The Mafia Prince

A light drizzle fell from the dark sky as moonlight cast eerie shadows across the lonely street. The city was unusually quiet for a Friday night. Mekilda tightened her grip on the keys in her hand as she hurried to lock the front door of Steamy Chicken Restaurant. At twenty-one, she had grown accustomed to late shifts and lonely walks home, but tonight felt different. The air was colder. Heavier. Almost as if something terrible was waiting in the darkness. The metal lock clicked into place. "Finally," she muttered. Exhaustion weighed heavily on her shoulders. All she wanted was a hot shower and her bed. Pulling her jacket tighter around herself, she began walking toward home. She had barely gone twenty meters when three sharp gunshots shattered the silence. Bang! Bang! Bang! Mekilda froze. Her heart nearly stopped. The sound had come from somewhere ahead. Instinct took over. She ducked behind a parked vehicle and peered around it. What she saw made her blood run cold. Three men dressed entirely in black stood in the middle of the street. Their faces were hidden beneath dark masks. Each carried a gun. At their feet lay a young man. Blood pooled beneath him, mixing with the rainwater running along the road. For a moment, Mekilda wondered if she should run. Then one of the men spoke. "He's dead. Leave the body." Another laughed. "His father will get the message." The tallest man stepped forward and looked down at the wounded stranger. "We're coming for him next." The third man smirked. "The power belongs to us now." Mekilda pressed herself harder against the vehicle. Her breathing became shallow. Who were these people? And what kind of power were they talking about? A black SUV pulled up beside them. The men climbed inside. Moments later, the vehicle disappeared into the darkness. Silence returned. Mekilda remained frozen. She counted to thirty before slowly stepping out from her hiding place. The sensible thing would be to leave. Call the police. Forget she had ever seen any of it. Then she noticed something. A finger moved. Her eyes widened. The wounded man was alive. "Oh my God." Fear screamed at her to run. Yet her feet carried her forward. Rain soaked her hair as she knelt beside him. Up close, he looked no older than twenty-five. Even beneath the blood covering his face, his features were striking. Dark hair. Strong jaw. Broad shoulders. Someone who looked more like a prince from a storybook than a victim lying on a cold street. Mekilda immediately shook the thought away. "This isn't the time to admire him," she whispered. His breathing was weak. Very weak. Carefully, she checked his body. The bullet had struck his leg. Blood continued flowing from the wound. Thankfully, she discovered he was wearing a protective vest beneath his clothing. The other bullets had failed to penetrate. Relief washed over her. At least he had a chance. Quickly removing her scarf, she tied it tightly around his injured leg to slow the bleeding. The man groaned. His eyes fluttered open for a second. Dark eyes met hers. Confused. Pain-filled. Then they closed again. "Stay with me." She checked his pulse. Still there. Weak but steady. Mekilda looked around the empty street. No one. Not a single person. She was on her own. Taking a deep breath, she wrapped one of his arms around her shoulders and struggled to lift him. He was much heavier than she expected. "Seriously? Do you live at the gym?" she muttered. Somehow, she managed to get him moving. Step by painful step, they made their way toward her small house. The journey felt endless. Several times she nearly collapsed under his weight. Finally, the familiar building appeared. Relief flooded through her. She unlocked the door and guided him inside. The moment they crossed the threshold, the stranger lost consciousness completely. His body fell against her. Together they crashed onto the floor. "Perfect," she groaned. After several exhausting minutes, she managed to drag him onto the couch. As a trained nurse, she immediately gathered her medical supplies. She cleaned the wound carefully and stopped the bleeding as best she could. The injury was serious, but not fatal. For now. As she worked, she noticed something strange. A silver pendant hung around his neck. Engraved upon it was a symbol she had never seen before. A crown surrounded by flames. Mekilda frowned. Something told her this was no ordinary man. And helping him might be the biggest mistake of her life. Outside, thunder rumbled in the distance. Inside, the unconscious stranger slowly tightened his fingers around the pendant. Neither of them knew it yet. But tonight had changed everything.