The night was unusually cold for early spring.
Wind swept along Brooklyn Avenue, rustling old newspapers and carrying the faint scent of gasoline and rain. Ava Monroe gripped her coat tighter around her body as she hurried down the cracked sidewalk, sneakers tapping lightly against the concrete. Her shift at the hospital had just ended—twelve long hours filled with back-to-back emergencies, and not nearly enough coffee.
All she wanted was a hot shower and sleep. Maybe eight full hours, if she was lucky.
But fate had other plans.
A loud crash echoed from a nearby alley—followed by a low, pain-laced groan. Ava froze in her tracks, her heart skipping a beat.
Ignore it, her mind urged. It's late. It's not your problem.
But her feet were already moving.
She turned the corner, her pulse quickening. The alley was dimly lit by a flickering streetlamp. Shadows danced across graffiti-splattered walls. And that's when she saw him.
A man, slumped against the brick wall, blood seeping into the pavement beneath him.
His black suit was torn and stained, his white shirt soaked with dark crimson. One hand clutched his abdomen, while the other held a silver handgun—pointed loosely in her direction.
"Stay back," he growled, voice low and hoarse.
Ava raised both hands calmly. "I'm a med student. I can help you. But you need to put that down."
His eyes met hers—dark, intense, and filled with something wild. For a moment, he didn't move. Then the gun slipped from his fingers and clattered to the ground.
She rushed to his side.
Dropping her bag, she knelt beside him and pulled out gauze and gloves. "You've lost a lot of blood," she muttered, carefully pressing the cloth against the deep gash running across his ribs. "I need to stop the bleeding. You might go into shock."
He didn't flinch, just watched her with half-lidded eyes. "Why are you helping me?"
She tied the gauze tightly with a spare cloth. "Because someone has to."
His lips twitched. It wasn't quite a smile, but it wasn't nothing either.
"What's your name?" she asked as she worked.
A pause. "Alessio."
A lie. But she didn't know that yet.
"Okay, Alessio. Try to stay awake."
Distant sirens began to wail in the background, growing closer.
Panic flashed in his eyes. He tried to push himself up. "No cops."
"You're seriously injured. You need a hospital—"
"No cops," he repeated, more forcefully. He grabbed her wrist, not to hurt her, but to make her listen. "You never saw me."
Ava met his gaze—dark eyes filled with exhaustion and danger, yet something else stirred there too. Vulnerability.
A flicker. A heartbeat.
And against all logic, she nodded.
Within seconds, he pushed himself off the wall, staggered down the alley, and disappeared into the shadows.
Gone.
Ava sat back on her heels, her fingers stained red with his blood. Her breath caught as the sirens roared past the intersection nearby.
Who was he?
Why did she feel like she'd just touched something dangerous—something important?
She didn't know it yet, but she had just saved the heartbeat of the most feared man in New York.
And he wasn't going to forget her.