The Russo estate was built like a fortress—black stone, high iron fences, and shadows that moved even when the wind didn't blow. Inside its marble halls, everything smelled of cold power and fresh blood.
Camille Russo stood before the full-length mirror in her velvet-painted room, brushing her thick dark hair with long, delicate strokes. Her green eyes sparkled—not with innocence, but with desire, ambition, and something darker.
She wasn't supposed to be here for long—just the weekend. Her family had come for a formal Russo gathering. The air had been thick with alliances, threats, and fake smiles.
But Camille had her eyes on something else entirely: Adrian.
Even now, she could hear him laughing from the east wing, likely with his father's guards during combat practice. The boy had grown even more deadly with every passing month. Twelve years old and already breaking the bones of grown men in sparring matches. But she'd seen the way his eyes softened when Isabella Romano showed up at the last party, that quiet little witch with sea-colored eyes and fire in her bones.
Camille's hand froze on her brush. Her jaw tightened.
She hated Isabella.
She always had.
Ever since they were little and Isabella accidentally set Camille's dress on fire with her barely-awakened gift. They said it was an accident. That she didn't know what she was doing. But Camille never forgot the burn—and more than that, the way Adrian rushed to Isabella first. Not her. Her.
"She's dangerous," Camille muttered to her reflection. "She's not one of us. She never will be."
A knock on her door pulled her from her thoughts. It creaked open and Adrian stepped in, shirtless, sweat glistening on his toned frame, a towel slung over his shoulder.
"Camille," he said, voice clipped. "Why are you in my room?"
She blinked, then smiled slowly. "This is my room."
"No, it's not." He tilted his head. "Yours is down the hall."
Camille didn't flinch. "Is it so bad that I wanted to see you?"
Adrian crossed his arms, eyes narrowing. "You've been avoiding me for weeks."
"You've been busy chasing that Romano brat," she snapped before she could stop herself.
There was a moment of silence. Adrian's jaw ticked.
"Don't say her name like that," he warned.
Camille stepped closer, her voice softer. "Why not? She's not one of us, Adrian. Her family may be powerful, but they don't belong. You know what your father says—Romano blood is cursed."
Adrian didn't reply. His gaze dropped for half a second before returning to her face.
"She's stronger than you think," he said quietly. "And she's not my enemy."
"Yet," Camille whispered.
Adrian stepped back. "Stay away from her."
Camille's smile faded. "You care about her."
"I don't care about you in that way," he replied coldly. "I never have."
The door slammed shut as he left.
---
Across the city, in the Romano compound, Isabella was training with her uncle Matteo in the hidden underground chamber laced with water channels and ancient carvings. Her body ached, muscles trembling from holding the water blades midair for too long.
"Focus," Matteo barked. "Again!"
She exhaled sharply and reformed the water into thin, glowing daggers. They hovered around her like a crown of ice.
"You're improving," Matteo admitted. "But you're still afraid."
"I'm not," Isabella hissed.
Matteo's dark eyes narrowed. "You hesitate when you think of Adrian."
Her focus shattered. The water crashed to the ground.
Isabella bit her lip. "He saved me once. That doesn't make him my friend."
Matteo crouched in front of her, serious. "He's a Russo. You're a Romano. You two were born into war. Don't forget that."
"I don't," she whispered. "But why does it feel like we're both prisoners of it?"
---
The next evening, the Russos and Romanos met for a rare truce dinner—a show of temporary peace before negotiations began on territory lines.
Isabella walked into the hall beside Matteo, dressed in a deep sapphire gown. Her presence silenced the room. Everyone noticed her—the girl who had once exploded a chandelier with a flick of her wrist.
Camille watched her with venom in her eyes.
Adrian, from across the room, paused his conversation when he saw Isabella. Their eyes locked for a second too long. He looked away first.
Vincent Russo stood and cleared his throat. "Let us begin."
The dinner passed in tension-soaked silence. Small talk laced with threats. Empty toasts. Hidden glances.
Halfway through, Camille stood. "Let's play a game," she said sweetly.
Everyone turned to her. Even Isabella raised an eyebrow.
Camille gestured to the small fountain centerpiece. "Let's test our gifts. A show of strength. For fun, of course."
Matteo's expression darkened. Vincent allowed it with a small nod.
Isabella stood slowly. "Fine."
One by one, heirs from different mafia families performed—bending shadows, throwing fire, levitating knives. Then Camille stepped forward and summoned glowing silk strands from the air, controlling them like whips. She smirked at Isabella.
"Your turn."
Isabella stepped forward, calm. She raised one hand and the entire fountain's water lifted into the air, spiraling around her like a halo. It crystallized midair into sharp spears, humming with light.
Gasps filled the hall.
Then the water froze solid.
Crack.
Camille's eyes widened as one of her silk whips shattered against it.
Adrian stepped forward instinctively. "That's enough."
Isabella turned and walked back to her seat, never looking back.
Camille's face burned with humiliation.
Later that night, she crept into her father's study and opened an old, forbidden book.
"She doesn't deserve those powers," Camille whispered. "But I'll make sure she pays for them."
---
In a dream that night, Isabella saw a woman in white—eyes glowing, her voice like water flowing over stone.
"You will awaken fully soon, child of the sea and light. But beware. Blood will try to drown you."
Isabella jolted awake, her sheets soaked with sweat.
She had no idea that Camille Russo had begun searching for ways to curse her.
And that Adrian… was beginning to question everything.