La Luna's neon sign sputtered above the alley, its crimson glow bleeding into the mist like a wound.
The bass from the club pulsed through the walls, a relentless heartbeat that vibrated in Emilia's molars as she pressed herself into the shadows.
Rotting garbage and the acrid tang of urine clung to the air, but beneath it lingered something darker—wet concrete and iron, the alley's breath.
Linda's fingers dug into her elbow, sharp as talons. "Five minutes," she hissed, her voice barely audible over the thrum of the club. "If you're not back, I'm leaving your romantic martyrdom here to rot."
Emilia nodded, her hood slipping as she shouldered open the club's rusted service door.
Inside, the air was a suffocating blend of sweat, spilled liquor, and the cloying sweetness of synthetic fog.
Same sticky floors. Same pink cocktails weeping condensation onto the bar.
But the boy in the leather jacket was gone.
She shoved through a knot of dancers, their laughter sharp and glassy. The bartender—a mountain of muscle with a spiderweb tattoo strangling his throat, a skin walker probably—watched her approach. His smirk revealed a gold-capped incisor.
"Looking for someone, Sugar?"
"Luca," she said, her voice steadier than she felt. "Dark hair. Green eyes. Tall enough to piss off the sun."
He polished a tumbler with a rag that might've once been white. "Luca, eh? He's not the type you find twice." A pause. "Unless he wants to be found."
Emilia slammed the stolen Conti watch onto the counter. Its gold face glinted under the blacklights "Try harder."
The bartender pocketed the watch. "Loading dock. But don't say I didn't warn you."
The alley behind La Luna was a throat waiting to swallow her whole.
A single bulb swung above a rusted door, its light slicing through the diesel haze. And there he was—Luca, his back against graffiti screaming in neon spray paint wall.
A cigarette dangled from his lips, its ember flaring as he inhaled.
Fresh blood crusted his knuckles; his sleeves were rolled up, revealing a map of scars she hadn't noticed that night.
"Hi" he said looking up at her.
"Hi" She whispered.
"Are you here to kick my ass for leaving without saying goodbye? I really did think you needed the rest after the night you had"
The memory hit her like a sucker punch: his mouth on her collarbone, the sting of the wallpaper against her back, the way he'd whispered "Still fighting, aren't you?" as she'd clawed at his shoulders. Her cheeks burned.
"Don't flatter yourself, I've had better," she lied, crossing her arms.
His laugh was a low rasp. "Then why're you blushing?" He stepped closer, and the alley seemed to shrink.
His gaze dropped to her mouth, his smile disappearing instantly. "Did I hurt you? If I'd known it was your first time, I'd have…" He trailed off, grinding the cigarette beneath his boot. "Used a bed, maybe. Not just… shoved you against a wall like a—"
"—Like a person who knew what she wanted?" She lifted her chin. "Beds are overrated. It was… fun."
"Fun?" He arched a brow, the gold flecks in his eyes catching the dim light. "I was aiming for 'life-altering,' but sure."
A snort escaped her. "Don't fish for compliments, Mister."
"Wouldn't dream of it, ma'am."
For a heartbeat, they grinned at each other—two kids suspended between danger and delirium. Then Linda's voice shattered the moment.
"Guys!" She materialized like a specter, her leather jacket streaked with grease. "We've got Conti SUVs two blocks out. Move."
"Right" Emilia blinked. She came here for a mission not to flirt with the cute guy who took her virginity, left a mark on her body and earned himself a dead sentence. "You are in danger, Luca. I'm sorry. I should have told you this before but my father's Vittorio Conti"
Emilia waited for the shock and the fear to creep in like she had seen a thousand times whenever her family name was mentioned but Luca barely blinked.
"Did you hear? I'm a Conti" she yelled at him
"Yes. You don't need to scream, Mila" He came closer to her. "You really came here to warn me?"
He sounded surprised. Emilia didn't know why.
"They'll kill you," Emilia said, her throat tight. "Because of me. Come with us—Linda's got a safehouse."
"No."
"Why?" She grabbed his arm, her fingers brushing a scar that mirrored the one on her brother's shoulder—a mark she'd seen a thousand times in old photos. Paolo. The realization struck her like a slap. Did Luca know him?
He jerked free. "This city's my grave. I'm not digging myself out for a Conti princess."
Headlights exploded into the alley. Tires screeched.
"Emi!" Linda yanked her backward as a black SUV skidded around the corner, its tinted windows reflecting the neon like predator eyes.
Luca shoved Emilia toward Linda's sedan. "Run."
"Not without you!"
"Run, goddamn it!" His voice cracked.
The sedan door slammed. As they peeled onto the highway, Emilia twisted to see Luca standing in the road, he was backlit by the SUV's high beams. For a heartbeat, he reminded her of Paolo—the same defiant tilt of the head, the same recklessness.
Then the night swallowed him.