Her Blood

The city never slept, but tonight it bled.

Aria Leone had only wanted to help. Her hands were supposed to heal-not tremble under the weight of fear. But as she crouched behind a dumpster in the alley behind St. Vincent's Emergency Room, soaked in rain and adrenaline, she realized she had seen too much.

The gunshot still echoed in her ears.

A man had collapsed in front of her minutes ago, bleeding out, mumbling something about betrayal and black roses. She had dropped her phone while trying to dial 911. Then he appeared-tall, composed, dressed in an expensive suit with a gun in his gloved hand.

One shot to the forehead. Execution-style.

And then silence.

Aria's breath hitched. She should've run, should've screamed. But her feet refused to move.

The killer turned. Their eyes met.

It was like staring at death-and death looked right back at her.

For a heartbeat, neither moved. He tilted his head slightly, as if confused to see her there. She thought he might shoot her too. But instead, he slowly tucked the gun away, removed his gloves, and walked toward her.

"You're not supposed to be here," he said calmly, his voice like midnight-cold, deliberate, and unnervingly smooth.

"I-he was bleeding-I thought-" Her voice cracked. Her scrubs were wet, the smell of blood clinging to her like a second skin.

"You saw too much," he said, stopping a foot away. "What's your name?"

She stayed silent. Maybe if she didn't answer, he'd let her go.

"I asked you a question." His tone didn't rise, but something shifted in his eyes-dark, unyielding, with a warning behind every blink.

"Aria," she whispered.

The man stepped closer, lifted a gloved hand to gently tuck a wet strand of hair behind her ear. Aria flinched. "Pretty name," he murmured. "Shame."

He reached for his phone.

"Please," she blurted. "I didn't see anything. I didn't even- I don't know who you are."

He raised a brow. "But you did see something. And unfortunately, that puts me in a difficult position."

Her heart thundered. Her knees began to shake. This was it.

Death wasn't supposed to be beautiful, but he was. And that made it worse.

"Dante," a new voice called. A man in a leather jacket stepped into the alley, eyes flicking between Aria and the suited figure. "We've got company. Police scanner says they're heading this way."

Dante.

The name curled around her fear like smoke.

"Take her," Dante said, without looking back. "She's mine now."

Aria didn't scream when the men blindfolded her. She didn't cry when they tossed her into the back of a black SUV and drove for what felt like hours. But she memorized every detail she could: the smell of leather, the curve of the driver's nose, the chill in the car's AC. She would escape. Somehow.