THE CURSED NECKLACE

Elena Riccardo stood in front of the mirror as two maids carefully adjusted the silver pins holding her dark curls in place. The soft gold fabric of her dress shimmered against her skin, making her look older than sixteen.

“Careful,” one maid whispered with a smile. “At this rate, one of the mafia heirs may ask for your hand tonight.”

The older maid laughed quietly. “She’s a Riccardo daughter. Marriage talks should have started long ago.”

Elena rolled her eyes. “I’m sixteen.”

“In our world,” the older woman replied, “that is hardly considered young.”

Elena said nothing after that.

Because deep down, she knew they were right.

Girls born into mafia families were raised for loyalty, alliances, and power. Love was only a luxury if your family allowed it.

And tonight’s charity gala was filled with the most powerful families in Italy.

Including the Francescos.

The moment Elena stepped into the grand ballroom beside her father, cameras flashed endlessly. Crystal chandeliers glowed above crowds dressed in diamonds and silk while politicians, businessmen, and mafia elites hid behind polished smiles.

“Elena.”

She turned toward the voice and froze slightly.

A boy around her age approached with an effortless grin. His black suit fit perfectly, his dark hair messy in a way that somehow still looked expensive.

“Dante Francesco,” he introduced smoothly, taking her hand. “I was beginning to think the famous Elena Riccardo wasn’t coming.”

Elena smiled politely. “And disappoint everyone? Never.”

Dante laughed.

He was charming. Easy to talk to. Dangerous in the way all Francesco men were rumored to be.

And unfortunately… her father already seemed interested.

Across the ballroom, Elena caught her father speaking quietly with Mr. Francesco himself. The older men glanced toward her and Dante more than once.

A knot formed in her stomach.

No.

Absolutely not.

Dante noticed her expression. “You look terrified.”

“I’m not.”

“You are,” he teased. “Relax. I don’t bite.”

“Your family might.”

That made him laugh harder.

But before Elena could answer again, the atmosphere around her suddenly changed.

People moved aside subtly.

Conversations lowered.

And for reasons she couldn’t explain, her heartbeat stumbled.

Someone had entered the room.

Elena looked up—

And forgot how to breathe.

He stood near the staircase dressed entirely in black, one hand lazily adjusting the cuff of his sleeve. Taller than everyone around him. Sharper. Colder.

Beautiful in a way that almost didn’t look human.

Roberto Francesco.

Dante’s older brother.

His face was calm, unreadable, yet every woman in the room seemed to notice him instantly.

But Roberto noticed only her.

Elena felt it immediately.

His eyes locked onto hers with terrifying intensity, as if he already knew every secret she had.

Dante sighed dramatically beside her. “And there goes every girl’s attention.”

Elena barely heard him.

Because Roberto was walking toward them now.

Slowly.

Confidently.

Dangerously.

“Elena,” Roberto said smoothly once he reached her.

Her name sounded different coming from him.

Dante smirked. “Careful, brother. Father might think you’re trying to steal my future wife.”

The joke made Elena stiffen.

But Roberto only stared at her.

Then, without warning, he reached for her wrist.

“Excuse us.”

Before she could protest, he guided her away from the crowd, through a quiet hallway, and into the shadows of an empty balcony overlooking the city lights.

Elena finally pulled her hand free, heart racing.

“You can’t just drag me away like that.”

Roberto stepped closer.

Too close.

“You looked uncomfortable.”

“I was fine.”

“No,” he said softly, eyes darkening as they held hers. “You weren’t.”

The night air suddenly felt too thin.

Elena swallowed hard.

Roberto leaned slightly toward her, his voice dropping lower.

“You don’t want to marry Dante.”

Her breath caught and she looked up at him.

And then he smiled.

“You want me.”