CHAPTER TWO

Elena’s heart refused to calm even after Roberto stepped away from the ballroom lights.

The silence between them felt dangerous.

Everything about him felt dangerous.

She knew exactly who Roberto Francesco was. Everyone did.

The eldest Francesco son.

Twenty-one years old.

Cold. Untouchable. Brilliant.

Rumors followed him everywhere—whispers of violence, power, and a darkness even older mafia men respected. Unlike Dante’s easy smiles, Roberto rarely laughed. Rarely spoke.

And yet somehow, every girl in the city wanted his attention.

Including her.

Which was ridiculous.

Because Roberto Francesco was far too old for her.

Far too dangerous for her.

And still… Elena couldn’t stop staring at him.

The city lights cast shadows across his sharp features as he looked down at her, calm and unreadable.

“You’re staring,” he said quietly.

Elena immediately looked away. “You dragged me out here.”

“And you came willingly.”

Her cheeks burned.

God, she hated how easily he unsettled her.

Roberto stepped closer slowly, his gaze lowering briefly to her lips.

Elena’s breath caught.

Was he going to ?

Oh.

Oh no.

He was going to kiss her.

The realization sent panic rushing through her all at once.

“I’m sixteen,” she blurted out without knowing why.

The words hit the air like shattered glass.

Roberto froze.

For the first time that night, genuine surprise crossed his face.

Then immediately—

He stepped back.

The sudden distance between them felt humiliating.

Elena’s stomach twisted.

Right. Of course.

She suddenly became painfully aware of herself. Too young. She probably looked like a child compared to the women he has met. Too inexperienced. A stupid girl standing on a balcony hoping an older man would kiss her.

How embarrassing and pathetic.

But when Roberto turned slightly as if preparing to leave, panic pushed her forward before pride could stop her.

“Roberto—”

The word left her mouth before she could think

She grabbed the sleeve of his jacket lightly, moving closer again.

Maybe if she just—

Maybe if he looked at her one more time—

Roberto looked down at her hand gripping him.

Then slowly back at her face.

His expression hardened instantly.

“Stop touching me.”

His words felt colder than ice.

Elena released him immediately, mortified.

“I wasn’t—”

“You were.” He looked disgusted.

God.

She wanted the floor to open and swallow her whole.

Roberto took another step back, creating distance between them again.

“It’s late,” he said flatly. “Go back inside.”

The embarrassment quickly turned into anger.

“Oh my God,” Elena snapped before she could stop herself. “How can you be this cruel on my birthday?”

Roberto paused.

For a moment, he simply stared at her.

Then something unreadable flickered across his face.

“…It’s your birthday?”

Elena crossed her arms bitterly. “Unfortunately.”

A long silence followed.

Then quietly—almost gently—Roberto said,

“Happy birthday, Elena.”

And before she could answer—

He walked away.

Leaving her alone on the balcony with a racing heart and the horrible realization that she would never forget him now.