from the blood, from the dead man, from the monster standing before her.
"I need you to trust me," he continued, his thumb stroking her arm, a stark contrast to the violence he had just committed. "I won't let anything happen to you."
"What… what was that?" Bella finally found her voice, a broken whimper.
Luca's gaze flickered to Bella. "Sal, get her inside. Now."
Sal, moving on instinct, grabbed Bella, pulling her towards the safety of the bar. Bella resisted for a moment, her eyes fixed on Mia, on Luca, on the unspeakable horror in the alley.
"No, Mia!" Bella cried, her voice cracking. "Don't go with him!"
"She's coming with me," Luca stated, his voice firm, leaving no room for argument. He pulled Mia closer, shielding her slightly from Sal's view. "I'll take care of her."
"You think I'm just going to let you walk away with one of my girls after this?" Sal's voice was tight, strained, his face a mask of fury and fear.
"You know what happens to witnesses, Sal," Luca returned, his voice devoid of emotion. "You know the Don's rules. But she will not be a witness. Not if she's with me."
"And Bella?" Sal demanded, his eyes darting between Luca and the terrified Bella.
Luca hesitated, his jaw tightening. He looked at Mia, then back at Bella, a plan forming in his mind. "I know two men. They owe me. They'll keep her safe."
"Who?" Sal asked, distrust heavy in his voice.
"The O'Malley brothers," Luca said. "Kaden and Killian. They'll protect her. They have their own reasons to keep her close." He glanced at Bella, a silent message passing between them. The Irish brothers, who watched her dance with such intensity, would not let her come to harm.
Bella, still trembling, looked at Sal, then at Luca, a flicker of understanding in her eyes. She knew the brothers. She had felt their gaze, their unspoken desire. Maybe, just maybe, Luca was right.
"You swear it, Luca?" Sal's voice was a low growl. "You swear they'll keep her safe?"
"I swear it on my life," Luca said, his gaze unwavering. "And on hers." He looked at Mia, his eyes softening almost imperceptibly. "She's everything to me."
Mia, still numb with shock, felt the truth in his words, even thru the terror. The way he held her, the desperate plea in his eyes — it was real. This dangerous, brutal man loved her. And he would protect her. But from whom? From himself? From his own world?
"I'm calling them now," Luca said, pulling out his phone with his free hand, his grip still firm on Mia's arm. "Sal, get Bella inside. Don't let anyone see her. Tell her to wait for them. They'll be here soon." Sal, seeing the grim determination in Luca's eyes, nodded slowly. He knew Luca. Knew the weight of his word. "Alright, Luca. But if anything happens to either of them…"
"Nothing will," Luca cut him off, already dialing. He pressed the phone to his ear, his eyes never leaving Mia's. "Kaden. I need a favor. A big one." The siren grew closer, its wail echoing off the alley walls. Luca hung up, his gaze sweeping the alley one last time, a cold calculation in his eyes. "Come on," he urged Mia, pulling her gently but firmly towards a sleek, black car parked further down the alley, hidden in the deeper shadows.
Mia stumbled, her legs feeling like jelly, her mind reeling. The scent of blood, the image of the knife, Luca's terrifying transformation—it was too much. But the warmth of his hand, the fierce protection in his eyes, was a lifeline in the sudden, terrifying chaos. She didn't know where he was taking her, what would happen next, but in that moment, she had no choice but to follow.
He had killed a man, but he was also her only hope. "Where are we going?" She gasped, her voice barely a whisper. "Somewhere safe," Luca replied, opening the car door for her, his movements swift and efficient. "Somewhere they won't find you." She slid into the plush leather seat, her body still trembling. He quickly got on the driver's side, starting the engine with a low growl. The car pulled away from the curb, merging silently with the night, leaving the dead man, Sal, and a terrified Bella behind. The siren's wail faded into the distance, replaced by the hum of the powerful engine.
Mia looked at Luca, his profile stark against the passing city lights. He was a stranger, and yet, in that moment, the only person she had. Her heart still hammered, but a strange sense of calm settled over her. She had seen his darkness, witnessed his brutality, yet he was here, protecting her. The world had just shattered, but somehow, she felt a terrifying, exhilarating pull towards this man, this monster, who promised her safety a midst the wreckage.