Chapter 185: For scientific purposes

Chapter 185: For scientific purposes
Amelia Coleman’s life was a series of heavy textbooks, lukewarm coffee, and the smell of antiseptic.

She stumbled out of the university library, the late afternoon sun blinding her after six hours of studying pathology. Her tote bag was sliding off her shoulder, digging into her collarbone, and her arms were full of two massive volumes of anatomy volumes and a notebook that refused to stay closed.

"Stupid binder clip," she muttered, trying to adjust her grip without dropping everything into a puddle of slush near the curb.

She stepped off the sidewalk, intending to jaywalk across the street to the subway station, when a low, throaty growl stopped her.

A car pulled up right in front of her, blocking her path. It wasn't just a car; it was a machine. Sleek, black, polished to a mirror shine, with curves that cost more than her entire medical school tuition. A brand new Porsche 911.

Amelia froze, clutching her books to her chest. Her first thought was that she was about to be kidnapped. Her second was that she was about to be asked to extract a bullet from someone in the passenger seat again.

"Shit," she whispered, her heart skipping a beat. "Oh, God. What happened now?"

The tinted window rolled down with a smooth hum.

There was no blood this time. No torn shirt, no sweat, no pallor of impending death.

Solomon Vance sat in the driver's seat, looking like he had just walked out of a GQ shoot. He was wearing a charcoal suit that fit him perfectly, a crisp white shirt unbuttoned at the collar, and sunglasses that he slowly took off as he looked at her.

"Nothing happened," Solomon said, his voice smooth and deep, carrying easily over the street noise. "I'm just here to thank you. You know, for saving my life."

Amelia blinked, her grip on her books loosening slightly. She adjusted her glasses, feeling suddenly very small and very messy in her oversized sweater.

"You already did," she said, frowning slightly. "Like, a lot. You literally wouldn’t stop thanking me that day."

"I was high off the meds and bleeding out," Solomon said, a faint, charming smirk touching his lips. "So it doesn't count."

Amelia felt a flush creep up her neck. She hated that he was handsome. It was unfair. "Alright... So you left all your mafia stuff, got in your batmobile, and drove all the way to my campus just to say thank you in person?"

"Actually," Solomon said, leaning an arm on the door frame, "I came here to take you out on a date. You know, to further express my gratitude."

Amelia laughed, a short, nervous sound. "Who said I want to go on a date with you?"

Solomon didn't miss a beat. "It doesn't have to be a date, then. Consider it a consultation. You just put on a pretty dress, I pick you up in my brand new car, and I take you to a very expensive restaurant."

"And that won't be a date?" Amelia asked skeptically.

"Absolutely not," Solomon lied, his eyes twinkling.

Amelia bit her lip, shifting her weight. The offer was tempting. God, it was tempting. But then reality crashed back in—the reality of who he was.

"Right," she sighed, shifting the heavy books again. "The idea of the non-date is very nice, Mr. Vance. Really. But... You're in the mafia."

Solomon’s expression remained neutral, but he tilted his head, listening.

"And honestly," Amelia continued, her voice gaining a little speed as her anxiety spiked, "I saw what they did to your friend, Mr. Karakatsanis, The Ghost. He looked like he went through a meat grinder. He pretty much was supposed to be dead by now. And just like you were that day he brought you to me..."

She paused, looking around the street as if expecting a hit squad to jump out of the bushes.

"And recently," she lowered her voice, "on the news... they killed a bunch of mafia guys at the shipyards, didn't they?"

Solomon didn't deny it. He didn't try to gaslight her. "Yes."

Amelia nodded, validating her own fears. "Yeah. See? So it's probably not a good idea to go out with you, right? Statistically speaking, being around you significantly lowers my life expectancy."

Solomon looked at her for a long moment. He saw the intelligence in her eyes, the genuine hesitation. He respected it. He wasn't Gabo; he wasn't going to force anyone into his world.

"Alright," Solomon said, his voice soft. "I get your point, Amelia."

He put his sunglasses back on, hiding the disappointment in his eyes.

"Well, once again," he said, nodding respectfully. "Thank you for saving my life. It was a pleasure to meet you, Dr. Coleman."

He rolled up the window halfway and shifted the car into gear.

Amelia stood there on the curb, clutching her books. She watched the sleek black car start to pull away. She thought about her anatomy exam. She thought about her empty apartment. She thought about the safe, boring, predictable life stretching out in front of her.

"Wait!"

The Porsche stopped instantly.

Amelia ran up to the window, breathless, nearly dropping the notebook.

Solomon lowered the glass again, looking at her with raised eyebrows.

"Well," Amelia started, rambling, the words tumbling out of her mouth before she could filter them. "If weeks, or months, or maybe years from now... I put on the news and see that you died a very awful, gruesome death in some rival gang conflict..."

She took a deep breath.

"I think I'd be really upset that I refused going on a date with you. Because, you know, you will be dead. And it will probably haunt me forever, wondering 'what if'. So maybe I should go on a date with you. Just so I know that I'm actually not missing anything. That way, when I confirm you're a terrible idea, I can definitely know I should stay away from men of organized crime."

She stopped, panting slightly, her cheeks bright red. "It would be for scientific and psychological purposes."

Solomon stared at her. Slowly, a genuine, dazzling smile broke across his face—the kind of smile that made the danger seem worth it.

"I'll pick you up at 9," Solomon said.

"Don't be late," Amelia warned, trying to regain her composure.

"I wouldn't dare."

Solomon revved the engine, the sound vibrating through her chest, and peeled away down the avenue, leaving Amelia Coleman standing on the corner, hugging her books and smiling like an idiot.