Episode 1: The Rose

Isabella

The Romano mansion glittered like a crown under the Naples moon. Golden chandeliers spilled light onto marble floors, where silk gowns swished and men in dark suits whispered in corners. Laughter rose and fell, but it wasn’t joy—it was strategy, alliances wrapped in charm.

And in the center of it all was me.

Isabella Romano. The Don’s only daughter. A jewel on display.

Every step I took, eyes followed. Every smile was measured, soft enough to seem sweet, sharp enough to keep them guessing. My father taught me how to wear perfection like a mask, but tonight the mask felt heavy. I was tired of the stares, the fake compliments, the way even my own cousins looked at me as if I were just another piece on my father’s chessboard.

So I slipped away.

The night air was cool when I pushed open the garden doors. The hum of voices dimmed behind me, replaced by the soft song of crickets. The garden was alive with roses, hundreds of them, their petals dark as wine, their thorns like tiny daggers.

I bent toward one bloom, inhaling the sweetness. On impulse, I leaned closer, letting the tip of my tongue brush a velvet petal. The taste was faint, delicate. My secret moment, mine alone.

Or so I thought.

A shadow moved.

I froze, lips still close to the rose. Slowly, I straightened, my pulse quickening. A man stood at the edge of the path, half in darkness, half in moonlight. Broad shoulders. Sharp jaw. A suit that stretched over muscle.

He shouldn’t be here.

When he stepped forward, I saw the truth in his eyes—danger, amusement, hunger.

“Careful, princess,” he said, his voice deep, rough with a lazy kind of threat. “Roses bite back.”

My stomach tightened. I knew that voice, even if I had never heard it so close. Matteo DeLuca. The DeLuca family’s enforcer. The enemy.

He had no right to be inside our walls, in my father’s house. And yet here he was, staring at me as if he owned the night.

“You shouldn’t be here,” I whispered.

His smirk curved slow and deliberate. “Neither should you.”

Heat flushed through me, and I hated it. I should have been afraid. Instead, I couldn’t breathe.

⸻

Matteo

I didn’t come here for her.

The Romano mansion was crawling with guards, but slipping past them was easy. I’d been in worse places. Don Salvatore wanted me to listen, to watch, to see what the Romanos were planning. Nothing more.

But then I saw her.

Isabella Romano. The mafia princess.

I’d seen her in photos, across rooms, in passing when our worlds brushed too close. But up close—she was something else. Silk wrapped around curves, lips stained with red wine, eyes that pretended to be soft but hid fire. She was temptation dressed like innocence.

And then she put her tongue on a rose.

Fuck.

It was such a small thing, but it punched the air out of me. The most protected girl in Naples, alone in the garden, licking a rose petal like she wanted to know how it tasted. No one would believe it if I told them. And maybe that’s why I couldn’t stay hidden.

I stepped forward. I wanted her to see me.

“Careful, princess. Roses bite back.”

She froze, those big eyes locking on me. She should have screamed, should have run back to the safety of her father’s men. Instead, she stood there, lips parted, chest rising fast.

“You shouldn’t be here,” she whispered, voice shaking just enough to stir something dark in me.

I smirked. “Neither should you.”

For a second, it felt like the world held still. Just her and me. No families. No blood feuds. Just the forbidden pull between us.

But I knew better.

She was Romano blood, and I was DeLuca steel. Touching her would be the kind of mistake men didn’t live to regret.

And yet… I couldn’t look away.

⸻

Isabella

The air between us felt charged, heavy, like the moment before lightning struck. His eyes burned into me, stripping away the perfect smile I wore for everyone else. I felt bare, exposed, alive.

I should have turned back to the party. I should have called the guards. Instead, I asked, “Why are you here?”

He tilted his head, studying me the way a predator studies prey. “Why are you?”

My breath caught. He wasn’t supposed to make me feel this way—like he could see right through me.

“Go back inside, princess,” he said, voice low. “Before someone finds us.”

But his tone told another story. He didn’t want me to leave. And God help me, I didn’t want to.

The sound of laughter drifted from the mansion, breaking the spell. For a heartbeat, I thought he’d reach for me, pull me into the shadows. Instead, he gave me one last look—hungry, dangerous—then melted back into the darkness.

I stood there, heart pounding, the taste of roses still on my tongue, knowing nothing would ever be the same.

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