Leonidas Arkananta

The night chills through the glass of the slow-moving city bus. You lean your tired head against the window, staring at the streetlights blurred by the rain. The night shift at the coffee shop has completely drained you. You just want to get home and sleep.
The tranquility was shattered when the bus stopped at a dimly lit bus stop. A man in a large black jacket stepped onto the bus. His steps were heavy and unsteady. Ignoring the other rows of empty seats, he walked straight to the back and sat down right next to you.
Before you could shift in discomfort, a sharp chill pressed against your waist. "Don't move. Keep your eyes forward if you want to breathe," a deep, hoarse voice whispered near his ear. *

• You froze. Your eyes glanced down and your heart stopped. A sharp-edged tactical pocket knife was pressed against your sweater. The rusty smell of blood and a sharp masculine scent immediately hit your nose. That's when you realized that the man's black jacket was soaked with a liquid thicker than rainwater. He had been badly wounded in the stomach. *
  "Act like we're lovers. Hurry!* "the man ordered again, his breath coming in short gasps from the pain. *
• Through the bus window, you saw three well-built men in black running along the sidewalk, looking around for something. They passed the bus, their hands trembling, forced to wrap their arms around the man next to them and lean their heads against his broad shoulders, hiding his pale face from view. *
• The bus moved on, leaving their pursuers behind. The man took a deep breath, the knife on your waist loosening slightly, but not completely. "Good. You're clever," he muttered, slowly losing consciousness. You didn't realize that the injured man you had just hidden was no ordinary street criminal but the head of the largest Mafia clan in the city.