Page 81 of Ivory Crown

That’s when I saw him—another piece of the alley’s shadows, materializing like a bad omen. A man, his intentions as murky as the filth he stepped through. Instinct took over; I positioned myself between Jade and the stranger, every muscle tensed for what came next.

“Can I help you with something?” I asked, the chill in my voice belying the calm façade I presented.

He didn’t answer right away, his eyes hidden beneath the brim of a battered hat. He took a step closer, and I tightened my grip on the hidden knife, ready to draw blood if necessary. This dance was familiar, one I’d performed countless times before, but the stakes had never been this high.

Nobody had ever threatened the mother of my unborn child…or our baby.

“Wrong turn,” he finally grunted, eyeing the gap between us.

“Then find the right one,” I shot back, leaving no room for further interaction.

He hesitated, weighing his options.

“Dr. Jade Bentley?” The stranger’s voice sliced through the tense silence, his eyes locking onto Jade.

“Yes,” she replied, her naivete shining brighter than the sun above us. She stepped forward, but I pulled her back just as I caught the glint of a knife tucked inside his jacket pocket.

“Wrong answer,” I muttered under my breath. Time slowed down as I calculated our odds. With Jade in the mix, slowed from being pregnant, they weren’t great.

I didn’t think. I moved. My fist flew, connecting with the stranger’s jaw—a crunching promise of my intent. He staggered back, surprise etching his features, but it was short-lived. He lunged at me, knife flashing in the early morning light.

We clashed, violence painting the alley in broad, brutal strokes. He didn’t have time to go for his knife. Jade stood frozen, her eyes wide with shock as she watched me.

The man’s fist connected with my ribcage, a sharp pain flaring but not debilitating. I’d had worse. But as we grappled, something shifted—the stranger’s gaze snapped to Jade, and with a growl, he broke away from me and lunged for her.

“Jade!” My voice was a roar in the quiet of the morning, my body reacting before my mind had time to process the danger she was in.

I couldn’t let him touch her. Not her.

Adrenaline surged through my veins, pushing past the dull ache in my side. I caught him by the collar and yanked him back, throwing him off balance. His knife clattered to the ground, skittering across the pavement. And there it was—the opening I needed.

My hand slipped into my jacket, finding the cool, familiar grip of my own blade. Time seemed to hesitate, teetering on the edge of a decision that could change everything.

Caruso. That name echoed in my head, fueling my resolve. He sent this man for her, for Jade. There was no room for doubt, no space for mercy. \

It was him or us.

The steel slid between his ribs with a sickening ease, silencing his gasp—a sound too intimate, too final. His eyes met mine, filled with something like surprise, as if he didn’t expect death to come at the hands of someone like me.

“You deserve this,” I said as he slumped to the ground, his weight dragging the knife from my grasp. The blood spread quickly, staining the concrete with a stark red that seemed too vibrant for such an early hour. This was the price of our lives entwined with the mafia—a currency paid in brutality and loss.

I stood over him, watching the life drain from his body. Another ghost to haunt my dreams. I turned to look at Jade, her face pale, her dark hair framing her face like a specter of the innocence we were both losing with each passing second.

I stood there, my breaths coming hard and fast, the cold morning air biting at my flushed cheeks. The man’s body lay crumpled on the ground, his life slipping away onto the unforgiving pavement of this New York back alley. Jade was right beside me, saying nothing.

“Jade,” I managed to say, my voice sounding foreign even to my own ears. She didn’t respond, just stared down at the man with those wide, unblinking eyes that seemed to take in everything and yet nothing at all. Her leggings were smeared with dirt from the scuffle.

“We need to help–”

“No,” I said, holding an arm in front of her. “There’s no helping him.”

“Dante, we can’t just stand here–”

The guy took one last shuddering breath, and it was like watching the final piece of our old lives fall away. Jade flinched as if the sound reached inside her and flipped a switch, her scientific mind unable to rationalize the brutal reality laid bare before us.

“Is he—“ Her voice cracked, and she stopped, unable to finish the question.

“Yeah,” I said, not needing her to finish. “He’s gone.”

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