Chapter 3: The Watcher in the Rain
726 Words
Elena
Three nights had passed since I’d stitched up the "Prince of Ash," and I was jumpy. Every time the ER doors hissed open, my breath hitched. Every time a black SUV slowed down near the bus stop, my hand tightened on my pepper spray.
I told myself I was being paranoid. Men like Alessandro Moretti didn't say "thank you," and they certainly didn't hang around to chat with the help. I was a fleeting moment in his violent life—a pit stop.
But then the flowers started arriving.
Not at the hospital—that would have been too public. They were on my doorstep. No card. Just a bouquet of deep, blood-red roses so dark they looked black. And they weren't from a florist. The stems were still damp, and the thorns hadn't been stripped. They were beautiful, sharp, and a warning.
I know where you live.
Tonight, the Chicago rain was turning into a freezing sleet. I stepped out of the hospital at 7:00 AM, my bones aching after a twelve-hour shift. I huddled into my coat, walking toward the "L" train station.
The street felt too quiet.
I heard the heavy crunch of boots on gravel behind me. I didn't look back. I sped up, my heart drumming a frantic rhythm against my ribs. I turned the corner toward the station, but a hand—large, warm, and gloved—clapped over my mouth while another arm wrapped around my waist, hauling me back into the shadows of an alleyway.
I fought. I bit. I kicked. I slammed my heel down on a polished leather boot.
"Easy, piccola," a familiar, gravelly voice vibrated against my ear. "You’ll bruise yourself."
The scent hit me first—sandalwood, expensive tobacco, and that metallic tang of power. Alessandro.
He spun me around, pinning me against the brick wall. He didn't use his full weight, but he didn't need to. He was a mountain of muscle and tailored wool. His grey eyes were darker today, matching the stormy sky above us. He looked healthy—deadly healthy.
"You," I gasped, my chest heaving. "You scared the hell out of me!"
"You should be scared," he murmured. He leaned in, his face inches from mine. His gaze dropped to my lips, then back to my eyes. "The city is full of monsters, Elena. I told you that you were mine now. That means I protect what's mine."
"I am not an object, Alessandro. I'm not 'yours'." I tried to push against his chest, but it was like trying to move a brick wall. "And I don't need protection. I was fine until you showed up and started leaving thorns on my porch."
His hand came up, his thumb tracing the line of my lower lip. The touch was light, but it sent a bolt of pure, unadulterated electricity through my body. My knees felt weak, and I hated myself for it.
"The roses were a reminder," he whispered, his voice dropping to a dangerous, seductive low. "A reminder that I'm watching. Always."
"Why?" I breathed.
"Because I haven't slept since you touched me," he confessed, his eyes burning with a raw, obsessive hunger. "I close my eyes and I feel your hands on my skin. I see the way you looked at me—like I was a man, not a monster. I want that look again. I need it."
He leaned closer, his nose brushing mine. I could feel the heat radiating off him, a stark contrast to the freezing rain. He was invading my space, my life, and my sanity.
"Go home, Elena," he commanded, though his hand stayed tangled in my hair, pulling my head back just enough to expose my throat. "My men will be following your train. Don't try to lose them."
"And if I do?"
He smirked, a jagged, beautiful expression that made my heart skip a beat. "Then I'll just have to come find you myself. And trust me, sweetheart... you'll like the way I find you a lot less than the way I'm letting you go now."
He stepped back, disappearing into the gray mist of the rain before I could even find my voice.
- Writer
