Chapter 2
The Alley of Cold Blood
A faint flicker of irritation crosses Lucius Blackwood’s face as he stands inside the narrow Brooklyn alley, his cold gaze scanning the darkness around him with sharp precision.
The entire situation already feels entirely unnecessary.
To him, dealing with local gangsters is no different than crushing rats beneath expensive leather shoes.
They are loud, reckless, and completely incapable of discipline or control—men who rely only on cheap weapons and empty threats, pretending they own streets that will destroy them within seconds if real power ever steps inside.
Around him, the alley remains unnaturally silent.
It is not the ordinary quiet of a city night, but something deliberate and controlled, as if every distant sound from Brooklyn has been erased with intention.
Lucius immediately understands that nothing here is accidental; someone has arranged this space.
Cold rainwater drips from rusted fire escapes overhead while weak yellow streetlights flicker against the wet pavement.
The metallic scent of blood lingers faintly in the air, blending with the sharp tang of rain and smoke.
Lucius remains perfectly still, every instinct inside him sharpening automatically.
Years surrounded by violence have trained his body to react long before fear ever has the chance to exist.
Then suddenly, a gunshot tears through the heavy silence.
The sound echoes violently across the brick walls, sharp enough to make most people panic instantly.
Lucius moves on instinct alone, shifting his body just enough for the bullet to miss him.
It grazes his arm lightly before disappearing into the darkness behind.
A faint burning sting spreads beneath his skin, but his expression never changes.
Pain has stopped mattering to him a long time ago.
His dark gaze immediately sharpens toward the possible direction of the shooter, every muscle in his body prepared for retaliation, ready to end the threat before it escalates further.
But before he can move, a sudden movement at the far end of the adjoining alley catches his attention.
Beneath the weak streetlights and heavy shadows, a figure stumbles forward unsteadily.
Lucius’s focus shifts instantly. The silhouette looks completely out of place against the raw violence surrounding the alley—small, fragile, and barely able to remain standing.
Even from a distance, it is obvious the person is severely injured.
Lucius narrows his eyes slightly, observing carefully as the figure slams weakly against the wall nearby, as though the body can no longer support its own weight.
Every movement looks painful, forced, and desperately tragic.
For a brief moment, the gunshot behind him stops mattering entirely, because whatever stands there is not supposed to be part of this situation.
And anything outside the plan immediately becomes his concern.
Slowly, Lucius changes direction and begins walking toward the adjoining alley. His footsteps remain calm and measured while the scent of blood grows stronger with every step. As the distance between them closes, the figure finally becomes clearer beneath the dim light.
It is a girl.
Long, dark hair clings messily against her face and shoulders while fresh blood stains parts of her clothes.
Her body sways dangerously with every weak step she forces herself to take, looking as though sheer willpower alone is dragging her forward while the rest of her body has already given up.
Lucius watches silently as she struggles to move another inch, and then, her balance collapses beneath her entirely.
Her body hits the wet pavement hard enough for the sound to echo faintly through the alley.
For several seconds, she remains motionless.
Then somehow, against all logic, she tries to stand again.
Her trembling hands press weakly against the ground while she forces herself upward inch by inch.
She barely manages to rise halfway before collapsing again, harder this time.
After that, she stops moving completely.
Rainwater slowly gathers around her unconscious body while uneven, painful breaths escape her lips.
Lucius stares at her silently for a moment before finally walking closer.
The bullet graze along his arm still burns faintly beneath his coat, but it barely registers anymore.
Whoever attacked her can still be nearby, and he knows better than anyone how dangerous this alley is.
Still, he doesn’t stop. By the time he finally reaches her side, the extent of the damage becomes visible immediately.
Blood has dried near the corner of her lips while dark bruises discolour her exposed skin.
Her breathing sounds strained, as though every breath demands a massive effort from her exhausted lungs.
She is alive. But barely.
Lucius crouches slightly beside her, studying her condition with a critical eye.
If the intention of her attackers has been to kill her, it could have been done cleanly and efficiently.
Instead, this looks excessive—violent without control or precision.
It is the kind of brutality used by men too stupid to understand discipline.
It is sloppy work, and Lucius absolutely hates sloppy work.
For a brief moment, his gaze remains fixed on her unconscious face.
She does not belong here; everything about her presence feels misplaced against the darkness surrounding the alley.
Yet, even unconscious and covered in blood, there is still something strangely fragile about her—something impossible to ignore.
That realization alone irritates him, because Lucius Blackwood rarely involves himself in situations that don't concern him.
Yet, he still hasn’t walked away.
Without another second of hesitation, Lucius bends down and lifts her carefully into his arms.
She feels light, far too light. Her body barely reacts when he pulls her against his chest, rainwater soaking strands of her hair against his coat.
The black SUV waiting nearby immediately opens its doors the moment Lucius approaches.
One of his men steps out instinctively, visible surprise flashing across his face when he notices the unconscious girl, but Lucius ignores the reaction completely.
Carefully, he places her inside the vehicle before entering beside her himself.
Within seconds, the SUV pulls away from the alley, leaving the darkness behind.
Rain continues striking against the tinted windows while Brooklyn’s city lights blur outside.
Inside the vehicle, silence settles heavily once again.
Lucius briefly glances toward the unconscious girl beside him; her breathing still sounds weak.
Too weak. A public hospital is never an option, as too many questions will follow and bring unnecessary attention.
Without wasting another second, Lucius pulls out his phone and contacts his personal doctor directly.
“I need the medical room prepared immediately,” he says calmly once the call connects. No panic enters his voice, and no unnecessary explanations follow. Only instructions. The doctor understands immediately; everything will be ready before Lucius arrives.
The call ends shortly afterward. For a brief moment, Lucius glances down toward the bullet graze on his arm. Blood stains the sleeve faintly, but the injury remains minor and easily ignorable. It can wait. The unconscious girl beside him cannot.
Silence fills the vehicle again while the rain continues falling endlessly outside.
Lucius leans back slightly against the seat, his gaze shifting toward her once more.
Leaving her behind in that alley has never truly been an option, and somehow, that single fact irritates him far more than the gunshot ever has.