Page 3 of Rafi

He stands in the shadows, hood still drawn low over his face. In our world, anonymity isn’t just a convenience; it’s survival. The streetlight’s glow catches on his sharp jawline, and his blue eyes flick over me, a beautiful mystery I’ve long since stopped trying to solve.

I lean casually against the side of the van, a half-smile tugging at my lips. “Not so big, and not so bossy,”I quip. My voice is light, but the familiarity of our exchange tightens something in my chest.

Sasha's lips curve into a slow smirk, the kind that makes me feel like he knows me inside out. His gaze flickers briefly to the idling van behind me, then back to my face. “Why are you here tonight instead of out painting the town?”

I shrug. “We were short on drivers. Someone had to do the run.”

He nods, his eyes sliding toward the rear of his vehicle, where the girl sits huddled in the backseat. Her knees are drawn to her chest, her face hidden by the curtain of her hair. Sasha’s jaw tightens for a split second, the only hint of the fire burning beneath his calm exterior. Then, just as quickly, his expression smooths.

“You tired yet?” he asks, his voice low and teasing.

I can’t help the grin that spreads across my face. It’s the same routine every time we meet. Sasha asks me out, I turn him down. He asks again, and I tell him maybe when I’m too exhausted to keep saying no. It’s a slow, morbid dance we’ve perfected, full of sparks that will never ignite. But tonight, there’s a tension in the air I can’t quite place.

“Not quite there yet, Sasha,”I reply, my tone breezy. But something in his gaze makes me falter, just for a heartbeat.

He steps closer, his movements slow and deliberate. The space between us disappears in an instant, and suddenly his hands are on my arms, pulling me toward him. My breath catches. This is new. Too close. Too intimate. Something I’m not ready for. Maybe I’ll never be ready.

Before I can protest, his lips crash onto mine. It's not gentle, not careful. It’s raw, unexpected, and entirely Sasha. My heart pounds against my ribs, confusion and something dangerously close to curiosity warring inside me.

Then, the crack.

It splits the night like a lightning strike, sharp and sudden.

Sasha’s head jerks back, his body stiffening as if hit by an invisible force. Time seems to fracture. I’m falling, and something heavy crashes into me. The ground bites into my back, the weight pressing me down.

Warmth seeps through my clothes, thick and wet. The metallic tang of blood fills the air, sharp and suffocating.

“Sasha?”I croak, my voice trembling as I push against the dead weight on top of me. My arms shake as I shove upward, dislodging him just enough to breathe. My vision blurs, and I swipe at my eyes, clearing the sticky residue.

When my gaze focuses, my stomach lurches. Sasha's lifeless eyes stare back at me, wide and unseeing, blood pooling beneath him in a dark, spreading stain.

A scream claws its way up my throat, but I swallow it, forcing myself to move. Adrenaline kicks in, sharpening my senses. I scramble out from under his body, my hands slick with his blood as I press them to the cold pavement to steady myself.

The night erupts into chaos. Voices shout in the distance, footsteps pounding closer. I glance toward Sasha’s car, my heart seizing at the sight of the back door swinging open. The girl.

She’s running.

“Stop!”I yell, my voice raw as I push myself to my feet. The girl vanishes into the shadows, and I’m torn between chasing her, staying with Sasha, or getting into my van and driving off.

My fingers shake as I reach for my phone, dialing the emergency number for our network. The line buzzes once before a familiar voice answers.

“Trouble,”I manage, my breath hitching. “Sasha’s down. Dead. Girl’s on the run.”

The weight of what just happened slams into me, but there’s no time to process. Not now. The girl is out there, vulnerable and terrified, and Sasha?—

I glance down at his body, my chest tightening painfully.

Sasha's blood is still warm on my hands.

“Get out!”the voice hisses. “Run and don’t look back.”

3

RAFI

Isit at my desk in the office they assigned me, the hum of the construction site outside my window a constant reminder of how far I’ve come—or how far my brothers think I’ve come. Scar considers this ‘real work’. Brando ‘no commented me’, and Lucky – I know he feels my pain, although he’ll never say it.

They’ve given me a cushy job-project management, although I know they would’ve loved nothing more than for me to retire to a private island at twenty three years. I’ve lived in my brothers’ shadows all my life; hidden, protected, sheltered. Except the times when I snuck up on them and proved myself indispensable. Still, it wasn’t enough.

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