De Vale's Savior

Bad Alibis and Blind Spots

"I'm going to die, Lyra. My death will be on your hands, and my ghost will haunt your tiny, elevator-less apartment forever," Leo hissed, his voice trembling as Lyra practically escorted him out of the bedroom.

Renzo had finally let go of Leo's throat, but only because Lyra’s aggressive swinging of a heavy cast-iron skillet had genuinely stunned him into compliance. Seizing the moment, Lyra had grabbed her wheezing best friend by the elbow and hauled him into the small living room, shutting the bedroom door firmly behind them.

"Oh, stop being such a drama queen. You're a doctor, you should be used to high-pressure environments," Lyra whispered back, adjusting her grip on his arm as she guided him toward the front door. "Besides, you survived. Your larynx is perfectly intact, and you got a great workout on the stairs earlier."

"He almost choked me to death!" Leo whispered furiously, rubbing the faint red marks on his neck. "That man is not a thief, Lyra. Thieves don't have eyes that look like they can strip the soul right out of your body. Be careful. Seriously. I don't know what kind of monster you fished out of the gutter tonight, but you need to get him out of here the second he can walk. Do not get involved in whatever he is doing."

"I'm not getting involved. I'm just practicing hospitality," Lyra said cheerfully, opening the front door and gently nudging him out onto the welcome mat. "Thank you for the stitches, Leo! I’ll delete the karaoke video from my cloud drive. Drive safe!"

Before Leo could protest further, she clicked the door shut and locked it. She let out a long breath, running a hand through her long, messy curls. Sir Paws-a-Lot trotted over, rubbing his heavy tuxedo body against her shins. "Well, buddy," she muttered to the cat. "Let's go see if our resident giant is ready to cooperate."

When Lyra pushed the bedroom door open, Renzo was sitting upright against her headboard. He had refused to lie back down, his massive, broad-shouldered frame making her full-sized bed look like a toddler's crib. His sharp, masculine jaw was set tightly, his icy blue eyes fixed on the door the exact millisecond she stepped through. He still looked profoundly confused, his gaze tracking her oversized graphic tee and her completely unbothered posture.

Lyra crossed her arms, leaning against the doorframe. "Alright, Mr. Muscle. Now that you're not actively attempting murder on my medical staff, let's talk. Who exactly are you? A cop who went rogue, or just a very well-dressed thief?"

Renzo stared at her. His mind, usually a hyper-calculating machine that predicted his enemies' moves three steps in advance, was short-circuiting. He was Renzo De Vale. His face was regularly on the cover of global financial magazines, and his name alone made powerful men in Chicago drop to their knees in terror.

"You don't know who I am?" Renzo asked, his deep, gravelly baritone echoing in the small room. He looked at her closely, searching her expressive black eyes for any sign of a lie, a trap, or a setup.

"Should I?" Lyra asked, tilting her head sideways. Her wild curls shifted over her shoulder. She blinked innocently. "What, are you the new president of the country or something? Because to be entirely honest, I don't even know who the current president is. I block out the news. It's bad for my artistic vibes."

Renzo blinked. The absolute, genuine sincerity in her voice was baffling. She truly had no idea. The most feared mafia boss in the underworld was currently being treated like an anonymous John Doe by an art lecturer who couldn't be bothered by federal politics. A strange, almost entirely suppressed amusement tugged at the corner of his lips, though his face remained a hard, dangerous mask.

"I am a businessman," Renzo adjusted smoothly, keeping his voice leveled. "There was an unexpected conflict tonight with some... hostile competitors. A disagreement over a transaction. That is why I was shot."

"A corporate disagreement involving bullets. Right. Sounds like a very intense HR department," Lyra muttered, though she didn't push him further. She sighed, her expression softening into a slightly guilty look. "Look, I’m sorry for not taking you to a hospital. I just... I panicked. Seeing a giant man bleeding out on a dark street is a bit outside my usual Tuesday routine, and I didn't want to get dragged into a police investigation. I was afraid."

Deep down, behind his icy exterior, Renzo let out a silent breath of relief. *Thank God she’s paranoid,* he thought. If she had taken him to a public ER, his enemies would have tracked his location within twenty minutes, and a hit squad would already be leveling the building. Her fear had accidentally saved his life twice over.

"It is fine," Renzo said gruffly. "Your lack of civic duty is appreciated."

"Great. You can stay here tonight to make sure you don't leak through Leo's stitches, but you have to go tomorrow," Lyra said firmly, pointing a finger at him. "Do you need anything to eat or drink? I have garlic pasta, or water."

"Water," Renzo replied. His throat felt like sandpaper. Despite his brutal nature, he found himself instinctively trusting her. She had a frying pan and a heavy cat; she wasn't a threat.

As Lyra turned to walk toward the kitchen, Renzo’s voice stopped her. "Wait."

She paused, looking over her shoulder.

"Before you get the water," Renzo said, his blue eyes narrowing as his mind reverted to his hunt for vengeance. "The street where you found me. Did you happen to see the driver? The person who hit me with their vehicle and left me in the dark?"

Lyra’s heart did a tiny, violent flip inside her chest. Her black eyes widened for a split second before she forced her face into an expression of pure, unadulterated ignorance. *Oh my god,* she realized. *He thinks it was a hit-and-run by someone else. He doesn't know it was me.*

"Oh. Um. No," Lyra said smoothly, clearing her throat and offering a completely straight face. "No, I didn't see anyone. The street was completely empty when I walked by. Just you, lying there like a very large speed bump. Whoever hit you must have driven off really fast. Truly terrible people out there in the city, you know? No morals."

Renzo nodded slowly, his jaw tightening. "When I find them, they will regret breathing."

"I am sure they will," Lyra squeaked, turning around quickly so he wouldn't see the nervous sweat forming on her forehead. *Note to self,* she thought frantically as she poured tap water into a glass. *Never, ever let him see the front bumper of my sedan.*

She walked back into the room and handed him the glass. Renzo drank it in one massive swallow, his throat moving tightly.

"Can I use your phone?" Renzo asked, setting the empty glass on her nightstand. "Mine was destroyed during the... disagreement."

"Sure, just don't look at my photo gallery. It's ninety percent pictures of my cat sleeping in weird positions," Lyra said, pulling her phone from her pocket and unlocking it before handing it over.

Renzo took the device, his large fingers looking comically massive against the screen. He dialed a number from memory. The call connected almost instantly.

"Speak," a sharp, defensive voice answered on the other end. It was his secretary and trusted strategist.

"It's me," Renzo commanded, his voice dropping into a low, lethal baritone that instantly radiated absolute authority.

"Boss! Crimson and gold, you're alive. We’ve been scouring the grid. Marco is stable, but the syndicate is leaking. The traitors are locking down the main routes. Where are you? We’ll send an armored extraction team immediately—"

"No," Renzo interrupted, his icy blue eyes shifting over to Lyra, who was currently trying to stop Sir Paws-a-Lot from eating a loose thread on her rug. "Do not come to my location. The grid is compromised, and an extraction team will draw too much attention. I am injured, but stable. I need to drop off the radar and hide for a few days until we identify the leak from within."

"Understood, Boss. But where will you stay safely?"

Renzo kept his gaze locked on Lyra’s wild curls. "I have found a secure safehouse. Stay silent until I contact you."

He ended the call and deleted the dialed number from the log with a practiced swipe of his thumb. He held the phone out to Lyra.

She took it back, looking at him with a raised eyebrow. "Alright, corporate man. You made your call. Tomorrow morning, you're free to check out of Hotel Lyra."

Renzo leaned his head back against the wall, his jagged eyebrow twitching slightly as he looked at her with a steady, unyielding intensity.

"I cannot leave tomorrow," Renzo stated flatly, his dark voice carrying an undeniable weight. "My enemies are watching the streets. I need to stay here. For a few days."

Lyra froze. Her jaw dropped, her black eyes rounding into dinner plates. "Excuse me? A few days? Absolutely not! You're a giant, dangerous businessman who gets shot for fun, and I have a quiet life filled with grading essays and feeding a tuxedo cat! You cannot stay here!"

Renzo didn't argue. He just leaned forward slightly, the fabric of his shirt straining against his chest, his icy blue eyes holding her gaze with a dangerous, deeply intrigued spark. "I will pay you more money than your university makes in a decade. And I am very quiet when I want to be."

Lyra stared at him, utterly shocked, her mind racing as she realized she had just locked the most dangerous riddle in the city inside her own spare bedroom.