A Battered Rose

CHAPTER 2

Under the dim glow of streetlights, Dante Ricci’s sleek black car sliced through the empty roads, his mind still churning with the events of the night. The Falcone attack on his docks had been a warning—and a challenge. He knew that the battle was only beginning, and in his world, weakness was an invitation to death.

As he sped down the winding streets on the outskirts of the city, something unexpected caught his eye—a lone figure stumbling along the roadside, her silhouette barely visible in the shadows. Dante slowed, his gaze narrowing. A woman, her clothes torn and hair disheveled, was leaning against a flickering lamppost, her movements sluggish and desperate.

He pulled over, his initial impulse to ignore her overridden by an uncharacteristic curiosity. As she lifted her head, their eyes met, and Dante felt a strange tug at his gut. This wasn’t just any woman.

Stepping out of the car, he approached her cautiously, his hand instinctively resting on the gun holstered at his side. "You lost?" he asked, his voice flat, revealing none of the intrigue he felt.

The woman raised her head, her eyes dazed but defiant. She was young, probably mid-twenties, with high cheekbones and bruises staining her face. She didn’t reply, merely glared at him with a silent, unspoken challenge. Dante’s brow furrowed. In this part of town, he figured she must be one of the many desperate women trying to survive, but something about her seemed… out of place.

"Are you deaf?" he said, his tone sharper. "Or are you just another street girl looking for trouble?"

At his words, a flicker of pain crossed her face, but she quickly hid it, her expression hardening. “Do I look like I want anything from you?” she snapped, her voice low and hoarse.

Dante’s gaze remained steady. Despite her words, he could see the fear and exhaustion in her eyes, though she fought to conceal it. She was wounded, but there was a stubbornness, a fire in her that intrigued him. Women like her—ones with secrets they refused to share—often spelled trouble, but Dante had never been one to shy away from a challenge.

"So, you’re too good to accept help?" he asked, his tone almost mocking. "Fine. Stay here and freeze for all I care."

He turned to leave, but something in him refused to walk away. Her piercing gaze stayed with him as he took a few steps back toward the car. She looked like she’d been through hell, yet her pride remained intact, as though she’d rather die than accept a stranger’s pity.

Just before he got into the car, he heard her mutter, “Wait.”

Dante paused, glancing back with a hint of a smirk. "Changed your mind?"

The woman looked away, arms wrapped around herself, her body shivering as a gust of cold night air whipped past. "I… I just need a ride," she said, swallowing her pride.

He gestured for her to get in, his gaze unwavering as she moved towards the car, her steps slow and wary. As she settled into the passenger seat, Dante noticed the way she held her arms protectively around herself, as though she feared him—or perhaps the world itself. She refused to meet his eyes, staring straight ahead instead.

He started the car, the silence between them tense and uneasy. After a few moments, he broke it. "You got a name?"

“Livia,” she replied softly, still not looking at him.

Dante raised an eyebrow. "Just Livia?"

Her jaw clenched, and he could see the walls she was so desperately trying to keep up. "That’s all you need to know."

Dante chuckled, the sound low and edged with sarcasm. "Suit yourself. So, Livia… how does a girl like you end up out here looking like you’ve been dragged through hell?"

She stiffened, visibly recoiling from the question, and Dante noticed her fists clench in her lap. "That’s none of your business."

He shrugged, unfazed by her coldness. "If you’re in my car, it becomes my business."

Livia finally turned to face him, her gaze fierce. "You think you know people like me? You don’t know the half of it." Her words were venomous, but Dante saw the vulnerability lurking beneath her bravado. She was hiding something—a story buried deep, something dark and twisted that clung to her like a shadow.

Dante’s curiosity piqued. He’d met countless people trying to survive on the streets, many of them broken and beaten down. But Livia was different. She was wounded, yes, but there was a defiance in her that made him want to know more.

As he drove, he noticed her glancing nervously at her reflection in the side mirror. Her once-pristine dress was torn and stained, her makeup smudged, and her face bore faint bruises. To anyone else, she might look like just another girl down on her luck. But Dante saw the small details—the way she held herself, her reluctance to speak openly.

Then, as if sensing his silent scrutiny, she shifted uncomfortably, her eyes flashing with anger. "Stop looking at me like that."

Dante smirked. "Like what?"

"Like you know everything," she snapped. "Like you can see through me."

He shrugged. "You’re not that hard to read, sweetheart."

"Then why don’t you tell me," she challenged, her voice dripping with sarcasm. "What do you see?"

Dante leaned back, his eyes narrowing as he observed her. "I see someone who’s running. Someone who got tangled up in things she couldn’t handle and barely made it out."

Her face went pale, and for a brief moment, he caught a glimpse of raw fear in her eyes. But she quickly masked it, her chin lifting defiantly. "You think you’re so clever, don’t you?"

He simply shrugged. "I’ve seen enough to know when someone’s hiding something."

The car fell silent again, the only sounds the soft hum of the engine and the occasional rustle as she shifted in her seat. He watched her from the corner of his eye, wondering what secrets lay behind those guarded eyes.

Livia’s thoughts, however, were a tangled mess. Every instinct screamed at her to get out of this car, to run and hide. But she had nowhere to go, and as much as she hated to admit it, this stranger’s presence was oddly comforting. There was a strength in him, a quiet yet intense aura that seemed almost… safe.

Her mind drifted back to the events that had led her here, memories that haunted her like shadows she could never escape. She thought of the betrayal, the deception that had shattered her life and left her stranded in the darkness. She’d trusted the wrong people, let herself be fooled by promises that had turned to ash.

The stranger’s voice pulled her from her thoughts. "You got anyone looking for you?"

Livia hesitated, choosing her words carefully. "Not anymore."

Dante picked up on the bitterness in her tone, his curiosity deepening. "So, you’re alone."

"Why do you care?" she replied, her voice laced with suspicion.

He chuckled, the sound humorless. "I don’t. But people like you, wandering around alone at night, usually mean trouble. And I don’t like trouble."

She scoffed, her gaze turning cold. "Then why did you stop?"

For a moment, he was silent, as though he hadn’t quite asked himself that question. "Call it… curiosity."

They drove on in silence, tension simmering beneath the surface. Eventually, Dante pulled up to an old, abandoned motel on the outskirts of town. He nodded towards it. "This is as far as I go."

Livia eyed the rundown building, her face hardening. It wasn’t much, but it was shelter, and for now, that was enough.

She turned to him, her voice a mixture of gratitude and resentment. "Thanks. I didn’t need your help, but… thanks."

Dante smirked. "You sure have a funny way of showing gratitude."

Without another word, she stepped out of the car, her figure disappearing into the shadows as he watched her go. As he drove off, he couldn’t shake the feeling that their paths would cross again. And as he disappeared into the night, Livia allowed herself a moment of vulnerability, whispering to the empty darkness, "One day, I’ll take back everything that was stolen from me."