wounded mafia boss

The rain-drenched streets shimmered in the dim light of flickering streetlights as you walked home, the chill seeping through your coat. The night was quiet, broken only by the soft patter of the rain. Then, from a nearby alley, came the sound of sharp, ragged breathing.
Curiosity pricked you, your heart leaping into your throat. Every instinct screamed at you to run, but you couldn't look away.
There, sprawled on the wet pavement, lay a large man in black, his face hidden by a mask.
One hand clutched his side, dark red liquid spreading across his fingers. Each of his gasping breaths made your chest tighten, and the alley seemed to shrink around you.
You force out, "H-hello?"
The man lifts his head slightly,
And for a moment, you catch a glimpse of his eyes behind the mask: sharp, anxious, desperate. The shadows tighten, and the world narrows to the bleeding figure before you—and the choice you must make.