The countryside was quiet that morning, the kind of quiet that carried both peace and hunger. Elena Rossi pushed her hair back with the back of her hand, smearing a streak of soil across her forehead as she bent over the row of cabbages. The sun was already high, and her patched dress clung to her from the sweat of work.
Her family's small plot of land wasn't enough to feed them all, not with the drought that had dried half the crops and the debts her father carried like a curse. Every day, Elena told herself they'd manage, somehow, someway. But deep down she knew: poverty didn't just starve you, it chained you.
"Elena!" a cheerful voice called.
She looked up to see Goldie, her best friend since childhood, balancing a basket of eggs in her hands. Goldie's blonde curls bounced in the breeze, and her blue dress, though faded, still carried a liveliness about it. Where Elena was cautious and quiet, Goldie was lighthearted, always finding laughter even in the darkest moments.
"Elena Rossi, you'll melt under this sun if you keep working like that," Goldie teased, setting down the basket. "Besides, you're wasting your youth in the dirt. You should be dancing, falling in love, dreaming about princes."
Elena smirked faintly. "Princes don't live in villages like ours. They live in castles, behind gates. They don't even know girls like me exist."
Goldie nudged her playfully. "Then maybe it's time one of them finds out."
The two girls laughed, their voices carrying across the fields. For a moment, it felt like the world was simple—two friends, young and full of unspoken hopes, even if their bellies were empty.
But peace in the countryside never lasted long. By evening, the rumors began.
Men in black cars had been seen driving through the dirt roads, stopping at farms, demanding payments. Whispers spread in the tavern, then in the churchyard the next morning: the Mafia was in the region. Families who owed debts were trembling. Some spoke of disappearances, of men who defied them and were never seen again.
Elena tried to ignore it. Her father told her to keep her head down and focus on the farm. But Goldie, ever curious, insisted they see for themselves.
That night, when the village lights dimmed, the two girls crept up the hill overlooking the main road. They hid behind a cluster of olive trees, the cicadas buzzing loudly around them.
"Elena, look!" Goldie whispered, pointing down.
A convoy of sleek black cars cut through the dusty road like shadows made of steel. The engines purred low and dangerous, nothing like the rattling carts the villagers used. Men in sharp suits sat inside, their eyes hidden behind tinted glass.
Elena's heart thudded. She had heard stories—how these men ruled cities, how their power stretched farther than kings. To see them here, in her quiet countryside, felt like a storm breaking the horizon.
The cars stopped at the tavern. One of the doors opened, and a man stepped out.
Even from the distance, Elena could tell he was different. Tall, broad-shouldered, with the kind of presence that made the night bend around him. He carried himself with confidence, as though he owned not just the tavern, not just the road, but the very air people breathed.
"That must be him," Goldie whispered, clutching Elena's arm. "The Marino heir. Vincenzo Marino."
Elena's breath caught. She had heard his name in passing—spoken in fear, in warning, in awe. A man said to be as ruthless as his father, but younger, sharper, with ambition burning like wildfire.
Vincenzo didn't look at the villagers staring nervously from their windows. He didn't have to. People looked away on their own, too afraid to meet his gaze.
For reasons she couldn't explain, Elena didn't look away. Hidden behind the olive tree, her eyes followed him as he disappeared inside the tavern. Something stirred inside her chest, something dangerous.
"Elena," Goldie whispered, pulling her back, "don't stare at them. If they ever saw you—"
But Elena couldn't move. That glimpse had been enough to unravel something inside her. For the first time in her life, she wasn't just afraid of the Mafia. She was curious.
As the night deepened and the cars remained parked, Goldie tugged at her hand. "Come on, let's go. Before someone sees us."
Reluctantly, Elena followed. But even as they walked back through the fields, her mind wasn't in the countryside anymore. It was down that road, in the tavern, with the dangerous man whose shadow seemed larger than the night itself.