Blood & Bloom

Chapter 1

Chapter One

                                        Jane

The scent of butter and cinnamon still clung to my clothes as I weaved through the alley, my arms wrapped around a white pastry box tied with twine.
I'd just delivered a custom cake for a high-end client — some private party in one of the wealthiest neighborhoods on the edge of the city.

One more shortcut, I told myself.

One more turn and I'd be back in the safety of my tiny apartment with its chipped yellow walls and the scent of vanilla lingering from this morning's batch of croissants.
But as soon as I turned the corner, I knew I'd made a mistake.

Men in suits. Black cars. Guns.

And him.

He stood in the center of it all like a king on a blood-stained throne. Tall. Sharp jaw. Cold, unreadable eyes. He didn't move when he noticed me — didn't flinch, didn't blink — just watched.

I glanced down to where a man's body lay. Blood mixing with the rain, pooling around his head.

My heart slammed against my ribs.
One of the men turned, swore under his breath. "Boss—"

"I see her," the man — the boss — said, his voice like velvet over a blade.

I took a step back, fumbling with the pastry box, my voice stuck somewhere between a scream and a prayer.

Another step.

Then he started after me.

The banging slap of my feet hitting the pavement as I ran. I didn't dare look back but I could hear the man catching up. My heart pounding in my ear.

Just one more turn and I would be back to the main road.

They wouldn't do anything to me with people around, right? I told myself.

Almost there.

I could hear cars driving by as they hit puddles of rain.

Just before I could turn the corner, an arm wrapped around my waist, pulling me back hard. A hand covered my mouth. Something sharp pricked my neck — and then the world tipped sideways.

                                       Enzo

She collapsed like paper — limp, small, fragile.
The scent hit me first.
Not perfume. Not sweat.

Sugar.

Sweet, warm, innocent. The kind of smell that didn't belong anywhere near bloodstained pavement or the barrel of a gun.

She had frosting on her sleeve.
I stared at her face, slack and tilted toward me as one of my men hoisted her into the car. Delicate mouth. Freckles. Lips parted just slightly.
If she had screamed a second sooner, I would've let her die.
But I was curious.

Who the fuck walks into a drop like that and lives?

She didn't even belong in this part of the city. This girl had no idea what she'd stepped into — like a kitten wandering into a den of wolves, smelling like pastries and good intentions.

Stupid.
Naive.
Soft.

And yet, now she was in my hands. And I never let go of things that fall into my lap.

I slid into the car beside her, one arm over the seatback, watching her as the city lights slipped by.

She looked so peaceful.

I wondered if she'd scream when she woke up in the dark — if she'd beg, or fight, or cry.
I wondered if that sweet scent would linger on her skin when she started to sweat in fear.
Something in me liked the thought. Too much.
I cracked my knuckles.

She didn't know it yet, but she was already mine.