Sicily, 1985.

The De Luca estate shimmered under a canopy of stars. Firelight flickered across marble columns, and chandeliers rained gold onto the sea of masks and gowns. This was not just a birthday celebration—it was a declaration of dominance. Emilia De Luca, daughter of Don Salvatore De Luca, turned seventeen tonight, and her father spared no expense to show the world who ruled this corner of Sicily.

Emilia stood at the top of the grand staircase, a vision in crimson. Her velvet mask matched her dress, hiding just enough to preserve mystery. But there was no mystery in her heart tonight. It beat wildly for one reason alone.

Luca Romano.

The son of her father’s sworn enemy. Her first love. Her secret.

They hadn’t spoken in months—not since the blood feud between the De Lucas and the Romanos reignited with brutal ferocity. But somehow, she knew he’d come.

Her eyes scanned the crowd—drunken mafiosi, crooked politicians, and socialites dripping with diamonds. And then she saw him. Dressed in black, standing near the bar, mask in hand. Their eyes met, and the world fell silent.

They drifted toward each other, their steps careful, their connection electric.

“You shouldn’t be here,” she whispered when they met in the shadow of a marble pillar.

“I couldn’t stay away,” Luca murmured. “Not tonight.”

His fingers brushed hers—just once—and it was enough to awaken a thousand memories. The olive grove behind her family’s villa. The promises whispered beneath moonlight. The kiss they’d shared under the chapel ruins.

But reality snapped back like a whip.

A thunderous boom rocked the estate. Screams erupted as fire burst from the eastern wing. Gunshots followed, shattering the crystal calm.

“Betrayal!” someone roared. Chaos swallowed the ballroom.

Emilia gasped. “Luca, what have you———”

“It wasn’t me!” he said, grabbing her hand. “Come on!”

They ran through smoke-filled halls, dodging broken glass and bodies. In the garden, they stumbled into the moonlight. Luca collapsed beside the old fountain, blood soaking through his shirt.

“No,” Emilia cried, kneeling beside him. “Please—stay awake!”

He coughed, gripping her hand. “I’m sorry… I didn’t mean for this…”

Then, a sharp pain exploded at the back of Emilia’s skull. Everything went black.

When she opened her eyes, the world was different.

The sky above her was lit by strange electric lights. Tall metal buildings scraped the heavens. The air buzzed with unfamiliar sounds—sirens, engines, voices.

She sat up, dazed. The ground was hard, not marble, but asphalt. Around her, cars zoomed past. Digital signs flashed advertisements she’d never seen. People in odd clothes stared as they passed.

She turned to look behind her. The estate was gone.

In her trembling hand was the only familiar thing: her grandmother’s antique pocket watch, glowing faintly.

She read the sign on the building across the street.

“New York City – March 15, 2025.” 

——“New York City – March 15, 2025.”

————“New York City – March 15, 2025.”

New York City, 2025.

The cold bit through Emilia’s thin silk gown as she stumbled across the unfamiliar pavement. Neon lights danced above her head—too bright, too fast. Sounds blared from strange metal beasts on wheels. Horns honked. People brushed past without a second glance.

This wasn’t a dream.

She looked down at the pocket watch still clutched in her hand. The once-delicate gold casing was warm and softly glowing, the Roman numerals spinning wildly before settling on the current time. Her grandmother had called it cursed. Emilia had thought it poetic nonsense—until now.

She had time-traveled.

A cab screeched to a halt near her. “Hey! You alright, lady?” the driver shouted.

“I—I don’t know,” she stammered. Her Italian accent was thick, her voice trembling. She didn’t recognize the slang or the man’s strange attire—jeans, a baseball cap, and a glowing screen mounted on the dashboard. Everything was surreal.

She stepped back, unsure whether to run or cry.

“Do you need a hospital or something?” the man asked, this time a little more wary.

“No, thank you,” she managed. “I just… need to find someone.”

Lies, of course. She didn’t know a single soul in this world. Not in this time.

Her gown drew attention. People stared. She was barefoot, bloodstained, and shaking. She ducked into an alley, pressing her back against the cold brick wall and fighting the rising panic.

Luca. The explosion. Her father. The blood.

Tears welled in her eyes, but she blinked them away. No time for tears. Her father had taught her that much. She had survived a mafia household, a war between empires, and the pain of forbidden love.

She would survive this too.

Emilia stepped out into the street again, hugging her arms tightly across her chest. A soft chime rang above a glass door nearby. A small café. Warm light spilled from inside. She slipped in quietly.

The warmth hit her instantly—coffee, cinnamon, and the hum of soft jazz music. A young woman behind the counter looked up, startled.

“Um… hi?” the girl said.

Emilia’s mind raced. She glanced at a newspaper on a table: March 15, 2025. It was real.

“I… I need help,” she said honestly. “Please. Just a moment to sit.”

The girl, maybe in her twenties, hesitated. Then, noticing the desperation in Emilia’s eyes, she nodded.

“Sure. You okay? You look like you escaped a Victorian ball and ran through hell.”

“I suppose that’s not far from the truth,” Emilia said with a tired smile.

She sat near the window, trying to breathe. Her thoughts raced with questions. Was Luca alive? Had she died? Could she go back? Why this time? Why now?

The girl brought her a cup of tea and a blanket. “I’m Rose. You want to call someone?”

“I… don’t have anyone,” Emilia admitted softly.

“Well, that’s alright. You’ve got me now.” Rose smiled kindly, unaware she was speaking to a girl born forty years ago.

As Emilia sipped the tea, the bell above the door rang again. A tall man in a sleek black coat entered, dark eyes scanning the room.

Something about him struck Emilia—an air of control. Danger. Like the men back home. But colder. Sharper.

Their eyes met.

And for a split second, Emilia’s heart skipped.

Not because she recognized him.

But because, somehow, he recognized her.

The café suddenly felt smaller.

Emilia’s fingers curled tightly around the warm ceramic mug as the man in the black coat stepped further into the room. His eyes were a stormy gray—cold, analytical, almost familiar—and they locked onto hers with unsettling precision.

He moved like someone used to commanding attention: slow, calculated, dangerous.

“Rose,” he said with a nod to the girl behind the counter. His voice was deep, low, and oddly smooth—like velvet with an edge of steel.

“Adrian,” Rose replied, surprised. “Didn’t expect to see you today.”

Adrian.

The name felt sharp on Emilia’s tongue, though she hadn’t spoken it. He was in his thirties, maybe older, dressed in a tailored black coat over a crisp dark suit. His hair was slightly tousled, like he’d just stepped out of a limousine—or a storm.

“I was nearby.” Adrian’s eyes didn’t leave Emilia.

“Thought I’d come in.”

Rose followed his gaze. “This is… Emilia. She needed a place to rest. Found her outside looking like she walked out of a period drama.”

“I see,” Adrian said quietly.

He walked to the table and paused. “May I?”

Emilia hesitated. Her instincts screamed danger, but something else—curiosity, maybe fate—told her to nod. “Yes.”

He sat. For a long moment, neither spoke. Rose, sensing the strange tension, politely stepped away.

“You’re not from here,” Adrian said finally.

It wasn’t a question.

“No,” Emilia replied carefully. “I’m… new.”

“From Italy?”

“Yes.”

He studied her face. “You have the look of someone out of time.”

That startled her. She clutched the pocket watch beneath the blanket, hidden in her lap. “What do you mean?”

“I collect things,” Adrian said, leaning back.

“Artifacts. Stories. Sometimes… people. And once in a while, I find someone who doesn’t belong in this world.”

The hair on her neck rose. “Who are you?”

He smirked slightly. “Someone who’s seen stranger things than a girl in a blood-stained ballgown walking barefoot through Manhattan.”

His gaze dropped for a moment, then sharpened. “The watch. You have it, don’t you?”

Her stomach dropped. “What do you know about it?”

“Enough to know it doesn’t belong here either.”

Emilia stood up, heart racing. “Did you follow me? Do you work for my father?”

Adrian looked genuinely amused. “Your father? No. But I know who you are, Emilia De Luca. And I know you weren’t supposed to survive that explosion.”

Her breath caught.

“I don’t know how you know any of this,” she said, trembling, “but I didn’t ask to come here.”

“I believe you,” he said. “The watch chose. It always does.”

“Then help me,” she whispered. “Help me get back. I need to know if—if he’s alive. Luca.”

Adrian’s expression shifted for the first time—softened, almost imperceptibly.

“The past isn’t easy to return to,” he said. “But… there may be a way. You’re not the first.”

Her heart leapt. “Then take me to whoever knows.”

“I will. But not tonight.” He reached into his coat and handed her a sleek black card.

A logo of an hourglass and a single name: EPOCH.

“Meet me tomorrow morning. 8 a.m. Sharp. Trust no one. Not even Rose.”

Then, without waiting for her reply, Adrian stood and walked out into the night.

Emilia looked down at the card, the glowing city lights flickering across its surface.

For the first time since arriving in this strange world, she didn’t feel completely alone.

She had a name.

A path.

And maybe… a chance to go back.