The village woke restless the next morning. Word spread quickly that the Mafia had taken over the tavern for the night. No one dared approach, but everyone heard the whispers. Some said the men drank and laughed as though they owned the world. Others swore they heard screams in the dead of night.
Elena listened quietly as her father and the neighbors muttered outside the church. She could see the fear in their faces, the way grown men lowered their voices to whispers, afraid even the walls might be listening.
"They'll bleed us dry," one farmer said. "Take the little we have left and crush us if we refuse."
"They wear masks," another muttered, crossing himself. "Not even the priest could name them. How do you fight men with no faces?"
Elena kept her eyes on the ground, but her thoughts were elsewhere. She had seen them with her own eyes — the dark cars, the sharp suits, the power that seemed to hang in the air around them like smoke. And that one man… the one who walked like the earth bent beneath him.
She hadn't seen his face. None of them had. The masks were elegant, crafted from black leather and silver, covering the eyes and nose. To the villagers, they were faceless demons. To Elena, they were shadows that had suddenly become real.
"Elena," a voice broke her thoughts. Goldie slipped beside her, linking their arms as the men's voices grew harsher. "Don't listen to them. They'll just make you afraid."
Elena forced a smile. Goldie always had a way of brushing fear aside like dust. "You're not afraid?" she asked.
Goldie tilted her head. "Of course I am. But I'm not letting them ruin my day. Come on, I found something."
She tugged Elena down the path toward the edge of the village, where a cluster of abandoned barns stood half-broken by storms. Inside one of them, Goldie had hidden a stash of ribbons, old beads, and scraps of fabric.
"I thought we could make new hair ties," she said proudly, pulling out a strip of red cloth. "So at least when we look poor, we look pretty."
Elena laughed softly, though her heart was heavy. She sat with Goldie on the dusty floor, weaving the ribbon into her friend's hair. For a moment, life felt normal again—two girls playing dress-up in the ruins of a forgotten barn.
But the spell shattered when footsteps echoed outside. Heavy, deliberate. Not the careless stride of a villager, but something colder.
Elena froze. Goldie grabbed her wrist. Through a crack in the barn wall, they saw them—two masked men, dressed in black suits, standing just beyond the broken door.
Her breath caught. They weren't supposed to be here. The Mafia didn't wander the countryside without reason.
One of the men spoke in a low voice. "The Rossi family. They owe."
Elena's blood turned cold. Her family. Her father's debts.
"We collect tonight," the second man said. His mask glinted in the light. "The Don's orders."
The men moved on, their footsteps fading down the road.
Goldie squeezed Elena's hand. "Don't panic," she whispered quickly. "Maybe it's not your father. Maybe they meant another Rossi."
But Elena knew better. In their village, there was only one Rossi family drowning in debt. Hers.
That evening, fear gripped their small farmhouse. Her father sat silent at the table, his hands trembling as he tried to eat. Her mother whispered prayers under her breath, clutching the wooden cross around her neck. Elena's younger brother asked why no one was laughing anymore, but no one answered him.
When night fell, Elena couldn't bear it. She slipped outside into the fields, the air thick with the sound of crickets. Her feet carried her back to the hilltop where she and Goldie had hidden the night before. From there, she saw them again—the black cars parked in front of the tavern, their sleek bodies gleaming beneath the moonlight.
And there he was.
The man. The one who moved differently, as though power itself was stitched into his skin. He stood outside the tavern, his mask catching the moonlight. It was a simple mask, black with silver edges, but it gave him an otherworldly presence—like a phantom who belonged more to myth than reality.
Elena's heart thudded painfully. She couldn't see his face. She didn't know his name. But something in her soul whispered that this man was dangerous, and that her life would never be the same now that she had seen him.
The masked man turned his head suddenly, as if sensing her gaze from the hill. Elena ducked behind the olive tree, pressing her back to the bark. Her heart raced. Had he seen her? Did he know she was watching?
The night stretched long. When she finally crept home, her thoughts were tangled with fear and something she dared not name.
Goldie was waiting for her at the farmhouse door. "Elena, where did you go?" she hissed, worry etched on her face.
Elena swallowed hard. "I saw them again. Him."
"Him?"
"The one who leads them," Elena whispered. "I don't know why, Goldie, but I… I couldn't look away."
Goldie gripped her shoulders. "Elena Rossi, you stay away from them. Do you hear me? Those men aren't for girls like us. They'll ruin you. They'll ruin everything."
Elena nodded, but inside she knew it was too late. The shadows had already reached for her, pulling her toward a destiny she couldn't escape.
And somewhere, behind that mask, the man she feared—and longed to understand—was waiting.