The Wrong Street

Isabella dragged her legs along the dusty road, her ruined school shoes flapping at the back. Every step made a squeak that annoyed her, but she was too tired to care. Her school uniform was almost torn, the hem fraying, and the collar so worn it barely sat straight anymore.

Her eyes stung from lack of sleep. She had been awake since 1 a.m., scrubbing floors, washing clothes, and running endless errands for her wicked stepmother. By the time the sun came up, Isabella’s body felt like it had been beaten. Her arms ached, her head throbbed, and she could barely keep her eyes open.

“Ah… fuck,” she muttered under her breath, tugging her old school bag higher on her shoulder.

She didn’t even want to go to school. What was the point? She was too tired to even think straight. But sitting at home wasn’t an option. They’d never let her rest, not under that roof.

As she shuffled into Willow Street, something strange caught her attention. A small LED TV was mounted on a pole by God knows who, flickering with static before showing the face of a news reporter. Isabella frowned, slowing down.

The reporter’s voice rang out clearly:

> “Breaking news. Authorities have confirmed there will be a gang breakout and possible shootout here on Willow Street today. Citizens are strongly advised to stay indoors. Investigators have been tracking the movements of Alessandro Romano, the Mafia leader, and his men. This street is said to be their target today. Please, if you are outside, return to your homes immediately.”

Isabella stopped.

Her eyes narrowed. “What the fuck…?”

She looked around. Nobody else seemed bothered. Shop owners were still arranging their goods. A woman sold bread on the corner, calling out prices. Kids kicked a ball nearby. No one looked like they believed this shit.

She raised an eyebrow at the TV. Since when do gangsters or mafias come to Willow Street? Nothing like this had ever happened in all her years living here.

She shook her head and muttered, “Why would he target this place? We have nothing. I work five jobs just to keep food in the house while my lazy sister eats the money I bring back. And Alessandro Romano? Mafia tycoon? Please. Not here.”

She sighed, dragging her feet again, lost in her bitter thoughts.

But before she could even finish, the roar of engines filled the air. It was loud, heavy, and fast—like thunder rolling down the street.

She jerked her head up just in time to see a line of sleek black cars racing toward her. Tires screeched as they stopped suddenly, and before the smoke from the wheels cleared, the doors flew open. Masked men spilled out of the cars, raising their guns.

“Uh… oh fuck no.”

Gunfire erupted. Bullets tore through the air, cracking against walls and smashing windows. People screamed and scattered like frightened birds. Crates toppled over. Glass shattered. In seconds, the street had turned into pure chaos.

Isabella’s legs gave way, and for a second she almost wet herself. Her heart raced so loud she could hear it pounding in her ears.

Without thinking, she ran.

She dashed into the first open gate she saw. She didn’t care whose house it was or what she was running into. Everyone was running. Everyone was screaming. She just wanted to survive.

Inside the compound, she ducked under the staircase, hugging her knees. But the sound of bullets was deafening, ricocheting off walls and metal. Her hiding spot wasn’t safe.

“Shit—shit—fuck—” she whispered, scrambling to her feet. She bolted up the stairs, her legs trembling so badly she almost tripped.

At the top, she froze.

The door was open. Inside, the air was thick with smoke and the metallic stench of blood.

One man was on his knees, a gun pressed to his head. Another stood nearby, while a third sat in a chair, legs crossed like a king.

Isabella’s brain screamed Run! Run now! but her feet wouldn’t obey. She was frozen, her whole body shaking.

The man in the chair lifted his head slowly, dark eyes locking onto hers.

Gosh. Gosh. He was beautiful. Rugged, dangerous, sharp jaw, lips curved in the kind of smirk that made her stomach twist.

Her blood ran cold.

“Boss Alessandro,” one of the masked men said, nodding toward her. “Should we get rid of her?”

Her stomach dropped.

Alessandro. The very name she’d just heard on the news. The Mafia leader. So this was him.

The man—Alessandro—raised his hand lazily, giving them a signal. Then he turned his gun toward the kneeling man and pulled the trigger.

The gunshot echoed through the room, and the kneeling man collapsed lifelessly onto the floor.

Isabella gasped, covering her mouth with both hands.

Two men moved quickly, grabbing her arms roughly. “Move!” They dragged her inside, ignoring her weak struggles, and forced her onto her knees.

Her body shook so badly she thought she might faint.

Alessandro leaned forward, studying her trembling form, then chuckled. “Why are you shaking, little one?”

Her lips quivered. “S-sir, please… please let me go. I didn’t mean to intrude. I was just running from the bullets outside. I swear, I don’t care what’s happening here. I won’t tell anyone!”

He tilted his head, smirking. “You won’t tell anyone? Mhmm. Are you sure about that?”

“Yes—yes sir, I swear!”

His voice dropped lower. “You saw the news, didn’t you? The little warning on the LED TV?”

Her eyes flickered. “…Yes, sir.”

“Then why didn’t you turn back?”

Her mouth opened, but no words came out.

“And you saw they’ve never shown my face on the news.” He tapped his temple, eyes glinting. “But now you’re staring right at me. You know exactly what I look like. You think I’ll let you walk away?”

“No! Please!” Isabella’s voice cracked, tears falling. “I promise with my mother’s grave—I’ll never speak of this! Please, just spare me!”

Alessandro smirked, lifting his gun. “People like you swear. People like you also betray. Let’s see…”

Her whole body locked. “No, no, please—”

The gun fired.

Isabella screamed. But when she opened her eyes, the bullet hole smoked in the wooden floor beside her.

Her chest heaved. Her hands shook. She collapsed onto the ground, sobbing.

Alessandro leaned back, laughing softly.

Then—something in her snapped.

She pushed herself up on trembling legs. “You want to kill me? Then fucking do it!”

His brows lifted.

“What the fuck is wrong with you gangsters?” she yelled, her voice shaking. “Do I look like someone who can hurt you? You almost made me wet my pants out there with your bullets. Do you think that’s funny?”

One of his men growled, stepping forward, hand raised. “How dare you talk to the boss like that—”

“Stop,” Alessandro ordered sharply, raising his hand without taking his eyes off her.

Isabella’s chest heaved. “You think taking lives is funny?” She beat her chest with her fist. “Fine. I’m going to walk out that door right now. Shoot me if you want.”

Silence filled the room.

Alessandro blinked, stunned. No one—man or woman—had ever spoken to him like that.

Isabella turned. Her knees wanted to give out, her heart was screaming with terror, but she refused to show it. She walked straight out the door, down the stairs, and toward the gate.

His men looked at him, waiting for the command to stop her. But it never came.

Outside, Isabella peeked through the gate. The black cars were gone. The street was eerily empty. She ran as fast as her legs would carry her, back toward home.

“Fuck… fuck…” she panted, clutching her chest as she ran.

Back inside, Alessandro leaned back in his chair, lips curving into the faintest smile.

“Interesting,” he murmured.