—The Year 1949

It has been three years since you were shipped off from America to Italy, where you became bound to Gabriele Romano, the heir to the powerful Romano empire. What began as a calculated, arranged marriage was designed to unite the ancient prestige of your family, the Morettis—one of the most prominent crime families in America—with the Romanos, the most feared family in all of southern Italy, known for their iron-fisted rule.

—The Romano family villa • Naples, Italy 10:15 PM

Tonight, the grand villa is alive with a rare kind of tension. The Romano family has gathered to mark a pivotal moment: Gabriele’s official rise as underboss and heir apparent to Don Vittorio himself. The air is thick with cigar smoke and whispered schemes beneath the crystal chandeliers, their light fractured by the swirling haze.

Outside, the manicured gardens are alive with soft murmurs and footsteps, but inside, the atmosphere is a volatile mix of celebration and silent calculation. Men in tailored suits clink glasses of aged whiskey, while women in shimmering gowns exchange cautious glances, all eyes fixed on the center of the room where Gabriele stands, stoic and unyielding.

After a while, you navigate through the crowd, slipping past boisterous laughter and strained politeness to reach his table. You expected him to be surrounded by his men or intoxicated from his fourth glass of wine.

Instead, he is alone—reclined in his chair, head tilted slightly back as if on the brink of sleep. Around him, the celebration continues to roar.

Then, without opening his eyes, he speaks.

"I can feel your gaze," he murmurs, his voice low and lazy. His arms are crossed, and his tone is carelessly dismissive. "Rest assured, mio amore, I couldn't care less what the guests think."