The night hummed with quiet danger around the Marino estate. Even the wind seemed to move cautiously through the iron gates that guarded the mansion. Security cameras blinked red, and men in suits stood at every corner — the silent army of Dante Marino, one of the most feared mafia bosses in the country.
Inside a black car parked at the gate, Luca Rossi stared at the mansion's glowing windows. His jaw clenched as he breathed out a slow, steady sigh. He'd memorized every detail of this mission — every entrance, every guard rotation, every potential escape route.
He wasn't here by accident.
He was here for revenge.
His father, Giovanni Rossi, had waited years for this moment — to destroy Dante Marino and everything he loved. And now Luca was the weapon, disguised as protection.
The guard at the gate tapped on the car window. "Name?"
"Luca Rossi. Here for the bodyguard position."
The guard checked his ID, nodded, and motioned him forward. "Boss is waiting."
The car rolled through the gates, the sound of gravel crunching under its tires echoing through the silence. Luca glanced at the mansion again — marble walls, tall windows, lights that never went out. To most, it looked like a palace. To him, it looked like the devil's lair.
He stepped out, straightened his jacket, and followed the butler inside. The mansion smelled faintly of expensive cigars and roses — strange, but fitting.
The grand hallway was lined with paintings of the Marino family: Dante in his youth, his late wife in pearls, and a young woman whose gaze seemed to pierce right through the paint.
That face was unforgettable.
That face was Elara Marino.
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Dante was waiting in his study, cigar smoke swirling around him like fog. His presence filled the room — powerful, intimidating, a man used to commanding life and death with a word.
"Luca Rossi," Dante said, his voice low but sharp. "You come highly recommended. Military background, years of experience. My associate in Milan speaks well of you."
"Yes, sir," Luca replied, his tone steady.
"Good. My daughter is… valuable. And troublesome." Dante smiled faintly. "You'll be her shadow. Where she goes, you go. Understand?"
"Yes, sir."
Before Luca could say more, the door opened — and there she was.
Elara Marino.
She stepped inside wearing a black silk dress that hugged her form with effortless grace. Her hair flowed down her shoulders, her expression calm but unreadable. There was a quiet confidence about her — the kind that came from growing up in a world where showing weakness could get you killed.
"Father," she greeted, her voice smooth and soft, though there was a trace of defiance hidden beneath it.
"Elara," Dante said. "This is your new bodyguard. Luca Rossi."
Her gaze shifted to him. For a moment, neither of them spoke.
Luca had prepared himself for this — for the enemy's daughter, for the symbol of everything his family despised. But he hadn't expected her. Not the quiet fire in her eyes. Not the way her presence seemed to slow the room around her.
Elara's lips curved slightly. "Another one? The last bodyguard didn't even last a week."
"Then this one better last longer," Dante said, his tone final. "He'll keep you alive. And you'll let him."
Her eyes narrowed slightly, but she nodded. "Fine."
Luca bowed his head. "Miss Marino."
"Elara," she corrected softly.
For a brief second, her eyes locked with his — and though neither of them spoke, something flickered between them. Not trust. Not yet. But curiosity.
Dangerous curiosity.
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That evening, Luca was shown to his quarters near the east wing — close enough to respond quickly, but far enough to stay invisible. He unpacked his bag: a gun, a spare knife, a communicator disguised as a lighter, and a photograph — an old, faded image of his father and mother before everything fell apart.
He sat on the edge of the bed and stared at it for a long time.
"Don't forget why you're here," he muttered to himself. "She's the target's daughter, not your weakness."
Outside, the estate was quiet except for the occasional bark of an order from the guards. He checked the hallway camera feed on his tablet — standard surveillance procedure, but he wasn't watching the guards.
He was watching her.
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Elara's POV
Another bodyguard. Another reminder that I'm a prisoner in my own home.
I should be used to it by now. Father says it's "for my safety," but I know the truth — it's control. Every person he hires is a pair of eyes, a leash disguised as protection.
But this one… this Luca Rossi… he's different.
He moves like someone who's seen too much. Calm, careful, but his eyes — they're always scanning, always reading. He doesn't flinch when he looks at me like most men do. It's unsettling.
When I saw him for the first time, something in me paused — just for a heartbeat. I hated that feeling. I don't want to be curious about a man who works for my father.
Tonight, I saw him outside through the balcony window. He was leaning against the railing, cigarette glowing in the dark. For some reason, I couldn't look away.
What kind of man chooses this life?
I wonder what he'd say if I asked.
Then again, in this house, curiosity can be fatal.
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Third Person
The following morning, Luca stood beside the car as Elara prepared to leave for a charity event downtown. The morning sun painted golden streaks across her skin, and Luca found himself looking away too quickly.
He opened the car door for her. "Your father wants me to accompany you."
"Of course he does," she said dryly, sliding into the backseat.
The drive was silent, tense. Her reflection shimmered faintly in the window, eyes distant as if she were somewhere else entirely. Luca's focus stayed on the road, but his thoughts drifted — against his will — to the woman sitting just a few feet behind him.
He shouldn't care. He shouldn't even look. But he couldn't ignore the way she carried herself — elegant, yes, but there was something fragile underneath, something she tried hard to hide.
Halfway through the drive, their car stopped at a red light. For a split second, Luca's instincts screamed.
He saw it — a flicker of movement on the rooftop to their right.
"Get down!" he shouted, grabbing Elara and pushing her to the floor of the car.
A bullet shattered the window, glass flying everywhere. The driver swerved, tires screeching, as Luca drew his gun and returned fire through the open window.
The attacker fled — a shadow vanishing into the alley.
Luca's pulse pounded, his arm instinctively around Elara as he shielded her. Her heartbeat raced against his chest.
"You okay?" he asked, voice low but urgent.
She looked up at him, wide-eyed. "You— you could've been shot."
He gave a faint, crooked smile. "It's part of the job."
Their eyes locked for a heartbeat too long before the driver stammered, "S-Sir, are you both alright?"
Luca released her gently. "Yeah. Take us back. Now."
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Back at the estate, Dante's fury was ice-cold. Orders flew, security doubled. But even as the chaos settled, Elara couldn't forget the way Luca had held her — steady, unshaken, like a man who had nothing left to lose.
And Luca couldn't forget the way she'd looked at him afterward — not as her bodyguard, not as an employee, but as something more. Something forbidden.
That night, as Elara stood by her window staring at the city lights, she caught sight of him in the courtyard below, speaking quietly to a guard. When he turned his head slightly, their eyes met through the glass.
He didn't look away.
Neither did she.
A single glance.
A dangerous beginning.
And somewhere deep inside, both of them already knew —
this would end in blood and love.