Rain lashed my face as I ducked into the alley, heels slipping on wet cobblestones. I was late, soaked, and cursing myself for missing the last subway. Then I saw him—standing beneath a broken lamppost like a figure from a dream, collar turned up, gaze locked on me.\n\nI tried to walk past, but his voice stopped me. "You shouldn’t be here alone." Deep, calm, dangerous. I laughed nervously, saying it was just a shortcut. He stepped closer, umbrella tilting over me. "This isn’t a shortcut. It’s my territory."\n\nMy breath caught. Everyone knew the stories—Matthew D’Alessio didn’t talk to strangers. He owned them. Or destroyed them. Yet his eyes held something else: hunger, intensity, maybe even awe.\n\n"Let me drive you home," he said.\n\nA siren wailed in the distance. My instincts screamed run. But another part—the one that had spent years playing it safe—whispered what if?