Opening Scene
The chapel reeked of incense and iron, the air thick enough to choke on. Mia stood at the altar in a white gown that felt like a shroud, its lace scratching her skin like spiderwebs. Black roses trembled in her grip, their thorns biting into her palms until blood seeped into the silk ribbons. A wedding built on pain, she thought. How poetic.
Alessandro loomed beside her, his tuxedo tailored to perfection, his ice-blue eyes colder than the rain lashing the stained-glass windows. The priest's Latin chant slithered through the air, each word dripping with menace. Behind them, a dozen Russo soldiers lined the pews, their guns gleaming in the flickering candlelight.
"You look like a ghost," Alessandro murmured, his breath grazing her ear like frost.
"And you look like the devil," she hissed back, her voice steady despite the storm raging in her chest.
His lips twitched, a predator amused by its prey. "We'll make quite a pair."
The chapel doors exploded open.
Luca's Entrance
Wind and rain roared into the chapel, extinguishing half the candles and plunging the room into jagged shadows. Luca Russo stood in the doorway, drenched and dangerous, water sluicing off his leather jacket. A pistol hung loosely in one hand, a smirk on his lips.
"Sorry, I'm late, brother." He sauntered down the aisle, boots echoing like gunshots. "Wouldn't want to miss your… nuptials."
Mia's breath caught. Ten years had sharpened his features, and carved bitterness into his once-boyish grin, but his eyes, those dark, reckless eyes were the same. The ones she'd kissed under Brooklyn bridges and traced with her fingertips until he vanished like smoke.
Alessandro's hand tightened on her waist, his grip bruising. "Leave. Now."
"Or what?" Luca stopped inches from them, his gaze raking over Mia. "You'll kill me? Again?"
Again? The word slithered into Mia's mind, but Alessandro stepped forward, blocking her view. "This doesn't concern you."
"Doesn't it?" Luca's laugh was bitter. "You're marrying my girl. That makes it personal."
Your girl. Mia's stomach lurched. She'd mourned him. Burned his letters. Buried his memory in the same soil where her mother's secrets festered. Now here he stood, a ghost with a gun and a vendetta.
"Sign the vows, Mia," Alessandro growled.
The priest shoved a quill into her hand. The marriage contract glowed faintly mixed with blood. Her blood, she realized, was from the thorn pricks on her palms.
The Dungeon
Hours later, Mia paced her gilded cage bedroom draped in velvet and suffocating opulence. Alessandro had left without a word, locking her in with a warning: "Don't wander."
But the mirror called to her.
The same mirror that had shown her Luca's reflection. She pressed her palm to the glass, still sticky with her blood. It shimmered, then dissolved like smoke, revealing a hidden staircase spiraling into darkness.
The dungeon stank of rust, rot, and something metallic. Mia's bare feet slapped against cold, slime-slick stone as she crept past cells lined with rusted chains. Whispers followed her, voices overlapping in a macabre chorus:
"Help us… break the vow…"
"She's here… the witch's heir…"
At the end of the hall, a rusted door stood a jar. Inside, a leather-bound grimoire lay open on a table, its pages filled with sigils and sketches of… her. Her mother. The cursed crystal from Alessandro's safe.
"The Russo Curse," Mia read aloud, her voice trembling. "Bound by blood, broken by sacrifice. The key lies in the witch's heir."
A hand clamped over her mouth.
"You shouldn't be here, Mrs. Russo," Enzo hissed, dragging her backward.
Mia's locket burst open, the photo inside flickering to life: her mother screaming as a shadow. Alessandro's father plunged a dagger into her chest. The grimoire's pages fluttered wildly, one phrase burning into Mia's mind:
"Kill the don. Break the curse."
Enzo froze, his grip loosening. "You… you're her daughter."
A gun cocked behind them.
"Let her go," Luca said, stepping from the shadows. Rain still dripped from his hair, his blade glinting in the dungeon's sickly green light. "Or I'll show you how a real Russo spills blood."
Enzo snarled, reaching for his weapon—but Mia's palm blazed suddenly, the thorn pricks glowing like embers. The grimoire erupted in flames, its pages disintegrating to ash as the dungeon walls shook.
"What the hell are you?" Enzo whispered, stumbling back.
Luca's eyes locked on hers, fierce and unreadable. "Run, little witch. Before he turns your heart to ash."