By morning, the air around campus was thick with whispers.
Elena Romano felt it before she even reached her lecture hall. A shift. A silence that wasn't silence at all—people lowering their voices just as she passed, eyes darting toward her before looking away too quickly.
Her stomach knotted. Something had changed overnight.
She soon found out what.
Two girls from her class, always glued together, stood just outside the building entrance. They weren't even subtle.
"Did you hear?" one whispered loudly. "They said she's his mistress. That's why he showed up."
The other girl gasped. "No, no—I heard it's worse. That she owes him. Her family is in debt to the mafia, and he came to collect."
Elena froze in place, her pulse pounding. She wanted to scream that it wasn't true, but her throat closed up. The stories weren't just false—they were cruel.
And they were spreading like wildfire.
---
By noon, the rumors had taken on a life of their own. In the cafeteria, she felt hundreds of eyes burning into her. Someone snickered when she walked past. Another voice muttered "mafia's girl" just loud enough for her to hear.
Her hands trembled as she set her tray down, but the moment she sat, two girls from her department stood and left the table as if her presence was poisonous.
Elena lowered her gaze, fighting the sting of tears. How quickly friends became strangers.
It wasn't just classmates. Even professors seemed wary—throwing quick, searching glances her way, as though wondering if teaching her meant inviting trouble.
The weight of judgment pressed down until she could hardly breathe.
---
That evening, Elena decided to take the long route home. Anything to avoid more whispers. She wrapped her cardigan tightly around herself, walking briskly through the side streets.
But the city was cruel at night.
"Look what we have here," a rough voice called out.
Elena's steps faltered.
Three men stepped out from the shadows, blocking the narrow path. They smelled of smoke and cheap liquor, their grins sharp and hungry.
"Well, well," one sneered. "The mafia's pretty little pet."
Her chest tightened in terror. The rumors—they had reached even here.
Elena backed away, clutching her bag. "Leave me alone."
One of the men laughed. "Why would we? You don't walk around with De Luca's shadow unless you mean something to him. And if you mean something to him…" His grin widened. "…that means you're valuable."
Her heart raced. She turned to run—
—but another thug blocked her path.
Trapped.
The alley spun around her, the darkness pressing in. She tried to scream, but a hand shot out, grabbing her arm.
"Let me go!" she cried, struggling against his grip.
The man leaned close, his breath foul against her cheek. "Don't worry, sweetheart. We'll take good care of you. Maybe De Luca will pay us a nice price to get you back."
Elena's blood turned to ice.
And then—
"Touch her again," a voice thundered, low and lethal, "and you won't live to regret it."
The grip on her arm froze. The thugs stiffened.
Elena's eyes widened.
At the mouth of the alley stood Alessandro De Luca.
His presence was a storm—imposing, merciless. His dark eyes glinted like steel, and behind him, two of his men moved like shadows ready to strike.
In that single moment, the thugs seemed to shrink, their bravado melting into fear.
Elena's knees nearly gave out in relief.
---
Alessandro steps forward, his power radiating with every measured step. The thugs scatter—or are made to. Elena realizes, for the first time, just how far his influence stretches…and how dangerous it is to be under his gaze.