Chapter 2 Rise of a silent flame

Ava lay awake long after the city outside her window went quiet. The sheets tangled around her legs, damp with sweat, though her small studio was freezing. The shower hadn't done its job. She'd stood under the scalding water for twenty minutes, watching the pink swirl of blood vanish down the drain, scrubbing her skin like it could erase the memory. But it hadn't. It never did. She could still feel him. His weight in her arms. His blood on her shirt. The solid warmth of his body-unmoving but alive. Nico DeLuca. The name felt like smoke on her tongue.

She didn't know why she kept replaying the moment. The way his body had slumped against her. The soft grunt of pain when she helped him into the alley shadows. The heat that poured from him-not just blood, but power. Authority. Danger. And something else. Something... raw. He'd looked at her like he wasn't used to needing anyone-and hated that she'd been there when he did. Her fingers drifted over her stomach, trailing the place where her shirt had clung to her skin, wet with his blood. She closed her eyes. She hated herself for it. For feeling anything but revulsion. For lying awake, replaying it over and over-how his chest had risen just barely beneath her hands... how his jaw clenched in pain, and yet his eyes, even then, were locked on hers like he was memorizing her face in case he didn't wake up. She should've been terrified. She'd never even held a gun, let alone pointed one at another human being. But the fear had faded. What remained now, as the night stretched endlessly into dawn, was a low, hot thrum under her skin. Not fear. Something far more dangerous. Curiosity. Fascination. Hunger. Nico DeLuca was lethal. Everyone in this city knew his name. The man had more blood on his hands than the gutters outside this crumbling apartment. He was cold, calculated, probably cruel. But that night, he had looked at her like she mattered. Like she wasn't invisible. Like she wasn't just the girl behind the bar. And Ava hadn't realized until that moment how badly she craved to be seen. She cursed and turned over, burying her face in the pillow. Her body was betraying her-heat curled low in her stomach, her chest tight with something she couldn't name. Not quite desire. Not yet. But it was close. God, she hated that. It was ridiculous. Stupid. Dangerous. Men like Nico weren't safe. They didn't feel. They didn't love. And yet... His voice had curled in her ear like it belonged there. Deep. Calm. In control. Even bleeding out, he hadn't panicked. He had looked at her like she wasn't just a woman trying to help, but a weapon he hadn't expected to find. Ava pushed herself up and sat at the edge of the bed. The sun hadn't risen yet, but she knew sleep wasn't coming. Not with her mind racing and her body thrumming like a wire stretched too tight. She stood and walked back to the bathroom, turned the faucet on, and stared at the mirror. She looked the same. Tired. Pale. Shadows under her eyes. But she didn't feel the same. Something inside her had shifted-a flicker of fire she couldn't yet name. A promise whispered in the dark that her life was about to change, whether she wanted it to or not. And for the first time in a long time, the thought didn't scare her. Instead, it thrilled her. She leaned closer to the mirror, studying the reflection as if it might offer answers. But it was just her. A bartender with shaky hands and a head full of questions. Still, something lingered behind her gaze-a glint of steel where there used to be only glass. She'd crossed a line. Maybe not one she could see, but she could feel it. Deep in her bones. The night hadn't just changed him-it had changed her, too. And there was no going back.