My breath caught in my throat, lungs screaming for air I didn't dare to pull in too loudly. The flashlight trembled in my hand, casting shaky shadows along the walls as the man stepped into view.
"You don't know me," he said casually, like we were acquaintances catching up after a long time. "But I know you, Riya. I've been watching for a while now."
My voice finally returned, hoarse and uneven. "What do you want?"
He tilted his head slightly, eyes calculating. "Let's just say… Justin made some choices. And when men like him make the wrong ones, the consequences don't just fall on their heads. They fall on the people they care about."
A chill crawled up my spine.
"He doesn't even know you're here," I whispered, partly to myself, partly to test him.
"Oh, he knows," the man said, stepping closer. "He's the one who begged us not to touch you. Said he'd do anything. Said he'd vanish. Said he'd bleed."
He paused, watching my reaction. "You're not just a distraction. You're a weapon. And he handed you to us without even realizing it."
I stepped back, bumping into the kitchen table.
"You're bluffing."
He laughed softly. "I wish I was. But the clock's ticking, sweetheart. And your boy's time is almost up."
My hand inched behind me, toward the drawer where I kept a kitchen knife. I needed time. I needed a way out.
"You're making a mistake," I said, stalling. "If you hurt me, Justin—"
"Will fold," the man interrupted. "That's the point."
He took one final step forward—and in that split second, I lunged.
My hand closed around the knife, and I swung it wide, not aiming for precision—just distance.
He grunted as the blade grazed his arm, but I was already sprinting toward the front door. My hands fumbled at the lock, heart racing so loud it drowned out everything else.
I got it open.
Bolted outside into the cold night, barefoot on the pavement.
I didn't look back.
My only thought was: get away.
I ran. Down the street. Around the block. Toward the flickering lights of the corner store two blocks away. I didn't stop until I reached the edge of the sidewalk, collapsed against the glass storefront, and slid down to the concrete, gasping.
Inside, the cashier looked startled. He reached for the phone, probably ready to call the cops.
I waved him off, adrenaline still roaring. "No police. Please."
He hesitated but nodded.
I pulled out my phone with shaking fingers.
Three missed calls.
One from Leila. Two from a number I didn't recognize.
No new messages.
I dialed Leila.
She answered on the first ring.
"Riya?" she asked, panicked. "Where are you? What happened?"
"There was someone in my house," I whispered, glancing over my shoulder. "He said he knew Justin. Said I was a weapon."
Silence.
Then: "Get somewhere safe. I'm on my way."
I hung up.
And that's when I noticed something tucked beneath my arm, wedged into my hoodie pocket.
I didn't remember grabbing anything on the way out.
I pulled it out slowly.
A small envelope.
White. Unmarked. Light.
My name was scrawled across the front in familiar handwriting.
Justin's.
I tore it open with trembling hands.
Inside was a single note, hastily written:
> "They're coming for you sooner than I thought. If you find this, don't trust anyone. Not even Leila."
My blood turned to ice.
Behind me, a car engine started.
I turned, just in time to see Leila's familiar red sedan pull up to the curb.
She stepped out, looking exactly like herself.
But now I didn't know what that meant anymore.
My fingers tightened around the note.
Leila rushed toward me, her brows furrowed, her voice rising with worry. "Riya! Are you okay? What happened?"
I didn't move.
Didn't speak.
The note crinkled in my clenched fist.
I tried to read between the lines of her concern—was it genuine? Or perfectly rehearsed?
"Riya?" she said again, slower this time, like she was testing me too.
I looked into her eyes. Warm. Familiar. But how much of it was real?
"I'm fine," I lied. "Just shaken."
"Come on, let's get you out of here," she said, reaching for my arm.
My instincts screamed no.
I jerked back. "Let's not go to your place. Take me somewhere public."
Her eyes flickered—barely noticeable. But I caught it.
"I just thought you'd want privacy, rest… you're in shock," she said quickly.
I forced a small smile. "Then a motel. Something nearby. Please."
Leila nodded, but I could feel the tension between us now. She wasn't pushing too hard. That scared me more.
As we drove, silence filled the space between us like fog. I clutched the envelope, heart pounding. Justin's words played in a loop inside my head.
"Don't trust anyone. Not even Leila."
We stopped at a dusty roadside motel. Neon sign flickering. Rooms stacked in a row like forgotten stories. I got out without waiting for her and headed straight to the reception.
"I'll take a room. Just me," I told the clerk, loud enough for her to hear.
"You don't want me to come in?" Leila asked softly from behind.
I shook my head. "I'll call you if I need anything."
She hesitated, then gave me a tight nod and walked back to her car.
As the door closed behind me, I finally exhaled.
Locked every bolt. Closed the curtains. Then I sat on the bed, tore open the pillow cover, and stuffed the note deep inside.
My thoughts spun wildly. Justin had tried to warn me. That meant he was still out there. Still watching. Still fighting.
I needed to find him. Before they did.
My phone buzzed again. A new number. A text this time.
Unknown:
Midnight. South Pier. Come alone. Bring the note.
I swallowed hard. South Pier was abandoned since the fire last year. No lights. No cameras. Just dark warehouses and the ocean's echo.
Perfect place to disappear.
I stared at the message, then typed quickly.
Me:
Who are you?
No reply.
Of course.
I changed into dark clothes. Tied my hair back. Slipped the note into my boot. I wasn't going to play their game empty-handed.
From my bag, I pulled out the pepper spray. Not much, but it gave me a sliver of control.
Outside, I hailed a cab. Gave the driver a nearby cross street.
"Midnight errands?" he joked.
"Something like that," I murmured.
When I reached the pier, I stepped out into a gust of wind. The sky was moonless. Streetlights stopped half a block back. Beyond that—just shadows.
I walked toward the warehouses, every step slower than the last.
Then I heard it.
A whistle.
Sharp. Short. Familiar.
My breath caught again.
Justin.
I turned fast—just as an arm snaked around my waist, dragging me into the alley.
I kicked and struggled—but then I heard his voice.
"Riya. It's me."
I froze.
He pulled his hood back. His face was thinner, jaw shadowed with stubble, eyes filled with something I'd never seen before—desperation.
"Justin…"
"Quiet," he hissed. "They're everywhere. We don't have long."
He grabbed my hand and pulled me down the alley, past dumpsters and broken crates, to a rusted back door. Inside, it was darker. Smelled like salt and smoke.
"We need to go," he said, pulling a duffel bag from under a tarp. "Right now."
"You left me," I whispered, tears building. "You left without a word."
"I had to," he said, voice shaking. "But I never stopped watching. Never stopped protecting you."
"Why now?" I asked. "Why come back?"
"Because they changed the game," he said. "They don't want leverage anymore. They want you gone."
A sound outside—footsteps.
He turned, eyes sharp. "We're out of time."
Suddenly, glass shattered behind us. A flashbang exploded at our feet.
Everything went white.
My ears rang.
I reached for Justin blindly—but he was already pulling me toward the exit.
Gunshots.
Yelling.
Men in black masks storming the room.
We burst out into the night, running for our lives—me, barefoot again, heart in my throat, gripping his hand like a lifeline.
We tore through the alley, lungs burning, the night pulsing with gunfire behind us. Justin didn't speak—just ran, dragging me through the backstreets like he'd mapped them in his veins.
I didn't ask where we were going.
I just trusted him.
We ducked into an old drainage tunnel that reeked of seaweed and rust. Our footsteps echoed down the narrow pipe as water sloshed around our ankles. My heart beat so loud, it drowned out the chase behind us.
Finally, we emerged behind a chain-link fence at the edge of the industrial district. A black motorcycle leaned against a lamppost nearby.
Justin tossed me a helmet. "Get on."
We took off into the darkness, wind slapping against my face as the city blurred behind us. He didn't stop. Didn't slow. We weaved through back roads, off highways, through winding forest lanes that twisted like secrets.
An hour passed. Maybe more.
Then the trees broke, revealing a gravel driveway winding up a steep hill.
And at the top—bathed in silver moonlight—stood a villa.
Not massive, but secluded. The kind of place you'd miss if you weren't looking for it. Faded stone walls. Wooden shutters. A single light glowing inside like a heartbeat waiting for us.
Justin killed the engine.
"This is one of mine," he said quietly. "No one knows about it. Not even them."
I slid off the bike, legs trembling. "You have a villa?"
He gave a ghost of a smile. "Had to stash my secrets somewhere."
The inside was quiet. Clean, but lived in. A fireplace in the corner, an old leather couch, a low table with scattered papers, and a framed photo of a younger Justin on a beach I didn't recognize.
He locked the door behind us, then bolted it. "We're safe. For now."
I collapsed onto the couch, heart still racing. "I thought you were dead."
"I almost was," he said. "I let them think I'd disappear. But the moment they went near you…" He exhaled, voice tight. "I couldn't stay away."
I pulled the envelope from my boot and held it up.
"You left this in my pocket," I said. "I almost didn't see it."
"That's how I knew you'd find it," he replied. "And that you'd come."
I met his eyes. "What's happening, Justin? Why now? Why me?"
He sat beside me, his expression dark. "Because you were always the pressure point. The one thing I couldn't give up, even when I should've. They figured it out. The people I used to work with—the Family—they don't do second chances. They wanted control."
"And they're using me to get it?"
"They were," he said. "But the moment you ran, you became a threat instead of leverage. Now they'll hunt you. Relentlessly."
I looked around the villa. "So what now? We just hide forever?"
He stood, pacing. "No. Hiding won't save you anymore."
"Then what will?"
He stopped, looking down at me with a fire in his eyes I hadn't seen in years. "We fight back."
"Us?" I laughed bitterly. "Against an entire criminal organization?"
He stepped closer, cupping my face gently. "You don't know how powerful you are, Riya. You're the reason I walked away. The reason they lost control of me. You're not just my weakness... you're their weakness now too."
A beat of silence passed.
Then I whispered, "Then teach me. Because I'm done running."
He didn't smile. Not right away.
Instead, his gaze searched mine like he didn't believe I was real. Like this moment was something he'd imagined a thousand times in the dark and didn't dare trust now that it was finally here.
"I missed you," he said, voice strained. "God, I missed you."
And just like that, everything broke.
I closed the distance. My hands found his shirt, clutching the fabric like it could anchor me, keep me from falling. His arms wrapped around me, strong and desperate, pulling me in so tight I could barely breathe.
He kissed me—fierce and deep, like he was trying to memorize every second, like he was drowning and I was air.
I melted into him, into the warmth and the ache, into the years we'd lost and the danger still chasing us. For a moment, there was no mafia, no threats, no secrets. Just us.
Justin backed me toward the wall beside the fireplace, his hands tangled in my hair, mouth trailing to my jaw, my neck. Every touch was electric. Familiar. New. Everything at once.
Clothes were shed in quiet urgency. His lips found mine again, softer now, reverent—like he was afraid I'd disappear if he blinked.
He lifted me, carried me to the couch, and laid me down gently, as if the world outside hadn't just tried to burn us alive.
"Are you sure?" he asked, forehead resting against mine.
"I've never been more sure," I breathed.
He gave me a dirty smirk and grabbed my waist tighter as his lips landed on mine.
The Next Morning.
Morning crept in like a secret, soft and golden through the villa's wooden shutters. The air smelled like the sea and something faintly citrusy—maybe the old soap in the bathroom or the lemons growing outside. Either way, it was the kind of scent that made you want to stay wrapped up in a blanket forever.
I didn't move right away.
Justin's arm was slung across my waist, heavy and warm, like he knew I might vanish if he let go. His face was buried in my hair, his breath steady against my neck. It was quiet. Really quiet. The kind of silence that felt rare and borrowed.
I let my fingers trace lazy shapes over the back of his hand. "You awake?"
"Mmm," came the sleepy rumble. "Only if this is real."
"Unfortunately for you, it is."
He smiled against my skin. "Then we're staying in bed. Forever. I've decided."
"You always did like making the rules," I teased.
He tightened his hold on me. "This one's not up for debate."
Eventually, though, hunger won. We shuffled out of bed like two people who hadn't slept in weeks—which, technically, we hadn't—and found the kitchen. I discovered a box of pancake mix that looked like it had survived three apocalypses. Justin found coffee. Priorities.
I poured the batter while he sipped black coffee and stared at me like I was a sunrise he never thought he'd see again.
"What?" I asked, flipping a lopsided pancake.
He shrugged, grinning. "I like domestic you."
"Careful. Domestic me still remembers how to use a knife."
We ate on the porch, legs tangled under the blanket, birds chirping like they didn't know we were fugitives. For once, it felt like the world had hit pause. No mafia. No hidden threats. Just pancakes, bad coffee, and Justin stealing bites off my plate.
"Okay," I said, leaning back against the railing. "This? This I could get used to."
He looked over at me, the breeze tugging at his hair. "Then maybe we just stay here."
I raised an eyebrow. "You? Justin 'Ghost of the Underworld' McAllister? Living the slow life?"
He nodded seriously. "I'll grow a beard. Get a dog. Learn how to make sourdough."
I laughed so hard I nearly dropped my coffee. "You can't even toast bread without burning it."
"Details."
We were still laughing when a low mechanical beep came from inside the house.
We froze.
"Did you… set something?" I asked.
Justin stood, frowning. "No."
We crept back into the villa, following the sound. It was coming from the living room—from beneath the couch cushion.
Justin lifted it slowly... and revealed a small black device blinking red.
A GPS tracker.
We both stared at it for a beat.
I blinked. "Okay. So… two things."
"Yeah?"
"One: apparently we're terrible at hiding."
"And two?"
I held up the pancake spatula like a weapon. "I knew we should've gone with waffles."
Silence.
Then Justin says quietly
"Type shit"
We both sprinted into action.
I turned off the stove
Grabbed my phone and shoes.
He grabbed a backpack and took my hand.
We ran.