She fought.Not wildly or blindly.She wasn’t panicked or distressed as he grabbed her arm.She banged her heel down on his foot with enough force to make him grunt.He yanked her sideways.She drove her elbow straight into his nose.There was full contact; it was a precise blow, and it delivered.
The crack echoed off the walls.
He staggered back, swearing behind the scarf, blood already pouring.She didn’t pause.She turned on him with a focus that hit me low, a pulse of heat and shock mixing in my gut.
She wasn’t afraid.She was ready to fight to the death.I didn’t know if that made her stupid or courageous.
He slapped her across the face, hard enough that the sound bounced through the alley.I moved forward again, instinct flaring, but she hit him back before I took another step.
Her fist smacked into his throat.He choked, stumbling, desperate for air.She launched herself at him, using her full body weight to take him down.They crashed to the ground.She landed on top of him, knees braced, breathing fast but controlled.
Her hand went under her shirt.
It took me half a second to realize what she was reaching for.
The knife flashed in the light.And something in me went still.
The man saw it too, and panic flooded his eyes.He hadn’t been expecting this.He had thought she would cry, beg, go limp.He had thought taking her would be easy.How wrong he was.
“How many of you are there?”she asked, voice steady, cold, terrifyingly calm.
He tried to shove her off him.She barely budged.He swung at her, but she moved like she had done this before, like someone had taught her how to survive using her body as a weapon.
She cut his palm when he grabbed for the knife.He screamed, and she pinned him down harder.
“Tell me,” she snapped.“How many?”
“Just me—just?—”
Lies.I heard it in his voice.She heard it, too.
He tried to buck her off again, desperate now, but she brought the butt of the knife down on his temple.His head hit the cobblestone.His hands went slack.His eyes unfocused.
That was all the opening she needed.She dragged the knife across his throat in one brutal, practiced line.Blood erupted, hitting her hands, her shirt, the pavement.He gurgled, choking on his own breath, fingers clawing at the air.
She didn’t move off him.She watched, mentally counting the seconds until he went still.
I stood in the shadows and watched her kill him like she had been born for this.Like violence wasn’t something that had happened to her, but something she had learned to master.
Fifteen years ago, she had been a scared child hiding in a pantry.Tonight, she was a warrior.
Something had happened between then and now—something that had darkened her edges, honed her instincts, and stripped away anything soft that was left in her.
She wiped her face with the back of her hand, breathing hard, checking the shadows in the alley.She was checking for witnesses.She didn’t see me.She was off balance, blood-soaked, shaking just enough that I knew she wasn’t fully steady.
My phone vibrated in my pocket.The sound was loud.Dull and invasive.She jerked at the intrusion, head snapping up, eyes locked in my direction.
I was already moving, slipping deeper into the shadows before she could pinpoint where it had come from.She scanned the alley with eyes that missed nothing, tension thrumming through her body like raw electricity.
For a second, she looked right through the dark where I was hidden.Then she turned and ran.Fast.Efficient.Like she had done this before.
I answered the call.
“What,” I growled.
“You need to get back to Genoa.Now.”Marcello’s voice was frantic.“A situation came up.One you need to be here for.”
He kept talking, telling me of the latest threat to our business.His words faded into background noise as I stared at the blood pooling around the dead man.