Wednesday, 9:31 p.m.
Location: Backstreets of Mafia Central
The second I realized it wasn't just a regular bike but a motorbike, my brain short-circuited.
Glossy black, low to the ground, sleek enough to make Vin Diesel weep. And Liam Connolly—rival Alpha, smug math tutor, occasional headache—was straddling it like a magazine ad.
"This is not 'passing by,'" I said flatly. "This is a felony waiting to happen."
He smirked, swinging a leg over the seat. "You in or not?"
"No helmet? No thanks."
He reached into a side compartment and—of course—pulled out two. One matte black, one cherry red.
"Pick your poison."
I stared at the red helmet like it was mocking me. "This is so cliché."
"Correction," he said, handing it over, "this is transportation."
I slipped it on, muttering, "This better not mess up my hair."
He chuckled as he revved the engine, the growl echoing against the alley walls. The vibration ran through the soles of my shoes, through my spine, through everything.
"Hold on," he said.
"To what?"
He glanced back at me, green eyes flashing beneath the streetlight. "Me."
Ugh.
I slid onto the seat, trying not to look like I had no idea what I was doing. My arms hovered awkwardly in the air until the bike jerked forward, and instinct took over. I grabbed his jacket, clutching leather like it was the only thing between me and road rash.
"Comfortable?" he asked over the engine's roar.
"No," I yelled. "This is terrible!"
"Good. Then you won't forget it."
We sped out of the alley and onto the empty backstreets, neon shop signs blurring past. The wind whipped my hair, tugged at my sleeves, drowned out every thought except don't die, don't die, don't die.
After a few blocks, though, I loosened my grip. The fear melted into adrenaline, and the adrenaline into something dangerously close to… fun.
"You're smiling," Liam called back.
"I'm screaming internally!"
He laughed, and the sound carried over the night air.
We stopped at a red light, the engine rumbling low. He turned his head slightly, just enough that I caught the curve of his grin under the streetlight.
"See? Beats walking."
I pretended to scowl, but my heart was doing Olympic-level gymnastics.
When the light turned green, he leaned forward, and the bike surged again. This time, I didn't hesitate—I wrapped my arms around him fully, holding tight as we carved through the city like we owned it.
For a Beta who was supposed to stay invisible, I felt… visible.
Every Alpha in my life treated me like a background character, an extra in their power-drama soap opera. But right now, clinging to Liam Connolly's jacket while the city blurred into neon streaks around us, I didn't feel like background anything.
The motorbike roared down an underpass, headlights bouncing off graffiti-stained walls. My helmet muffled the sound, but I could still hear him laughing, like this was all some private joke.
He slowed just enough for me to hear him over the engine. "You know, Ricci, you don't exactly blend in on the back of my bike."
"Good," I shot back. "Blending in is exhausting."
The words slipped out before I could stop them. My stomach flipped.
He didn't turn around, didn't press, just gunned the throttle and let the silence stretch.
The wind cut cold, but pressed against his back, I felt steady. Not safe, exactly. But steady.
I should've hated it. Should've hated him. He was a Connolly. Enemy bloodline. Wrong side of the street.
Instead, my heart was thudding so hard I was half convinced he could hear it over the engine.
And for the first time in forever, I didn't feel like I was being used, overlooked, or underestimated.
I felt like I mattered.
The motorbike's growl dropped to a low purr as we coasted up the hill toward the compound gates. The Ricci house loomed like a fortress—iron fence, brick walls, floodlights sharp enough to fry a pigeon midair.
Liam cut the engine. The sudden silence rang in my ears.
"End of the line, princess," he murmured.
I shoved the helmet off and shook out my hair, glaring at him. "Don't call me that."
"Why not? You liked it." His grin was infuriating.
"I did not—"
"Your grip on my jacket said otherwise."
I rolled my eyes so hard I nearly fell off the bike. "I was trying not to die, Connolly."
"Sure. Let's call it that."
He leaned forward slightly, elbows on the handlebars, studying me with those ridiculously green eyes. Like he could see straight through every secret I'd carefully duct-taped together.
"You don't belong invisible, Sophia." His voice was lower now, less cocky. "Your family wants you in the background, but you… you're dangerous in plain sight."
My throat went dry.
Dangerous? Me? I did payroll and homework. My siblings broke bones, Luca broke rules, Frankie broke the internet. I broke… pencils.
Before I could reply, the front door of the house banged open.
"—Sophia Ricci!" Marco's voice thundered across the driveway. "Is that a Connolly dropping you off on our doorstep?!"
Perfect. Just perfect.
I slid off the bike, shoving the helmet back at Liam. "Go. Now. Before they shoot you."
He winked. "I'll take my chances."
"No, seriously, leave."
He revved the engine back to life, smirked like this was the highlight of his week, and tore off into the night just as Marco stormed down the steps, Frankie hot on his heels, both looking like they were about to explode.
I sighed, shoulders slumping.
Back to invisible.