My Boyfriend Stabbed Me In An Alley — Then The City’s Most Dangerous Man Found Me

Part 2

My body was completely frozen in terror as the towering stranger stood over me, his massive shadow blocking out the dim amber street light.

I tried to crawl away, my bloody hands slipping against the icy concrete as a pathetic, gurgling whimper escaped my lips.

I clamped my arms tighter around my swollen belly, driven by a primal need to protect the innocent life fading inside of me.

The man didn’t move to finish me off; instead, his cold, calculating gaze remained fixed on the crimson puddle spreading beneath my trembling body.

Something imperceptible shifted behind the icy facade of his expression, a flicker of a deeply buried memory flashing across his hardened features.

A gruff voice called out from the shadows behind him, warning him that the cleanup crew was finished and the police sirens were rapidly approaching.

A heavily scarred man stepped into the dim light, urging his boss to leave before they were caught in the impending swarm of flashing blue lights.

But the man in the overcoat ignored his lieutenant entirely, crouching down until the expensive fabric of his coat brushed against the bloody snow.

He reached out a large, leather-gloved hand, his touch surprisingly gentle as he gripped my freezing chin to assess the rapidly fading light in my eyes.

His voice was a low, resonant rumble that commanded absolute, terrifying obedience as he ordered his man to bring the SUV around immediately.

His lieutenant hesitated, bewildered by the order, reminding his boss that I was a bleeding civilian and taking me was a massive, unnecessary risk.

The man snapped his order again with a tone that brooked absolutely no argument, his authority hanging heavy in the frigid air.

Before my vision finally went completely black, the last sensation I felt was a pair of impossibly strong arms lifting me effortlessly from the frozen concrete.

He pulled me against a chest that smelled of expensive cedar cologne and raw gunpowder, carrying me away from the alley where I was meant to die.

When I finally opened my eyes again, I wasn’t in the sterile, bleach-scented environment of a hospital room like I desperately expected.

Instead, I was lying in a massive four-poster bed draped in heavy silk sheets, surrounded by the soft, ambient glow of a lavishly decorated room.

I gasped and tried to sit up, but a sharp, localized pain in my side forced me back down with an agonizing groan.

Sitting in a leather wingback chair near a roaring fireplace was the man from the alley, watching me with the predatory grace of a resting tiger.

He casually informed me that his private surgeon had spent three hours putting me back together, ensuring that my baby was entirely unharmed.

I stared at him in utter disbelief, my mind racing as I demanded to know why he hadn’t just taken me to the hospital blocks away from the alley.

He slowly set his crystal tumbler down and walked toward my bed, his sheer size making the sprawling room suddenly feel incredibly claustrophobic.

He told me that his name was Greg Russo, a name that struck pure terror into the heart of anyone who lived in this city.

He coldly explained that if he had taken me to a hospital, Tyler would have found out I survived and sent someone to finish the job.

I had escaped a cowardly rat, only to wake up as the captive guest of the most ruthless, untouchable mafia kingpin in the entire state.

What could possibly possess a notorious crime lord to declare a bloody war just to protect a stranger and her unborn child?