Thursday, 12:07 a.m.
Location: Empty Side Street — The Big City's Quieter Nightmares
The motorbike purred beneath me, smooth and alive, carrying me away from the Compound and all the shouting and broken tables and Izzy's storm-slammed doors.
I didn't have a destination—just air in my lungs, neon in my eyes, and the city stretching open like it might let me breathe if I drove fast enough.
Marco was going to kill me for stealing his bike again. Add it to the list.
I leaned into a turn, headlights slicing across a graffiti-smeared alley.
That's when I saw them.
Four guys—older, scruffy, hoodies pulled low. Cornering someone against a chain-link fence.
Someone I recognized.
Liam Connolly.
Helmet forgotten, I slowed, tires screeching as I pulled into the mouth of the alley. My heart jumped into my throat. Liam's back was pressed to the fence, his hands loose at his sides like he was calculating ten moves ahead.
But he wasn't winning this. Not with four on one.
"Hey!" I shouted before my brain could veto. "Back off!"
Every head turned.
Liam's eyes widened when he saw me straddling Marco's bike like a lunatic Beta vigilante. For one sharp second, I thought he might actually smile.
The men laughed instead. "Cute," one drawled. "Your little girl friend wanna play hero?"
Adrenaline burned through me. I revved the engine, the roar bouncing off brick and steel, louder than their jeers. My palms were slick inside Marco's gloves.
"Try me," I said, voice steadier than my heart.
Liam tilted his head, eyes locking with mine, some silent Alpha-calculus sparking there.
Then he shifted his weight—subtle, deliberate—and the closest guy's knee buckled.
It was chaos from there.
I hit the throttle, bike lurching forward, swerving just close enough to scatter them back like pigeons. Liam moved with that fluid, dangerous precision—ducking, striking, sending another stumbling against the fence.
And suddenly we weren't prey. We were a team.
By the time the bike skidded to a stop, three of them were limping away, cursing under their breath. The last bolted, sneakers slapping asphalt.
The alley went quiet, except for my ragged breathing and the engine's low growl.
Liam straightened, wiped blood from the corner of his mouth, and looked at me.
"You," he said, voice low, "are out of your mind."
My grip on the handlebars tightened. "You're welcome."
Before Liam could answer, footsteps echoed deeper in the alley. A tall man stepped into the glow of my headlight, slow and deliberate, like he wasn't in a rush to be anywhere.
Not just some random street thug—this one carried weight. The way his eyes flicked over Liam, over me, over the motorbike. Calculating. Dangerous.
My pulse spiked.
Liam's jaw tightened, but he didn't move. Didn't look scared, either. Just… cold.
I revved the bike again, louder this time, like I could burn a hole through the tension. Then I leaned forward, eyes locked on Liam.
"Good night," I said, steady but sharp. "We're even now."
Liam's lips twitched—not quite a smile, not quite a warning.
And before the man could take another step closer, I twisted the throttle, the bike jerking forward. The roar of the engine swallowed the alley whole as I tore out into the street, leaving Liam and his shadowed company behind.
The ride back was a blur. Streetlights streaked past like fireflies, my heartbeat louder than the engine. My fingers ached from how hard I'd been gripping the handlebars.
Even. I told him we were even.
So why did it feel like I'd just written myself into a debt I couldn't pay?
By the time I pulled into the garage, the motorbike's engine ticking as it cooled, my chest was still tight. I killed the ignition and just sat there, helmet still on, staring at the cracked concrete floor.
Liam's face replayed in my head. That almost-smile. That not-scared, not-thankful look—like he'd been expecting me. Like he'd known I'd show.
And that man. The one who arrived too late to be part of the fight, but early enough to make it clear the fight wasn't random.
I ripped the helmet off and shoved my hair out of my face, letting out a frustrated laugh. "Great job, Sophia. First joyride, now midnight vigilante Beta Batman. Dad's gonna put me in witness protection from my own family."
My reflection in the rearview mirror looked wild-eyed, a little flushed, and wearing a lacy night-shift dress.
Oh God.
I'd been so frantic sneaking Marco's bike keys that I'd forgotten I was still in what Mom used to call "the cute set." Matching silk slip, lace trim, the kind of thing Adriana Ricci had insisted every daughter of hers owned. "For sleepovers, for slumber parties, for being girls," she'd said, like our family wasn't knee-deep in mob laundry mats and gun ledgers.
Frankie wore hers like a queen, strutting to the fridge for midnight ice cream in designer lace like it was runway couture. Even Izzy had once stolen mine during a sleepover and twirled around like she was in a perfume ad.
Me? I was sitting astride Marco's prized Ducati in a mafia compound garage at half past midnight, looking like I'd just stepped out of an Italian lingerie catalog gone wrong.
I dropped my helmet onto the seat and covered my face with both hands. "Perfect. Just perfect. If the feds don't get me, embarrassment will."