Adrian sat alone in the Russo training yard, the late afternoon sun casting long shadows on the concrete. A single wooden target stood ten feet away, riddled with bullet holes far too precise for someone his age. But Adrian was no ordinary boy.
He raised his hand slowly, narrowing his eyes. A strange hum buzzed in the air. With a sharp exhale, a gust of wind burst from his palm, knocking the wooden target to the ground.
His power was rare, passed down only through the bloodline of the Russo Dons — and he was the youngest to ever show signs of it. But instead of praise, he earned pressure. Expectations. Duty.
Meanwhile, across town in the Romano estate's greenhouse, Isabella moved between rows of blooming white lilies and scarlet roses. Her fingers trailed over their petals, and wherever she touched, the flowers bloomed brighter, faster, more vivid than before. A golden light shimmered briefly in her eyes.
Her power was influence — not just over plants, but over people. Over minds. It was subtle, beautiful, and dangerously underestimated. Her grandmother called it La Benedetta, the Blessed Gift. Her father, however, saw it only as a weapon.
"You're not using it enough," he told her as she entered the study. "You need to learn control, precision. If you can sway one person, you can manipulate a crowd."
"I don't want to manipulate anyone," Isabella replied, shoulders tense.
"That's exactly why you'll lose to Adrian Russo."
The name burned in her ears.
At school the next day, they crossed paths again.
It was supposed to be a neutral space — a private academy for mafia heirs and elite families. But the air was always charged when they were near each other. Rumors already followed them like shadows: the Russo firestarter and the Romano enchantress.
Isabella was walking through the courtyard when someone shoved her shoulder. She turned to see a tall boy smirking at her — Luca Santoro, one of Adrian's older cousins.
"Careful, princess. Don't charm the wrong people."
"I don't need charm to break your nose," she replied, stepping forward.
But before she could do anything, Adrian appeared, pulling Luca back roughly.
"Leave her alone."
Luca frowned. "What? She's not your problem—"
"I said back off."
Luca grumbled and walked away, leaving Adrian and Isabella alone again. The silence between them was heavy.
"You didn't have to do that," Isabella muttered.
"I didn't do it for you," Adrian snapped. "I just don't like people fighting battles they can't win."
She narrowed her eyes. "Is that your way of saying I'm weak?"
"No," he said, smirking. "It's my way of saying he is."
She didn't smile, but something flickered behind her eyes — amusement? Respect?
"Careful, Russo," she said, brushing past him. "You keep acting like a decent person, and I might start tolerating you."
He watched her walk away, unsure why her words stirred something in his chest.
Something he wasn't ready to feel.