The Stalker

Three weeks.

That's how long he's been following me.

Same footsteps. Same distance. Same shadow at the edge of my vision.

I thought I was paranoid at first. Six months of running will do that to a person. Make you see threats in every stranger, enemies in every crowd.

But this one is real.

Tonight I find out who he is.

The alley behind my apartment building is dark. Narrow. No witnesses.

Perfect.

I slip into the shadows and wait.

The footsteps approach. Measured. Patient.

When he rounds the corner, I move.

Knife out. Aimed at his throat.

He catches my wrist.

Fast. Too fast.

"Finally." His voice is low. Calm. Amused. "I was wondering when you'd notice."

"Let go of me."

"No."

I try to twist free. His grip is iron.

"Who are you?"

"Someone who's been looking for you for a very long time, Chiara."

My real name. Not the fake one on my current ID.

"How do you know..."

"I know everything." He steps closer. Into the light.

Dark hair. Silver at the temples. Gray eyes that see too much.

The face of a man who'd never had to rush. Controlled. Unhurried. The kind of stillness that comes from knowing you're the most dangerous thing in any room.

"I'm not here to hurt you." Said like a fact, not a reassurance.

"Then why are you following me?"

"Because I have a proposition."

"I'm not interested."

"You will be." His thumb traces circles on my wrist. "The men hunting you, Russo, Petrov, the others, they're getting closer. You've moved three times in six months. How long do you think you can keep running?"

My blood goes cold.

"How do you know about them?"

"I told you. I know everything." He releases my wrist. Steps back. "My name is Matteo Vitelli. And I'm offering you a way out."

Vitelli.

Even I'd heard that name. Six months of running had taught me enough to recognize it.

"What kind of way out?"

"Marriage."

I laugh. I can't help it.

"You want to marry me? You don't even know me."

"I know enough." His eyes travel over my face. Lingering. "Marry me, and the men hunting you die. My wife is untouchable. My enemies know better than to test that."

"And what do you get out of this?"

"You."

One word. No elaboration.

My skin prickled.

"No."

He nods. Like he expected this.

"You have my number." He presses a card into my hand. "When you change your mind."

"I won't."

He smiled. The kind that said he'd heard that before.

"You will."

Then he's gone.

Swallowed by the darkness like he was never there.

I stand in the alley, knife still in my hand, trying to make sense of the last five minutes.

Three weeks of following me.

And he wants to marry me.

I should run. Should pack what little I have and disappear again.

But I'm so tired of running.

So tired of being afraid.

Maybe that's what makes me keep his card.

Just in case.