RUN FROM ME

SERA Rain always makes the world feel like it is hiding something it does not want me to see. That night, I almost walked past him. Almost. The street was quiet in that strange way late-night cities become, where even sound feels tired and distant. The flickering streetlights made everything look softer than it really was, like the world was pretending to be harmless for a few hours. My shoes were already soaked, and I remember thinking only about getting home, changing clothes, and forgetting the long shift at the café. Then I saw him. At first, just a shape near the edge of the road. Still. Wrong. I slowed down without meaning to. A man lying on the ground in the rain was not unusual in some parts of the city, but something about this felt different. Too controlled. Too intentional. Like even collapse did not suit him. I stepped closer, my heartbeat already shifting for reasons I did not understand yet. My breath caught. Blood. Dark, spreading into the water around him, bleeding into the rain like the street itself was absorbing him. My first instinct was to leave. My second instinct was also to leave. But then his fingers moved slightly. That small movement changed everything. He was still alive. “Hey…” I said carefully, crouching down. “Can you hear me?” No answer. Just rain hitting the pavement, soft and endless. Then suddenly, his hand shot out and grabbed my wrist. I gasped, trying to pull away instantly, but his grip locked around me like iron. Cold, firm, controlled even in weakness. His eyes opened. Dark. Sharp. Unforgiving. Even injured, he looked like someone dangerous. Not the kind of danger that shouted or panicked. The kind that stayed quiet until it was too late. “Who sent you?” he asked. His voice was low, rough, like pain had become normal to him. “No one,” I said quickly. “I don’t know you.” He stared at me like he was deciding whether that was true or not. The rain slid down his face, mixing with blood on his skin. He didn’t look surprised to be bleeding. That scared me more than the wound itself. “Let go of me,” I added, trying to steady my voice. Instead, his grip tightened slightly. “You shouldn’t be here,” he muttered. “I could say the same thing to you,” I shot back before I could stop myself. For a second, something shifted in his expression. Not amusement. Something heavier. Like I had interrupted a thought he didn’t expect to have. “You’re going to die if you stay here,” I said more quietly this time. He exhaled slowly. “Then leave.” That should have been the end. Normal people would have left. Smart people would have run. But I didn’t. With effort, I managed to get his arm over my shoulder. He was heavier than he looked, like his presence carried more than just a body. He didn’t resist, but he didn’t help much either. Just watched me the entire time, eyes half-lidded, tracking everything. “You’re making a mistake,” he said quietly as I helped him move. “I already know that,” I replied. The walk to my apartment felt longer than it should have. Every step felt like I was dragging something into my life that did not belong there. Inside, everything suddenly felt too small. Too normal. Too fragile. I sat him down on my couch carefully. “This is going to hurt,” I warned. “I’ve survived worse,” he replied without looking at me. That was the first time I really looked at him properly. The scars were not random. They told a story I did not understand. Some were old, faded but still visible. Others were fresh enough that I had to force my hands not to shake while cleaning them. “You talk too much,” he said suddenly. I froze. “Excuse me?” “When you’re nervous,” he added. “I’m not nervous,” I lied immediately. His eyes flicked to mine. “You are.” That simple statement made something tighten in my chest. Not fear exactly. Something closer to being seen too clearly. “What’s your name?” I asked quickly. A pause. “Alessandro,” he said. Just that. No surname. No explanation. No softness. Just a name that felt heavier than it should have. When I finished bandaging him, I stood up slowly. “You need to leave in the morning,” I said firmly. His gaze followed me slowly. “We’ll see,” he replied. That was not an agreement. It was a warning disguised as calm. I didn’t sleep that night. Because silence in my apartment no longer felt safe. It felt like waiting. Morning came too quickly. I barely had time to sit up when I heard movement outside. Not random noise. Organized. Too synchronized to be normal. I walked to the window slowly. Black cars. Parked neatly outside my building like they belonged there. Men stepped out first. Suits. Earpieces. Cold faces. And then I saw him again. Alessandro was already outside. Standing like he had been waiting for them, not the other way around. One of the men opened the door of a car immediately. “Boss,” he said respectfully. Boss. That word made my stomach tighten. I stayed behind the curtain, watching. He was no longer injured. No longer weak. He looked like someone entirely different from the man I dragged inside last night. Controlled. Powerful. Untouchable. Then suddenly, he turned his head. Straight toward my window. Even from upstairs, I felt it. Like he knew exactly where I was standing. My breath caught. He stared for a long moment. Then he started walking. Directly toward my building. My body froze. A loud knock hit my door minutes later. Not aggressive. Not rushed. Just final. Three knocks. I opened it slowly. A man in a suit stood there. “Miss,” he said politely. “Come with us.” My throat went dry. “Why?” He didn’t answer. Because behind him, I saw Alessandro again. Standing at the bottom of the stairs now. Closer. Real. His eyes met mine instantly. And this time, there was no distance between rain and memory. Just him. “Get ready,” he said calmly. I blinked. “What?” “You’re coming with me.” My heart dropped. “No. I’m not going anywhere with you.” For the first time, something flickered in his expression. Not anger. Decision. He stepped closer. Not rushing. Never rushing. “You are,” he said simply. “That’s not how this works,” I whispered. His gaze held mine. For a second too long. Then he spoke again, quieter this time. “It already does.” And before I could react, the men behind him stepped forward. Not touching me. Just surrounding me. Not giving me space to refuse. Alessandro turned slightly. “Bring her,” he said. And just like that… My life stopped being mine.