Let her go before I send you to the Lord on time."
The man gripping my hair froze.
That voice… deep, cold, and wickedly calm.
Marco.
Even the night went silent.
He stepped into the alleyway like a shadow made of fire, and the man released me immediately, stumbling back like he had touched death itself. I tightened my hold on the baby, trying to breathe through the pounding pain in my head.
Marco's eyes found mine first — sharp, burning, unreadable. Something dark and dangerous… and something softer, just for me.
Then his gaze slid past me.
Mari was back.
Not because she wanted to be… but because the taxi she had escaped into was now parked behind Marco. The driver — one of his men — had dragged her out by the arm. Her face was pale, fear wiping away all that confidence she had earlier.
Marco's jaw tightened.
"You ran. And you came back in my car. Interesting."
"M-Marco— I didn't know— I swear I didn't—" Mari trembled.
He didn't look at her again.
She wasn't his focus.
I was.
He walked toward me slowly, like he was scared of what he might see. He crouched beside me, lifting a hand to touch my face — but he stopped a breath away.
"Zara… look at me."
My vision was blurry, my body shaking, but I forced my eyes up.
The moment he saw my face, bruised and bleeding, something inside him snapped.
A darkness settled over him. Sharp. Lethal.
"Who touched you?" he asked, voice almost too calm.
Before I could answer, one of the men who had chased me tried to run.
Marco didn't even turn fully.
"Luca."
A gun cocked behind him.
The man dropped to his knees instantly.
The baby whimpered, and Marco immediately softened, shifting closer.
"Shh… it's okay, little one," he murmured, voice dropping an octave.
The mix of danger and tenderness made my chest tighten.
He reached carefully, lifting the baby from my arms with such gentleness it almost broke me. Then he looked at me again.
"Can you stand?"
I nodded even though my legs were weak. He slipped his arm around my waist, pulling me against him. His touch was steady, warm, too protective for someone so deadly.
"You should have called me, Zara," he whispered against my ear.
"I would burn this whole street before I let anyone touch what's mine."
That word — mine — sent a shiver down my spine.
Mari suddenly tried to speak.
"Marco, please— I didn't mean to— I was scared—"
He still didn't look at her. Not once.
The taxi driver — Marco's man — shoved her forward. "Found her trying to run, boss."
Marco's voice dropped.
"Throwing your friend to the wolves and running away? That's what you call loyalty?"
Mari's knees buckled. "Please… I made a mistake—"
He finally gave her a glance.
Cold. Merciless.
"Luca. Handle it."
"Marco— don't!" I whispered, grabbing his shirt with weak fingers.
He froze.
Because of me.
Silence hung heavy.
Marco exhaled slowly. "Fine. Zara doesn't want blood tonight."
He looked at Mari with disgust.
"You leave this city now. If I see you anywhere near her again… I won't hesitate."
Mari sobbed as the men dragged her away.
Marco turned back to me, scooping me into his arms like I weighed nothing.
My heart pounded — fear, exhaustion, and something else I didn't want to name.
"Where are you taking me?" I whispered.
His eyes darkened.
"Home, Zara."
His voice was low, possessive.
"To my house. Where you're safe… and where no one touches you again."