His Quiet Addiction

CHAPTER 2— Caught

ELENA

I lay on the cold cobblestones, gasping for air, my palms stinging from where they'd scraped the ground. My heart hammered so violently I was certain it would burst through my ribs.

I waited for the pain. For the burning sensation of a bullet tearing through flesh.

For blood.

Nothing.

I patted my chest frantically, then my sides, my back, my legs. Still nothing.

I'm alive.

I'M ALIVE.

A hysterical laugh bubbled up in my throat. Of all the stupid things to feel relief about. They'd just shot at me and missed, which meant they could very easily correct that mistake in approximately three seconds.

Footsteps approached. Heavy, deliberate, unhurried.

I scrambled to my feet, my legs shaking so badly I nearly fell again. My bag was gone, my hair had come loose from its clip, and I probably looked like I'd been dragged through hell backwards.

Two men appeared from the shadows, flanking me on either side. They were massive, dressed in black, and looked like they could snap me in half without breaking a sweat.

"Move," one of them grunted.

"Where?" My voice came out higher than I'd intended. "Actually, you know what? Don't answer that. I don't want to know."

They grabbed my arms roughly and firmly enough that I knew struggling would be pointless. They marched me back down the alley, back toward the gallery, back toward the body still lying on the ground.

Oh God. There was a body. An actual dead body.

I was going to be sick.

We rounded the corner, and I saw him.

The tall man from before stood in the center of the alley, hands in his pockets, perfectly calm. Like he hadn't just murdered someone. Like this was a Tuesday.

His dark eyes found mine immediately, and I felt that same weight, that same suffocating presence I'd sensed from inside the gallery.

The man didn't speak, he just looked at me with those dark, calculating eyes.

The silence was worse than any threat.

"Okay, look," I started, the words tumbling out before I could stop them. "I know what this looks like. I know I saw something I shouldn't have seen. But I swear on everything holy, I won't tell anyone. Not the police. Not my friends. Not even my therapist, and I tell her everything."

Nothing. Not even a flicker of expression.

"I'm nobody," I continued desperately. "Seriously. I'm just a girl who restores paintings. I eat instant noodles four nights a week because I can't afford real food. My apartment has mold in the bathroom. I'm not a threat to you or your operation or whatever this is."

Still nothing.

"Please." My voice cracked. "I'm an only child. My parents are getting old. My mom has a bad heart. If something happens to me, it'll kill her. Literally kill her. And my dad, he just retired. They're planning a trip to the coast. They've been saving for years."

One of the men behind me shifted, but Alessandro remained perfectly still.

"And my cousins," I babbled on. "There are six of them. Little ones. They adore me. I'm the cool cousin who brings them art supplies and teaches them how to draw. If I disappear, who's going to do that? Who's going to show up to their birthday parties and pretend to like their terrible finger paintings?"

Was that the tiniest twitch of his eyebrow? I couldn't tell.

"I have a cat," I added, grasping at straws now. "Well, technically she's my neighbor's cat, but she likes me better. She'll be devastated if I don't come home. Cats have feelings too, you know."

The man to my left made a sound that might have been a suppressed snort.

"And I'm a virgin, damn, I should've let Damon knock me up" I blurted out, then immediately wished the ground would swallow me whole. "I don't know why I said that. That's not relevant. Forget I said that."

But I couldn't stop. The words just kept coming, like a dam had broken.

"What I mean is, I haven't lived yet. I haven't traveled. I haven't finished my thesis on Renaissance restoration techniques.

I haven't even tried that fancy restaurant everyone keeps talking about. The one with the chocolate soufflé. I've been saving up for months."

The man's gaze never left my face. It was unnerving. Like he was reading every thought, every fear, every desperate plea.

"I'll disappear," I said quickly. "I'll quit my job at the gallery. I'll move to another city. Another country, even. You'll never see me again. I'll become a ghost. I'm very good at being invisible. Ask anyone."

The silence stretched. My heart pounded so loud I was sure everyone could hear it.

Then the man moved. Just one step forward, but it felt like the world shifted with him.

I held my breath.

His eyes locked on mine, and for a moment I saw something flicker there. Not kindness. Not sympathy. Something else. Something I couldn't name.

He tilted his head slightly, studying me like I was a puzzle he couldn't quite figure out.

Then, impossibly, the corner of his mouth lifted. Just barely. So subtle I almost missed it.

But it was there.

A smile.

He turned to his men without a word, and with a simple gesture of his hand, gave a command I couldn't hear but they clearly understood.

"Bring her."

"Wait, what?" Panic surged through me. "Bring me where? Why? I thought we were having a moment. Wasn't that a moment?"

But they were already moving, pulling me forward as the man walked ahead, his stride confident and unhurried.

"Please," I tried again. "I have so much to live for. I haven't even finished my skincare routine tonight. Do you know how expensive that serum was?"

One of the men actually chuckled this time.

But the man in front said nothing. He just kept walking.

And I had no choice but to follow.