Twisted love: A mafia romance

The rain didn’t wash away blood. Julianna Mercer learned that the moment the first body hit the pavement. She’d been cutting through the alley behind St. Vincent’s, her uniform damp from her diner shift, the smell of grease clinging to her skin. Her phone buzzed — another reminder about her father’s cardiology appointment. Emmet’s heart had been getting worse. The doctor said stress could kill him. Jules hadn’t slept properly in weeks. She’d been crying when she stumbled into the middle of a m******e. Three men stood over a fourth, already dead, his blood pooling pink in the rain. A black car idled at the end of the alley — expensive, no plates. Jules froze. The first man turned. A snake tattoo crawled up his neck, and his eyes landed on her. He smiled like he’d found something fun. “Well, well. A little bird.” She couldn’t move. Her phone slipped from her fingers, hitting the ground with a wet crack. Snake Neck grabbed her by the hair. She screamed. He pressed a knife to her throat — cold steel, sharp enough to draw blood. “Shut up,” he whispered. “You’re going to help us send a message.” The second man laughed. “Kill her. She saw everything.” “No.” Snake Neck yanked her closer. “She’s valuable. Alive. The Don’s men will find her body and think it’s a message about his precious daughter.” Jules didn’t understand what he meant. She only understood she was going to die in this alley, clutching a hospital bill she couldn’t afford. Then the car door opened. She didn’t see him move. One moment he was standing by the car; the next, the second man was on the ground, skull cracked against the bricks. The third tried to run — a knife appeared in the back of his head, and he dropped like a stone. Snake Neck yanked her backward, the knife pressing harder against her throat. “Stay back!” he shouted. “I’ll cut her! I swear to God—” The man in the suit didn’t flinch. His eyes were gray, winter cold. His suit was Italian, soaked through with rain and blood. For one second, when he looked at the knife pressed to her throat, something flickered in his face — like he’d seen a woman in danger before, like he’d been too late once. Then he raised a gun and shot Snake Neck between the eyes. The grip on her hair went slack. The body crumpled. She staggered forward, gasping, hands flying to her throat, covered in blood — his, theirs — warm and thick. She couldn’t breathe. The man in the suit walked toward her. She backed away until her spine hit the wall. Nowhere to run. He stopped a foot from her, tall, impossibly tall, his presence swallowing the air. She smelled gunpowder, rain, iron. “You didn’t see anything,” he said, his voice quiet, calm, like he was discussing the weather. She couldn’t speak. She was shaking too hard. “You were never here.” He leaned closer. “Do you understand me?” She nodded frantically. He studied her — her face, her soaked uniform, the hospital bill still clutched in her trembling fingers. “My father,” she whispered. He raised an eyebrow. “He’s in the hospital.” Her voice cracked. “I was walking to see him. I can’t die. He has no one else. Please.” She didn’t know why she was begging. This man had just killed three people. He was a monster. But she was desperate, drowning, and he was the only person who could save her. Something shifted in his eyes — pain, recognition. She didn’t understand it. He reached out. She flinched, but he only took the bill from her fingers and looked at it — the balance enormous, six figures, one she’d been trying to pay off for years. He pocketed it, then grabbed her wrist — firm, not painful — and pulled her toward the car. “Get in.” “Wh-what?” “Get in the car. I’m taking you to the hospital.” She should have run. She should have screamed. Instead she got in the car. The drive was silent, his knuckles bloody from something else. The hospital appeared too soon — the same emergency entrance she’d walked past a thousand times. This time everything felt different. He didn’t turn off the engine. He just looked at her. “Get out.” She reached for the door handle, then turned back. “Thank you—” He cut her off, eyes ice. “Listen to me very carefully.” His voice was low, sharp as a blade. “You saw nothing. You know nothing. If you tell anyone what happened tonight — if you even breathe my name — I will find you, and I will end you. Do you understand?” She froze, heart hammering. “I asked you a question.” “Yes.” Her voice was barely a whisper. “I understand.” “Good.” He leaned across her and pushed the door open.“Now get out. And forget you ever saw me.” She scrambled out and didn’t look back. The engine roared, and he was gone before she could close the door. She stood in the rain, shaking, covered in blood, watching the taillights disappear. He was rude. Cold. Arrogant. He’d saved her life and then threatened to take it. He hadn’t even let her say thank you. She hated him. She hated that she owed him her life. Three days later, Jules still couldn’t shake the memory. She’d scrubbed her skin raw, washed her uniform three times, told herself it was over — she’d never see him again. But every time she remembered his cold eyes, his dismissive tone, the way he’d sped off before she could finish a sentence, she felt a hot, furious anger building in her chest. Who did he think he was? Jules scoffed as she walked into the coffee shop near the hospital, exhausted from her night shift, needing caffeine before morning class. She ordered her usual — black coffee, extra shot — and turned to leave, running straight into a wall of solid muscle. Hot coffee splashed across a pristine white shirt. “s**t!” She stumbled back. “I’m so sorry—” The man looked down at the stain spreading across his chest, jaw tightening. Jules looked up. Her breath caught. Gray eyes. Winter. Cold. The man from the alley. He was even worse in daylight — taller, broader, his suit immaculate, now ruined by cheap coffee. His face was carved from stone. He had the audacity to look annoyed. “You should watch where you’re going,” he said, flat and dismissive. Jules’s shock evaporated, replaced by pure fury. He was annoyed? “You.” Her voice was sharp. “You’re the one who—” His eyes flickered with recognition, just for a second. Then it was gone. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Calm, like she was a stranger. Jules gaped at him. “Excuse me?” “Are you hard of hearing?” He pulled out his wallet, peeled off a hundred-dollar bill, and shoved it toward her. “For the shirt. Don’t expect an apology. You caused this.” She stared at the money, then at his face. He was pretending he didn’t know her. A man laughed behind him — shorter, stockier, dark-haired, watching with obvious amusement. “Travis,” the laughing man said. “You’re being rude.” Travis shot him a look. “Stay out of this, Dimitri.” Dimitri held up his hands. “I’m just saying. The woman spilled coffee on you. You could at least say sorry.” Travis ignored him. “Do you want the money or not?” Jules was trembling with fury. She snatched the bill from his hand. “I don’t want your money. I want you to admit you’re lying. You know exactly who I am. You saved my life three nights ago. You threatened to kill me. And now you’re standing here pretending I’m a stranger—” “Madam.” Travis cut her off, voice ice. “I don’t know you. I don’t have time for this.” He stepped around her toward the counter. Dimitri stayed behind, still grinning. “He’s always like that,” Dimitri said cheerfully. “Don’t take it personally.” “Take it personally?” Jules’s voice was incredulous. “He just — he threatened to — and now he’s—” “I know.” Dimitri nodded. “He’s an ass. But that’s how you get to the top, I guess.” Travis called from the counter. “Dimitri. Let’s go.” Dimitri winked at Jules. “Nice meeting you, coffee girl. Don’t worry about him. He’s not worth it.” He walked away. Jules stood clutching the hundred-dollar bill, heart pounding with rage. That arrogant, cold, lying— She stuffed the bill in her pocket. She’d use it for her father’s medication. But she’d remember this. Travis. She had a name now. He didn’t turn around. He walked out with Dimitri at his side, face a mask of ice, heart slamming against his ribs. Dimitri was quiet for one block. Then he cracked. “What the hell was that? The girl from the alley — the one who recognized you, the one you pretended not to know.” Travis didn’t answer. Dimitri laughed. “She wasn’t moved by you. She was furious. She didn’t care about the money — she just wanted you to admit the truth.” Travis’s jaw tightened. “She’s not important. I saved her because she was a witness. She couldn’t die.” “Right. And that’s why your hands are clenched. Why you’re walking so fast.” Dimitri smirked. “She’s nobody, you said. A diner waitress. Not your type. Yet you just stood there, frozen, while she called you out. You, Travis Volkov, who never hesitates — speechless.” “I wasn’t speechless.” “You handed her a hundred dollars and told her not to expect an apology.” Dimitri shook his head, laughing. “She got to you, boss. First woman who ever looked at you like you were nothing. I’m going to remember this forever — the great Travis Volkov, undone by a coffee-stained diner waitress.” “I’m going to kill you.” “No, you’re not. You love me too much.” Dimitri walked away, still chuckling. Travis stood on the sidewalk as rain began to fall again. He thought about Jules’s eyes — furious, defiant. She wasn’t afraid of him. She’d called him out in public, without hesitation. Nothing like Ana. Nothing like the other women. She was innocent. Good. Everything he wasn’t. He told himself she wasn’t his type. He was lying.