The Crimson Masquerade

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.”

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