The sun breaks over the horizon, spilling pale gold across the city.
D steps out of the back seat. His men fan out, eyes sweeping the alley with practiced precision. Always alert.
Always ready.
The back alley behind Akira Lounge holds too many secrets. On one side—the black Aston Martin. On the other—Ace… and the man wrapped in wealth and quiet authority.
D exhales, shaking his head. Always trouble. Roberto won't like this.
Then—a thought cuts through him. Sharp. Sudden. The message he sent out… only one person should understand it. Roberto. So how was the mark on Akira Lounge—JR's mark—called off?
D's gaze sharpens on Ace.
Slowly, his eyes narrow.
Unless—Roberto is one of them. The Nameless Fifteen. Whispered about. Felt. Never seen. Rumored to be under JR. No names. No faces. No witnesses. Only power. Only consequence.
Maybe one of the Fifteen is JR. Or maybe—Roberto stands above them. D's jaw tightens. Because only they would have the reach to influence JR… or call off a mark once it's placed. So which is it? Could Roberto be one of the Fifteen? Could he be—JR?
The thought lodges deep. Heavy. Dangerous. D swallows.
Then a quiet, breathless laugh slips out. Doesn't matter. That boy was always meant to become something. He knew it from the start. His gaze returns to Ace. Still standing. Still breathing. Safe. Always Roberto's reason for coming back.
And for the first time in a long while—D feels it. Relief. If Roberto has the power… the reach… to call off a mark— Maybe—just maybe—his salvation is finally within reach. This life—drugs. Women. Violence. Too much. Too many years. And no way out.
Until now.
###
His eyes search mine—then shift. Something dark. Unreadable. Then gone. He turns. His back to me. Keeps walking. Just like that. I don't move. I can't. Because I know—this is it. The last time I touch him. The last time those eyes look at me like I matter.
A tear slips free. Slow. Unstoppable.
Behind him—his steps grow heavier. One. Two. Stop. Keep going. He forces it. Just walk. Don't turn back. But—he does. Just once.
He turns. And there she is. Still standing there. Crying. For him. The sight hits harder than anything she said. It tears through him—clean, merciless. He memorizes it. Every detail. Because he already knows—walking away now might be the only way he keeps her safe.
I see him turn. Just for a second. Hope surges—sharp, fragile. But he doesn't come back.
He just… looks. Why does that hurt more?
His jaw tightens. For the first time—he understands. She says everything he can't. Feels everything he buries. Shows what he hides. Gives what he denies himself. Freely. And that—that's exactly why he can't have her.
His feet won't move. Not forward. Not back. Frozen.
My chest tightens. Say something. Stop him. Run to him. But my body won't listen. So I just stand there—and cry. And he just stands there—and watches. Two people. Close enough to touch. Too far to reach.
And loving her—is the one thing he cannot afford.
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D turns, ready to get back into his car—A sound cuts through the alley.
He stops.
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I want to run to him. But deep down, I know—it wouldn't change anything. So I wait. Just one more second. For him to turn. For him to leave.
Then—a sharp screech splits the air. My head snaps toward the sound. A car—no—too fast. Too close. Horror locks my lungs. It's heading straight for him.
Why isn't he moving? "Move!"
The scream tears out of me before I can think. My body finally listens. I run. Everything blurs—distance collapsing—his figure growing—almost—then
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D sees it. A Honda Civic—flying down the alley.
Too fast. Too direct. A hit. No hesitation.
Then—Ace moves. She slams into him—forces him out of the path—Her body lifts—weightless—then crashes hard against the ground.
"Fuck!"