As she turned the corner onto a quieter street, a sense of unease settled over her. The usual buzz of the city faded, replaced by something more sinister-an eerie stillness. The hair on the back of her neck prickled.
That's when she saw them.
A group of men stood near a blacked-out SUV, their voices hushed but urgent. The glow of a streetlamp caught the sharp gleam of a gun as one of them pressed it against another man's temple. The victim-a middle-aged man in a tailored suit-was trembling, his hands raised in surrender.
Lily froze. Her breath hitched.
This wasn't some petty mugging. This was something else.
Her mind screamed at her to turn around, to run-but her body betrayed her, rooted to the spot.
And then, as if sensing her presence, one of the men lifted his head.
Her heart stopped.
He was tall-easily over six feet-with sharp cheekbones and piercing dark eyes that locked onto her with lethal precision. He was dressed in a perfectly tailored black suit, the expensive fabric clinging to his powerful frame. But there was something colder about him, something dangerous in the way he stared at her.
Lily sucked in a breath.
Run.
She spun on her heel, but she barely made it two steps before she heard the deep, commanding voice.
"Stop."
Her body reacted against her will, her muscles tensing. She didn't turn around, but she didn't move either.
Footsteps echoed against the pavement, slow and deliberate, growing closer. Her pulse pounded in her ears.
A warm presence loomed behind her, too close, too consuming.
"Turn around," the voice demanded.
She swallowed hard and obeyed, her movements stiff with fear.
He stood in front of her now, his dark eyes studying her with a mix of irritation and something else-something unreadable.
"You shouldn't be here," he said, his voice low, velvety, and full of authority.
"I-" She swallowed again, struggling to find her voice. "I didn't see anything."
A cruel smirk tugged at his lips. "You're a terrible liar, piccola."
The endearment-or whatever it was-rolled off his tongue smoothly, but there was no warmth behind it.
"Please," she whispered. "I won't say anything. I swear."
His head tilted slightly, as if weighing her words. Then, without breaking eye contact, he lifted a hand and snapped his fingers.
Two men immediately moved forward.
Fear shot through her. "Wait-no, please-"
A strong hand wrapped around her arm, firm but not painful.
"You should've kept walking, bella," he murmured, his voice dark with finality.
Panic flooded her chest as she struggled against their grip.
"Let me go! Please, I won't tell anyone-"
He sighed, as if already growing tired of her protests. Then, before she could react, he leaned in close, his lips grazing the shell of her ear as he whispered:
"Too late."
The world spun as something cold and sharp pressed against her neck. A sweet, sickly scent invaded her senses, and before she could fight it, darkness consumed her.