Bound to the mafia king

Elena Romano never took shortcuts at night. Milan was beautiful after dark—golden lights reflected on wet stone streets, laughter drifting from cafés, the city alive with quiet danger—but beauty didn’t mean safety. Still, the rain was relentless that evening, pounding against the pavement and soaking through her coat as she hurried home from her late shift. Just one shortcut, she told herself. Five minutes faster. The narrow street was nearly empty, the lamps flickering weakly overhead. Her footsteps echoed too loudly, each one magnified by the silence. Elena pulled her coat tighter around her body, unease crawling up her spine for reasons she couldn’t explain. Then the sound shattered everything. A gunshot. Sharp. Violent. Too close. Elena froze mid-step, breath lodging painfully in her throat. Another shot rang out, followed by the unmistakable sound of a body slamming against brick. Somewhere nearby, a man cursed—low, furious, and strained with pain. Run. Her instincts screamed at her to turn back, to flee into the rain and never look over her shoulder. Milan had taught her that survival meant minding her business. But her feet wouldn’t move. From the shadows at the end of the alley, a figure staggered forward. Tall. Broad-shouldered. Dressed in a black coat that did nothing to hide the blood spreading rapidly across his chest. Rain plastered his dark hair to his forehead, streaking crimson down his temple. He stepped into the weak light of the streetlamp—and lifted his head. Their eyes met. Elena’s heart slammed violently against her ribs. His gaze was piercing, metallic, and terrifyingly sharp. Even wounded, even bleeding, he looked like a man accustomed to command. Power clung to him like a second skin. “Help me,” he said. It wasn’t a plea. It was an order delivered through clenched teeth. He took one more step toward her before his knees buckled. Elena gasped as he collapsed, instinct finally overriding fear. She ran forward, dropping to the wet pavement beside him, her hands shaking as she pressed them against the wound in his chest. “You’re bleeding,” she whispered frantically. “Oh God—you’re bleeding so much.” He hissed when she touched him, but his hand shot out, gripping her wrist with startling strength. His palm was warm. Steady. Dangerous. “If they find me like this,” he said, voice rough but controlled, “I’m dead.” Sirens wailed faintly in the distance. Elena’s eyes darted around the alley. “The police—” “Not them,” he interrupted sharply. “Them.” Before she could ask what he meant, headlights flooded the alley. Black cars screeched to a halt at both ends of the street, tires slicing through water. Doors flew open. Men poured out—dressed in dark suits, armed, alert, lethal. Elena’s breath caught in her chest. One of them swore softly. “Boss.” Boss? The wounded man straightened slightly, pain etched across his face but authority intact. “Secure the perimeter,” he ordered. “Now.” The men moved instantly. Hands grabbed Elena’s arms, pulling her away from him. She cried out in panic, rain mixing with tears as fear crashed over her like a wave. “Wait—please—I didn’t do anything!” His head snapped toward her. For a split second, something unreadable crossed his face. “Don’t hurt her,” he said. The command was calm. Absolute. They released her immediately. She stood there trembling, soaked to the bone, staring as they lifted him carefully into one of the cars. The door closed, shutting him from view—but not before his eyes found hers one last time. Steel-gray. Unforgettable. The engines roared to life. The cars disappeared into the rain as quickly as they’d arrived, leaving the alley empty and silent once more. Elena stood alone beneath the flickering streetlight, heart racing, hands still stained with blood. She didn’t know his name yet. But she would. And by the time she did, it would already be too late. When Elena finally reached her apartment, she scrubbed her hands until they were raw. The water ran pink, then clear, but the feeling wouldn’t leave her skin. She paced the small living room, replaying the night over and over again. The gunshots. The blood. His eyes. She told herself it was over. She hadn’t done anything wrong. She had helped someone in need. That was all. The knock came just before dawn. Three sharp raps. Elena’s heart dropped into her stomach. She opened the door to find two men in black suits standing calmly in the hallway. Behind them, the morning light crept through the windows, illuminating their cold expressions. “Miss Elena Romano,” one said politely. “You’re coming with us.”