THE CURSED NECKLACE

Elena Riccardo stood before the mirror while two maids carefully pinned dark curls away from her face. Gold silk draped elegantly over her body, shimmering softly beneath the bedroom lights and making her look far older than sixteen.

One maid stepped back 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 discussions should have started years ago.”

Elena rolled her eyes lightly. “I’m sixteen.”

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

Elena fell silent after that.

Because unfortunately…

The woman was right.

Girls born into mafia families were not raised for freedom. They were raised for alliances. Loyalty. Power.

Love existed only if your family permitted it.

Tonight’s charity gala held the most powerful families in Italy beneath one roof.

Including the Francescos.

The moment Elena entered the ballroom beside her father, camera flashes exploded around them endlessly.

Crystal chandeliers glowed above crowds dripping in diamonds and silk while politicians, businessmen, and mafia elites smiled at one another with perfectly polished dishonesty.

The ballroom smelled faintly of expensive perfume, champagne, and power.

“Elena.”

She turned toward the voice and paused.

A boy around her age approached easily through the crowd wearing a perfectly tailored black suit. Dark hair fell messily across his forehead in a way that somehow still looked expensive.

“Dante Francesco,” he introduced smoothly, lifting her hand toward his lips. “I was beginning to think the famous Elena Riccardo wouldn’t come.”

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

Dante laughed warmly.

Unlike most men in their world, he seemed easy to speak to.

Comfortable.

Dangerous in the quieter way all Francesco men were rumored to be.

And unfortunately…

Her father already looked interested.

Across the ballroom, Elena noticed Mr. Francesco speaking privately with her father. The two older men glanced toward her and Dante more than once.

A knot formed immediately in her stomach.

Dante noticed her expression and grinned slightly. “You look terrified.”

“I’m not.”

“You are.”

“I barely know you.”

“That’s what marriage is for.”

Elena almost choked.

Dante laughed harder at her horrified expression.

“Relax,” he teased. “I don’t bite.”

“Your family might.”

That only amused him more.

But before Elena could answer again—

The atmosphere shifted.

It happened subtly at first.

Conversation lowered.

People moved aside instinctively.

Even the music somehow seemed quieter.

And for reasons Elena could not explain, her heartbeat stumbled painfully inside her chest.

Someone had entered the ballroom.

Elena looked toward the grand staircase—

And forgot how to breathe.

He stood near the entrance dressed entirely in black.

One hand adjusted the cuff of his sleeve lazily while men twice his age stepped aside for him without question.

Taller than everyone around him.

Colder.

Beautiful in a way that almost did not look human.

Roberto Francesco.

Dante’s older brother.

Elena had heard stories about him for years.

Cruel.

Untouchable.

Dangerous.

The kind of man mothers warned daughters about in whispers.

His face remained calm and unreadable, yet the entire room seemed painfully aware of him.

Women stared openly.

Men watched carefully.

But Roberto noticed only her.

His eyes locked onto hers with such terrifying intensity that heat crawled suddenly up her spine.

He looked as though he already knew her.

As though something about Elena had immediately interested him.

Beside her Dante sighed dramatically. “And there goes every woman’s attention.”

Elena barely heard him.

Because Roberto was walking toward them.

Every step tightened the strange feeling growing in Elena’s chest.

When he finally stopped before her, the world around them strangely faded.

“Elena.”

Her name sounded different in Roberto’s mouth.

Lower.

More intimate.

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

The joke made Elena stiffen instantly.

But Roberto didn’t laugh.

Didn’t even look at Dante.

His gaze remained fixed entirely on Elena’s face.

Then slowly—

His eyes dropped lower.

Taking in:

the gold dress,

the exposed skin of her shoulders,

the silver necklace resting against her throat.

Something dark flickered briefly across his expression.

Gone so quickly Elena almost imagined it.

Without warning Roberto reached for her wrist.

His fingers wrapped around her skin firmly.

Heat rushed instantly through Elena’s body.

“Excuse us.”

Before she could protest, Roberto guided her through the ballroom.

People stared openly as they passed.

Some curious.

Some nervous.

No one dared stop him not even her father.

Elena’s pulse raced harder the farther they moved from the crowd until finally Roberto pushed open the doors leading onto a private balcony overlooking the glittering city below.

Cold night air swept around them immediately.

The doors shut behind them.

Silence.

Elena finally pulled her wrist free and stepped backward.

“You can’t just drag me away like that, what will people think?”

Roberto moved closer instead.

Close enough for her to catch the scent of expensive cologne and whiskey.

The city lights below blurred faintly in Elena’s vision.

Her heartbeat felt strangely uneven now.

Roberto stepped closer again.

Close enough that she had to tilt her head back slightly to maintain eye contact.

Dangerous.

Everything about him felt dangerous.

“You don’t want to marry Dante.”

Her breath caught unexpectedly.

“And how would you know that?”

A faint smile touched Roberto’s mouth, a smile that didn’t reach his dark eyes.

“Because every time he touched you,”

“you looked for a way to escape.”

Elena froze.

He noticed.

Roberto studied her face quietly for one long second before lowering his voice further.

“You’re afraid of my family.”

“I should be.”

That smile appeared again.

“Yes,” he agreed. “You should.”

The air between them suddenly felt far too thin.

Elena swallowed hard.

Roberto’s gaze dropped briefly toward her lips before lifting back to her eyes.

And somehow that tiny movement felt more intimate than touching her.

Then finally—

He leaned slightly closer and said softly,

“You don’t want Dante.”

Elena’s pulse jumped violently.

“And what exactly do I want?”

Roberto looked directly into her eyes.

Like he already knew the answer before she did.

Then he smiled.

“You want me.”