Page 2 of Franco
I move deliberately, making enough noise that all three turn to face me. "I suggest you find another hobby for tonight."
The woman's eyes widen as she notices me—a new threat or potential savior, she can't be sure which. The child peeks out from behind her legs, his small face pale with fear.
"Mind your own fucking business, man," the tallest kid says, pulling out his switchblade with the clumsy flourish of someone who's never actually used it in a fight.
I step closer, letting them see me clearly in the dim light from the distant street lamp. "I'm making it my business."
The smallest of the three takes a half-step back. Smart kid. He sees what the others don't, that they've mistaken a wolf for an ordinary man.
"There's three of us and one of you," the leader says, waving the knife between us as if basic arithmetic and a cheap blade might intimidate me.
I don't bother responding. Words are wasted on these types. Only consequences will teach them. I move forward again, closing the distance.
The woman surprises me. Instead of pressing herself further against the wall, she suddenly darts behind me, dragging her child with her. I feel her presence at my back, hear the child's quick, frightened breathing.
"Stay behind me," I tell her without turning, my eyes never leaving the three teenagers.
The leader's confidence wavers, but pride keeps him from backing down. "Last chance to walk away, old man."
I almost smile at that. Not because it's funny, but because it's so spectacularly misjudged. I haven't walked away from a fight in twenty-five years. I don't intend to start now.
"Let me guess," I say, my voice low and even. "You think that knife makes you dangerous. You think three against one means you'll win."
I take another step forward. They're getting nervous now, shifting their weight, exchanging glances.
"Let me explain something," I continue, close enough now that the leader has to tilt his chin up slightly to maintain eye contact. "That knife only matters if you know how to use it. And numbers only help if you're all willing to bleed for each other."
The woman behind me clutches at my jacket, her fingers digging into the material. I can feel her trembling against my back, the child pressed between us. Her trust is as unexpected as it is unearned.
I stand perfectly still, a barrier between them and harm. For the first time in as long as I can remember, I'm not protecting Dante's interests or securing our business. I'm simply standing between danger and someone who can't protect themselves.
It's not a good deed. It's just that some predators need to be reminded they're not at the top of the food chain.
The leader tightens his grip on the knife, knuckles white, arm tensed to strike. Behind me, the woman draws in a sharp breath, pressing herself and her child more firmly against my back.
Chapter 2 - Sarah
My heart hammers against my ribs as I press Tommy closer to me, both of us huddled against the back of this stranger who appeared from nowhere. I shouldn't trust him.
This tall, dangerous-looking man with cold eyes and scarred knuckles. But right now, he's the only thing standing between us and those three teenagers with their knife and their hungry, desperate eyes.
I'd been so stupid. Taking the shortcut through the alley because my ankle was throbbing after a double shift at the diner. Eight hours on my feet serving entitled businessmen who don't tip, followed by four hours stocking shelves at the corner mart. All I'd wanted was to get Tommy home faster so he could sleep in his own bed instead of on my mother's couch for another night.
Now my five-year-old is trembling against me, his small fingers digging into my leg, while I cling to a stranger's jacket like it's a lifeline.
The man—I don't even know his name—stands perfectly still. There's something terrifying about his stillness, like a predator who doesn't need to pace or posture because he knows exactly what he's capable of. The teenagers sense it too. The smallest one is already edging backward, but the leader with the knife is too proud or too stupid to back down.
"I'm not asking again," the kid snarls, flicking the knife between his fingers with fake confidence. "Give me the purse or I'll cut you."
He's talking to me, but my protector answers.
"You have three seconds to leave." His voice is so quiet I can barely hear it, but something in the tone makes the hair on the back of my neck stand up. "One."
The middle teenager tugs at his friend's sleeve. "Come on, man, let's go."
"Two."
The leader's eyes dart between his friends and my protector, his grip on the knife tightening. "You think I'm scared of you?"
