I was still on that idiot couch, staring at the ceiling like it held the cheat codes to life.
Spoiler alert—it didn't.
My brain was spiraling again. That wonderful existential loop of, "What the hell am I doing?" mixed with, "Am I going to die because some overzealous cop decided I looked too interesting to ignore?"
Love that for me.
I hadn't moved for hours. At this point, I was becoming one with the damn couch. If I stayed any longer, they'd need a forklift to pry me off.
Bzzzz!
My phone vibrated on the coffee table.
I eyed it like it was a landmine. Because let's be real—it could be anyone. The villain of this messed-up novel had noticed me now. Maybe this was him.
Bzzzz!
I groaned and snatched it up, squinting at the name.
Marco.
Right. Alfio's best friend. But why the hell was he calling me now?
I answered, pressing the phone to my ear. Before I could even inhale, his voice exploded through the speaker.
"Are you dead or alive?"
…
I blinked. "Excuse me?"
"Don't 'excuse me' me!" Marco was full-on dramatic, like a soap opera widow about to faint. "You disappeared off the face of the earth! I've been calling and texting, and guess what? Nada! Nothing! Zilch! So, are you dead or alive?"
I exhaled so hard I was surprised my soul didn't escape. "Dead. You're talking to my ghost."
Silence.
Like, dead silence.
"…I see," Marco finally said, flat as a corpse. "So your brain still hasn't recovered."
"Clearly not," I muttered, rubbing my temple.
"Look, you idiot." His tone shifted—well, as much as Marco's could shift. "It's been over a month. You need to come back to class before the professors sacrifice your grades to their dark gods."
"Class…" I blinked up at the ceiling. "Oh. Right. College."
That thing normal people attended. Where people had futures and aspirations. Meanwhile, I was just trying not to get executed by a mafia boss or a justice-obsessed cop. Totally the same thing.
"Alfio?"
"I'm thinking!" I snapped, which was a lie because thinking required effort, and my brain had gone on strike weeks ago.
"What's there to think about?" Marco huffed. "Get your ass out of that crypt you call an apartment and—"
"Marco," I cut him off, closing my eyes. "If I tell you I'm trying to avoid getting murdered by a psycho mafia boss and a self-righteous cop, will you leave me alone?"
Pause.
"…I'll pretend I didn't hear that."
Smart man.
But Marco wasn't giving up. "Alright, fine. Let's get a drink. You need beer. You sound like you need an entire brewery, actually."
"Beer isn't gonna fix my life, Marco."
"No, but it'll make you forget for a few hours. Close enough."
…Okay, he had a point.
"Fine," I mumbled, already regretting it. "I'll come."
"Good." His tone brightened instantly, like I'd just promised him a lifetime supply of pizza. "Don't make me drag your sorry ass out."
"Yeah, yeah…"
I hung up, tossing my phone aside and flopping back onto the couch. Beer wouldn't fix my fate. But at least it'd dull the sharp edges of reality.
And I desperately needed that.
Because sooner or later… I'd have to face Salvo.
And when that happened—There'd be no turning back.
***
The bar smelled like cheap liquor, bad decisions, and lost dignity. A fitting place for my life to continue crumbling.
Loud music. Sweaty bodies. The unmistakable stench of desperation.
I was three drinks in—okay, maybe four. Who the hell was counting? Certainly not me. Marco had been beside me. Correction: Marco had been beside me five minutes ago.
Now?
Off with his girlfriend, Sofia. Disappeared behind the bar. And I didn't need detective skills to know where they went.
Bathroom.
To devour each other like rabid dogs in heat.
Bastard.
I swirled my half-empty glass, my mind swimming. Something was nagging at me, like I was forgetting something.
What was I forgetting?
I frowned, but it didn't matter. What mattered was right in front of me—my drink. I was alone.
Really alone.
I slouched, letting the noise drown out my thoughts. Trying not to think about Salvo. Not about Riccardo. And definitely not about the fact that I was basically a dead man walking in this story's script.
And then...
"Alfio."
A voice. Sharp. Familiar. My blood ran cold.
No.
I didn't need to turn around.
Don't be him. Don't be him.
But of course, because my life is a joke—I turned.
Riccardo Costa.
Tall. Sharp jaw. Those damn dark eyes that always looked at me like I was something worth saving. God, I hated that.
My heart did a stupid little somersault again.
Stop it.
"What are you doing here?" he asked, stepping closer.
"Drinking?" I slurred.
Smooth, Alfio. Real smooth.
"Here?" His jaw tightened. "This isn't safe."
"I'm fine, Mom." I waved him off, taking another swig. "Go save the world or whatever it is you do."
His lips pressed into a thin line. "What!"
"Nothing," I waved, at him, basically saying...SHOO!
"Come with me."
"Why?" I scoffed. "Gonna arrest me for underage drinking?" (I wasn't underage, but the joke stayed.)
"Alfio." His voice was quieter now.
Ugh... I didn't need this. Not tonight. Not when I was trying so damn hard not to think about how he was the reason I was gonna end up dead.
Before I could insult him more—
"We found him."
The voice cut through the chaos. My head snapped toward the sound.
A man. Plain clothes. I didn't need to be told who he was.
Undercover.
Riccardo's eyes widened slightly as he turned toward the guy leaning casually against the wall. A half-empty glass of beer in his hand.
But his eyes…
They exchanged a quick glance. That's when I realized.
Shit.
My blood ran cold.
Oh no.
No, no, no.
A sharp, paralyzing dread coiled around my chest like a vice.
I know this scene.
My fingers went numb as memories slammed into me. This was it. The bar where Riccardo saves Alfio. Where an escaped prisoner points a gun at me… uses me as a bargaining chip.
Chaos was coming.
And I knew—
This was the moment Alfio—no, me—ends up hurt.
But I wasn't Alfio.
I was Luca.
And I didn't want to get hurt.
I didn't want to die.
My hands shook, the trembling uncontrollable as panic clawed up my throat. My breath came fast and shallow, chest heaving like I'd just run a marathon. The room suddenly felt too small. Too loud. Too suffocating.
Riccardo's jaw clenched, his body tensing, his instincts already kicking in.
His eyes met mine.
"Go away, Alfio." His voice was low. Almost pleading. "This isn't safe."
Dude, I want to. But—My legs wouldn't move. They felt like lead, rooted to the ground.
Riccardo moved—slow, calculated—closing in on his target.
No.
No, no, no.
This isn't supposed to happen.
But it was.
The criminal noticed. His eyes narrowed, his head tilting slightly as he spotted Riccardo approaching.
He knows.
Time slowed.
I saw it. His hand slipped beneath his jacket. And then—
BANG!
A gunshot shattered the air. Screams erupted. The music cut off. Panic swallowed the room.
"Get down!" Riccardo's voice thundered, but the chaos had already consumed everyone.
The man had a gun.
"Nobody moves!" The criminal's voice cracked as he pointed the weapon at the officers. His eyes—wild with desperation. "Stay back, or I'll shoot!"
My heart pounded like a war drum. My skin prickled with cold sweat.I need to get out of here. I backed away, inching toward the exit.
If I run now… I can change this. I can avoid it. I won't get hurt.
I turned—
CRASH.
My hip slammed into a table. Glasses shattered.
"Shit."
The sound was deafening. And then—his gaze snapped to me. I looked up. The barrel of the gun pointed right at me.
My stomach plummeted.
"Don't move!" the man barked, his wild eyes locking onto mine.
Ice filled my veins.
No.
No, no, no…
"Come here." His voice was low, dripping with madness.
A breath hitched in my throat. My feet refused to move. The gun gleamed under the dim bar lights, steady in his grip, ready to fire at any second. A sharp chill raced down my spine as the scene from the novel replayed in my mind.
Riccardo… He would try to negotiate. Try to keep the criminal calm. But what if it wouldn't work? What if—
This man had a gun, and if he shoots… I'm dead.
"Alfio!" Riccardo's voice cracked—panic seeping through.
But I couldn't move. I couldn't breathe. My throat was dry. My vision blurred. I know I won't die. But… I don't like this.
"Let him go." Riccardo's voice was calm, but I heard the tremor beneath it.
"Drop your gun, or I'll blow his head off!"
The cold barrel pressed against my temple. A strangled noise escaped me.
Oh God…
My body trembled, instincts screaming—
Run.
Fight.
Do something.
But I couldn't.
I was frozen.
"Alfio…" Riccardo's voice was softer now. Almost… pleading. "Just stay calm."
Calm? How the fuck am I supposed to stay calm when I'm about to die?!
Tears blurred my vision. I didn't want to die. I wasn't ready.
I can't die.
This is just a story…Right?
But the cold metal pressing against my skin told me otherwise.
And then—
BANG!
Another shot.
But this time—The grip on me loosened. I stumbled back, gasping for air as the criminal's body crumpled to the ground. Blood pooled beneath him.
Riccardo shot him, but my ears were ringing. My breath came in ragged, shallow gulps. I blinked, dazed, struggling to process.
Riccardo… He stood there. Gun still raised. His expression unreadable, but I saw it. The relief as he sighed.
And my heart—my heart pounded so hard it hurt. In that moment… I realized the truth, for real.
No matter how hard I tried—I can't escape this.
I can't avoid the plot.
My fate is to die.
The weight of that realization crushed me. And before I knew it—I ran.
My legs moved before my brain could process.
"Alfio, wait!" Riccardo's voice echoed behind me.
But I didn't stop.
I couldn't.
I pushed through the chaos, vision blurred by tears. I didn't care where I was going—I just needed to get away.
I knew.
No matter how far I ran… Fate would catch up to me. But I still ran. My feet pounded against the pavement. The bar's chaos faded behind me.
I didn't stop.
I couldn't stop.
But then—
Thud.
I slammed into something.
Someone.
Solid. Immovable.
The impact knocked the breath out of me. I stumbled back, disoriented. My head spun. I blinked, trying to clear my vision.
But before I could move—A hand gripped my wrist.
Firm. Unyielding.
And then…A voice. Cold. Low. Dangerous.
"Finally…"
My blood froze.
"You're in my arms, little one."
And just like that—I fell unconscious.