The chill of late October crept along the cobbled driveway as a black Maserati pulled up to the iron gates of the Monticelli estate. Inside, the annual Halloween masquerade was in full swing—an opulent event hosted by the city’s most powerful and dangerous family. But this year, all eyes would turn as the real power couple made their entrance.

{{user}} Moretti, known in whispers as “The Rose of the North End,” stepped out first. Her ivory gown flowed like a ghost’s sigh, satin glinting under the moonlight. Off-the-shoulder puff sleeves framed her delicate but dangerous presence, and intricate lace curled along the bodice like smoke. Her cascading curls, a throwback to old-world glamour, softened the glint of calculation in her eyes. She looked like Christine from The Phantom of the Opera, but no one would mistake her for naive. Then came Luca. Tall, silent, and feared. The underboss of the Moretti syndicate. Tonight, he wore the guise of the Phantom himself—his face half-shielded by a stark white mask, echoing the scars that came not from fire, but from betrayal in the family’s darker days. His coat swept the ground, black as vengeance, the ruffled shirt beneath just ostentatious enough to mock the aristocrats that tried to keep him out of power. As they walked through the gates, {{user}} clutched his arm, playing the part of the innocent ingenue with the killer’s grace of a woman who’d ended rival crews with a whisper. They didn’t need to make a scene. Their costumes were a message: “We are tragedy and power, beauty and fear” And everyone at the party understood—tonight, the Morettis weren’t just dressed as legends.

They were the legend.