Page 6 of Control

I nod, swallowing hard, my heart hammering so loud that it’s the only thing I hear.

“So,” he murmurs, straightening. “Think wisely as you walk home tonight.”

It isn’t a threat. It’s a promise wrapped in cold steel. My mind scrambles, desperate for something, anything, that might change his mind. But all I can focus on is the emptiness in his eyes. They don’t just look at me. They slice me open, leaving me raw and exposed.

The silence stretches, suffocating me until he finally rises and brushes invisible dust from his coat. “Get her out of here.”

Relief hits me like a tidal wave. But the moment is fleeting, gone as rough hands grab my arms and haul me upright. I’m shoved toward the alley, though one last glance from Remo pins me in place. His face is unreadable, but there’s a flicker in his eyes. However, I don’t dwell on it.

I’m alive. For now.

The alley reeks of piss. The air clings, thick and heavy, and as I’m shoved forward, I stumble and trip over cracked asphalt. Using my hands to break my fall, they scrape against broken glass on the ground, and the sting is sharp and immediate.

One of the men, who is shorter but just as mean as the rest, crouches down, his face too close to mine. “You’re lucky, pretty lady,” he sneers. “The boss doesn’t usually let rats skitter away.”

I keep my mouth shut as I get up on shaky feet. Words would only fan the flames of his cruelty. He smirks, and then I’m shoved forward again. Already shaky, I crash to the ground again and bite my lip so hard that I taste blood. The curses bubbling inside me burn like acid, but I swallow them down. Weakness is a death sentence here.

“Get up,” one of them barks, his voice tight with impatience.

“She’s useless like this,” another man mutters, his irritation barely concealed. “Why bother?”

Then, the man who’s probably the leader snaps, his voice sharp, “Focus. The boss didn’t say to kill her. Yet.”

They all laugh, and the conversation veers off into jokes about women and some other crap I couldn’t care less about.

I force myself to push up even though my knees scream in protest. Blood trickles down my shin, but I ignore it, pushing myself upright. Every step toward the street feels heavier than the last.

One of them pulls out a phone and glances between me and the cracked screen, his fingers moving like he’s waiting for some signal. I don’t know what orders he’s getting, and frankly, I don’t care. It’s all just noise. It doesn’t matter.

They’re never going to see me again.

I’m at the entrance of the alley when a hand slams down on my shoulder and drags me back to reality.

“Are you going to stay quiet?” Cigarette Guy’s voice drops low, his eyes narrowing. He’s daring me to test him, but for some reason, I think he genuinely means for me to keep my mouth shut, as though he’s doing me a favor by keeping me away from his boss.

I nod, but it’s not out of submission.

“Good.” He smirks like he’s won some sick game. “For your sake, I hope he’s right about you.”

As he shoves me into the street, the cold night air hits me like a slap. Brooklyn sprawls out before me, alive with noise and chaos. Sirens wail in the distance, taxis honk, and the hum of life presses in, suffocating me.

I don’t look back. I can’t. Each shaky step forward feels like I’m walking a tightrope over a pit. My thoughts race, replaying every moment of the last hour—the guns, the blood, his voice.

I’m alive. Somehow. But why? The question gnaws at me, sharp and unrelenting. Remo could’ve ended me. A single word, a simple order, and I’d be another nameless body. Instead, he let me go. The thought terrifies me more than death.

By the time I reach my apartment, my body feels like dead weight. The graffiti-covered door mocks me as I fumble with the key. Inside, the air is stale, reeking of old takeout, but I’m too drained to care.

I shut the door, slide to the floor, and curl up with my knees to my chest. Silence envelops me, but it’s not comforting. It’s oppressive, dragging me back to his cold eyes and sharp, unyielding face. Remo Callegari. Even his name feels like a curse, something you can’t outrun.

I glance at my hands—shaking and stained with paint and blood. My knee burns, but the ache in my chest is worse. It’s hollow and unending, a reminder of just how small I am in his world.

Sleep doesn’t come easily. And when it does, I’m still restless. His face looms in my dreams.

When I wake up, I’m no closer to understanding why I’m still alive.

Chapter 3

Remo

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