Rain swept through the city like a whispered warning, soft and persistent, brushing against rooftops and blurring the glow of neon signs. It was nearly midnight. The streets had emptied, save for the occasional silhouette darting from one shadow to the next, avoiding the cold. But Ivy Vexley walked without hurry.
Her boots clicked faintly against the pavement. Her coat, a deep wine red, billowed behind her like a whisper of something wicked. She held an umbrella in one hand and something far more dangerous in the other—a plan.
She paused at the mouth of a narrow alley, half-lit by the flicker of a broken streetlamp. Her gaze slid toward the far side of the road. A black car was parked there, sleek and expensive, the kind that didn't belong on this side of the city. And next to it, almost hidden in the shadows, stood a man.
Tall. Unmoving. Watching her.
Ivy's pulse quickened.
It wasn't fear—it never was. It was the thrill of recognition.
She knew who he was.
Alessio Gravano.
The man stories warned about. The heir to the Gravano syndicate. A man whose name had bled through the underground world like ink through paper—slow, dark, and permanent.
He stepped forward, out of the shadows, and even the rain seemed to pause.
His presence wasn't loud. It was worse—quiet and lethal, like a loaded gun on a silk pillow.
Their eyes met.
Ivy's were wide, dark, and carefully soft. She tilted her head, letting a strand of wet hair fall across her cheek, framing the face of a harmless girl lost in a bad part of town.
But inside, her mind was a blade.
Alessio said nothing at first. He only looked at her—really looked, like he was already unraveling her soul from behind that perfectly calm expression.
Then: "Lost?"
His voice was smooth, deep, and slow. It didn't ask. It tested.
"I… I think so," she murmured, clutching her umbrella a little tighter, glancing down like she was nervous.
Alessio moved closer. He didn't make unnecessary gestures. Every step was deliberate.
"You shouldn't be here," he said.
"I didn't mean to wander this far," she offered, her voice trembling just enough to sell the lie. "My phone died. I was looking for the station."
Another silence.
Then, his head tilted. "You're lying."
The words cut through the night like a knife.
Ivy blinked up at him, her lips parting in a convincing little gasp.
But Alessio was already closer than he should be, studying her the way a scientist might study a puzzle he didn't yet understand. She could smell the faint trace of smoke and leather on his coat.
"You were at the docks tonight," he said.
It wasn't a question.
Ivy felt the blood sing in her veins.
He had noticed her.
Not many people did—not before she wanted them to.
"I… don't know what you mean," she whispered.
Alessio's eyes narrowed. Then something shifted in his expression. Not anger. Amusement.
He leaned forward, his breath brushing her ear. "Next time you follow someone, wear something less distracting. The perfume gave you away."
Ivy's heart thudded.
He was sharper than she thought. But that only made it more exciting.
She leaned in too, her lips barely moving as she whispered, "Next time, check your pocket before you assume you've caught your stalker."
He froze.
Just slightly. But she saw it.
Without another word, Ivy turned, walking into the rain with calm, measured steps. Behind her, Alessio reached into his coat. His fingers closed around a small silver keychain—the one he'd lost two nights ago.
Or thought he had.
For a long moment, he stared after her.
And Ivy smiled to herself as the rain swallowed her figure.
Checkmate, she thought.