The Rossi farmhouse was small, with cracked plaster walls and a roof patched so many times it looked like a quilt. It was not the kind of place worthy of attention, but that night, it became a stage for fear.
The sound came first — the low, rolling purr of engines on the dirt road. Elena's mother froze, clutching the wooden cross around her neck. Her father pushed his chair back from the table, his face pale in the candlelight. The younger children scurried behind Elena, sensing danger without words.
They had come.
The black cars stopped outside their gate, engines humming like beasts waiting to strike. Doors opened. Heavy boots crunched against the gravel. Then came the knock — three sharp raps on the wooden door that shook the frame.
Her father swallowed hard, then stood. His hands trembled as he lifted the latch and pulled the door open.
They entered like shadows. Three men in black suits, masks covering their eyes and noses, their mouths set in grim lines. Behind them, more men lingered outside, silent as sentinels.
Elena's breath caught when she saw him. The tall one. The one who carried power like a cloak. His mask was darker than the others, edged in silver that gleamed in the candlelight. Even without seeing his face, she knew: he was the leader.
"Rossi," one of the masked men said flatly, his voice deep and cold. "You owe."
Her father fell to his knees instantly. "Please… please, I only need more time. The crops failed this season. The rain hasn't come. I swear, I will pay. Just—just a little more time."
The man didn't move. His masked eyes swept the room once, then fixed back on her father. "Time is a luxury you can't afford."
Her mother joined her husband on the floor, tears streaming down her cheeks. "Please, sir, we have children. If you take what little we have, we'll starve. Mercy. Show us mercy."
The leader stepped forward then. The room seemed smaller with him inside it. He didn't raise his voice, didn't make threats. He simply stood there, the weight of his presence pressing down on all of them.
"You think mercy pays debts?" he asked softly. His voice was calm, but the calm of a blade before it strikes.
Elena's father bowed lower. "No… no, sir. But if you give me until the next harvest—"
The masked man tilted his head. "And if the harvest fails again? Will you ask me for another season? Another year? How many excuses do you expect me to accept?"
Her father's shoulders shook. "I swear on my life, I will repay you. Just let my family live."
For a long moment, silence hung heavy in the air. Elena's heart pounded. She wanted to look away, but her eyes remained fixed on the masked leader.
And then, something unexpected happened.
He looked at her.
It was brief, just a flicker, but she felt it like a jolt of fire. His masked gaze swept the room — past her father, past her mother — and lingered on Elena. Her breath caught in her throat. She should have bowed her head, but she couldn't. For reasons she couldn't explain, she met his eyes.
The world seemed to fade around them.
"Elena," Goldie's voice whispered in her memory, stay away from them… they'll ruin you.
The man blinked once, then turned back to her father. "You have one week," he said finally.
Her father gasped. "One… one week?"
The man's voice was steel. "Not a day more. Fail me again, and I won't be the one knocking on your door next time."
With that, he turned. His men followed. In seconds, the shadows slipped back into the night, the sound of engines rising as the cars rolled away, leaving the Rossi family trembling in the candlelight.
Her mother collapsed into sobs. Her father sank into his chair, burying his face in his hands. The children clung to one another in fear.
But Elena… Elena stood frozen by the door, staring at the empty road. Her chest ached with confusion.
He had given them time. Not much, but more than her father had expected. Why? The Mafia wasn't known for mercy. Their name was built on blood and fear, not second chances.
And yet, he had looked at her.
That single glance burned in her mind like fire. She could still feel it — the weight of his eyes, the quiet power behind the mask. She didn't even know his name, but her soul whispered it anyway.
The man in the mask.
"Elena," her mother's voice broke the silence, trembling with both gratitude and terror. "We must pray. God has spared us tonight."
Elena nodded, but deep down, she wasn't sure it was God who had spared them.
She lay awake long into the night, staring at the cracked ceiling, Goldie's warning echoing in her ears.
But no prayer, no fear, could erase the truth now written in her heart.
The shadows had seen her. And she knew, somehow, they would come again.