Saying I was scared would be the understatement of the year. This was definitely not how I imagined the rest of my day to go. I just had a very stressful day at work, I couldn't even find a cab or a bus and now this!!!. I found myself crouched in a dark alley, staring at a man who was bleeding out in front of me.
He slumped against the wall, his breaths shallow and erratic, his eyelids fluttering like he was fighting the pull of unconsciousness. Panic surged through me. I couldn't let him black out, not here, not now. Desperation made my fingers clumsy as I fumbled for my phone, already dialing emergency services in my head.
But before I could even press a button, his hand shot out and gripped my wrist tight, surprisingly strong for someone on the verge of passing out.
"Don't," he groaned through gritted teeth.
I blinked, stunned. Was he serious? Did he actually want to die here on the street?
"I need to call an ambulance," I said, my voice shaking. "You've lost a lot of blood. If we don't get you to a hospital right now, you might not make it."
He didn't budge. "Give me your phone," he muttered.
There was something in his tone that made it impossible to argue. Reluctantly, I handed it over. His blood-slicked fingers dialed a number with instinctive precision. It rang once, maybe twice, before a gruff voice answered.
"Who is this?" the voice snapped on the other end.
Without responding, the injured man handed the phone back to me.
I hesitated, then brought it to my ear. "I'm with your friend," I said quickly. "He's badly hurt and refused to let me call an ambulance. He made me call this number instead."
There was silence, then a sharp exhale, like someone had been holding their breath.
"Thank God. The Don is alive."
The Don? My eyes widened. What did I just walk into? Was this real life or a gangster movie?
Before I could ask anything else, the man on the phone continued, "Please. Stay with him. I'm already on my way."
And just like that, the call ended. I stared down at the phone in disbelief.
"How the hell is he going to find us?" I asked aloud. "I didn't even tell him where we were."
"Don't worry," the man rasped from the ground. "Enzo knows."
I didn't know who Enzo was, but I hoped he was fast. The man's eyes were beginning to close again, and his grip on consciousness seemed more fragile by the second.
"No, no, no," I murmured, shaking him gently. "You can't pass out on me. Stay awake."
I scrambled for something, anything to keep him talking. That's when it hit me.
"Hey," I said softly, brushing his damp hair from his face. "I know we'll probably never see each other again after tonight… but I think we should at least know each other's names. I'm Simi."
He blinked slowly, forcing his eyes open just enough to lock his gaze on mine. His stare was intense, deep, unreadable, like he was trying to memorize my face or search for something in my soul.
"Leo," he said simply.
His voice was hoarse, but the name landed with unexpected weight between us. We sat in silence for a beat, our surroundings forgotten, as if everything else had paused. He didn't stop looking at me, and I didn't look away.
Then, a sudden sound broke the stillness. Footsteps. Fast. Purposeful.
I froze. My breath hitched in my throat. Please don't let it be the people who did this to him.
But then a familiar voice called out.
"Leo!"
I recognized it immediately. The man from the phone.
Cautiously, I stood and stepped out from behind the dumpster, raising my hand to signal. He spotted me and rushed over, eyes widening in relief when he saw Leo. Two more men trailed behind him, dressed in sleek black suits that clung to them like armor.
They weren't paramedics. That much was clear. These men were something else entirely.
The two newcomers dropped to Leo's side, lifting him with practiced ease and urgency. Not a word was spoken, only silent coordinated movement. The kind that came from years of doing this sort of thing.
The first man, the one called Enzo, turned to me. His expression was unreadable, but his eyes were sharp.
"Thank you," he said simply.
Then he turned and followed the others, vanishing into the shadows like they'd never been there at all.
I was left alone in the same spot, breathless, confused, heart still pounding like a drum in my chest. For a few long moments, I didn't move. I just stood there, trying to process everything.
What just happened?
As I finally turned to leave, something on the ground caught my eye. It was Leo's jacket the one I had pressed against his wound to try and stop the bleeding. They must've forgotten it in the chaos.
"They forgot to take this," I murmured, stepping closer.
It was tailored, clearly expensive, a dark suit jacket that still held traces of blood. I should've walked away. I wanted to walk away. But something about it… something made me pause.
Maybe it was guilt. Maybe curiosity. Or maybe, deep down, I wasn't ready to let go of what had just happened. Whatever it was, I carefully folded the jacket and slipped it into my bag.
One day, if fate ever decided to be funny, maybe I'd get the chance to return it.
With one last glance at the alley where everything had changed, I turned and began my walk home, silently praying that tonight would be the first and last time I ever got dragged into something like this.
Ever again.