Chapter1.
Lily's POV.
My hand freezes midair. I sit motionless in front of my canvas in my second-story studio, dimly lit by a singular floor lamp, listening to the restless New York City night. It's quiet. Not a single sound. I must have imagined it. I shrug and move the tiny brush with its crimson tip closer to the canvas. I hear it again. A crashing sound and a loud ruckus coming from the alley below.
I hurry to put the paintbrush down and tiptoe over to the large window that looks directly down onto the alley. I tell myself that it's silly to tiptoe, seeing as I'm all alone in my studio and no one can hear me walking from up here, but it makes the whole situation feel a little more exciting.
I stand with my back against the wall, turning my head to peer, discreetly, between the small gap in the sheer curtain. Two men are fighting in the alley below. They're really going at each other. They grunt and puff as their bodies collide with each other.
My heart starts to race with excitement as I watch them. I know that things like these should not excite me, but I have always found danger somewhat exhilarating. A fact that I know to keep to myself.
The shorter man pins the taller one to the fence. He is dressed in black pants and a black hoodie. He also has a black ski mask over his head. I wonder if he is trying to rob the taller man. The taller man struggles to get him off. He looks like he might be wealthy. He is wearing an expensive suit with a crisp white button-down shirt. I can't help but think that he must be very brave to be fighting a robber so valiantly. That, or he really cares about his stuff and doesn't want it to be stolen.
The tall man finally manages to push the short man away from him. He does so with impressive force. The short man stumbles back a few feet. They both stare at each other for a second. They are both out of breath. Through the half-open window I can hear the tall man speaking. His tone is sharp and cold, but it doesn't sound like he's afraid.
"Why are you doing this?! Who sent you?! Who do you work for?!"
The short man does not answer him. He only continues to stare at the tall man. Then he reaches into the pocket of his black hoodie and pulls something out. He brandishes a very big knife at the tall man. Its blade gleams dangerously in the dim light of the alley.
I immediately realize that this is not a robbery. This is a hit. New York is full of gangsters and mobsters and people who are trying to kill them. I hear about it on the news almost every day. The tall man must be someone important. I rush back over to the work table next to my canvas with the half-finished painting on it. I grab my phone and hurry back to the window. By now, the tall man is lying on the ground and the short man is sitting on top of him. He is trying to plunge his knife into the tall man, but the tall man is fighting him.
I know that I should be dialing 911, but I can't seem to tear my eyes away from them. I can feel myself holding my breath. My heart is thudding, loudly, in my ears. I should probably be scared, but for some reason I'm not.
The two men struggle on the ground. They grunt as they try to fight each other. The short man wants to kill, and the tall man wants to live. I glance at the street outside the alley. It's empty and quiet. I check the time on my phone. It's a little after two in the morning. Everyone else is probably in their beds, sleeping. It feels like the three of us are the only people on earth.
I open the dial pad, but my fingers won't do the rest. It's like my body is frozen in this moment.
The tall man grunts and rolls the short man over. He grips his hand and slams it, repeatedly, onto the ground. The short man won't let go of the knife. He grunts even louder and rolls the tall man back over again. They fight and struggle. They grunt and puff. My heart still thuds away in my ears. My fingers still frozen on the screen of my phone.
I don't know why, but I find myself rooting for the tall man. I want him to come out of this alive. I don't feel like he deserves to die. Not like this, anyway.
The two men struggle some more. It looks like the tall man is trying to reach for something in his jacket pocket. He is distracted, and the short man is able to stab him. The tall man screams out in agony. I can't see where he's been stabbed. I hold my breath. The night goes completely quiet. I think the tall man is dead. The short man sits so still on top of him.
Then I hear it. A loud pop that tears through the silence. It echoes across the alley and escapes into the open street. The short man slumps onto the tall man. They remain like that for a few seconds. I begin to think that they might both be dead. Then the short man rolls over onto the ground and the tall man stands up. His shoulder is drenched in blood. The knife is still in him. He stares down at the man that just tried to kill him. I stare down at him.
All of a sudden and without warning, the tall man turns his head and looks directly up at my window. He is very handsome. He has a strong jaw and sharp facial features, but a dark shadow hangs over his eyes. He stares up at the window. It feels like he's staring at me. I realize that he must know that someone is watching him. Before I can stop myself, I gasp, very loudly. The tall man must have heard me because he immediately moves out of sight. I can't see him anymore. I don't know where he is.
A nagging voice starts up in the back of my mind. The show is over. I need to call 911. My life might be in danger now.
I dial the number, but the door to my studio bursts open before I can make the call. The tall man is here.
