Camille Russo had always been drawn to secrets.
Even as a child, she had a taste for hidden doors, forbidden books, and whispered warnings. Her curiosity was dangerous. Her obsession—lethal. And now, with Isabella Romano threatening everything she desired, Camille found herself kneeling before the oldest secret her family had buried: the Black Codex.
It wasn't kept in the Russo family library, no. That was for show—leather-bound volumes of Dante and Machiavelli, photos of past dons. The real archive lay beneath, past a rusted hatch in the wine cellar, hidden behind stacked crates of vintage blood-red Chianti. A retinal scanner, disguised as a wine label, clicked open when her eye met it.
She entered the vault barefoot. The air was damp and cold, thick with mold and magic. A single torch lit itself on the far wall.
Rows of blackened tomes lined the shelves, bound in human-skin leather, sealed with wax bearing the Russo serpent crest. Camille stepped over the pentagram carved into the floor and walked straight to a narrow book with a crimson spine.
"Silencing the Bloodline."
Her father had forbidden her from ever touching it. And so, of course, she had memorized every detail of the book's location by age eleven.
She opened it gently.
Each page whispered in her mind—old curses, binding rituals, and the lost history of bloodlines said to be descended from elemental spirits.
Romano. Bearers of water and light. Healers. Truth-speakers. Dangerous if left unbroken.
Camille's lip curled as she read.
Weakness: Emotion. Guilt. Romantic attachment.
Her heart sped up. That was it. That was Isabella's fault. She was too human, too attached to people. And if Adrian could just see her flaws—see what Camille had seen for years—he'd fall into Camille's arms without resistance.
But how?
She flipped the page.
"Mirror Binding. A spell to invert a power by forcing its reflection onto another soul. Requires shared blood or emotional connection."
Her stomach coiled.
Adrian and Isabella were mirrors—she had felt it even as a child. When one wept, the other's heart stirred. When one burned, the other bled. Camille had seen the way his eyes lingered, despite his hatred. The way her presence rattled him. She had mistaken it for enmity. But what if it was destiny?
She snapped the book shut, her decision made.
If Isabella's power could be twisted and used against her, then Adrian would never be hers. Camille had to strike first—before the connection grew into something irreversible.
Before he loved her.
And worse… before Isabella loved him back.
---
Upstairs in the Romano estate, Isabella was breathing hard. Not from fear—but frustration.
She slammed the scroll onto Matteo's desk. "Why won't you tell me what it means?"
Matteo, her uncle and advisor, leaned back slowly in his leather chair. "Because you're not ready."
"I'm not a child anymore!"
"You are still a child in the eyes of power." He stood, walking to the whiskey decanter and pouring himself a glass. "That scroll is not a bedtime story, Isabella. It's a death sentence."
She stiffened. "For who?"
"For everyone. You. Him. All of us."
He held the glass to the light, amber liquid swirling like fire. "Your father was obsessed with the prophecy. He believed that when two opposing bloodlines—fire and water—were born in the same generation, it would signal the awakening of the old powers."
Isabella's eyes narrowed. "You mean me and Adrian."
"Yes." Matteo's voice was grave. "You are both direct heirs. Both born under the Blood Eclipse. You are the fulfillment of the prophecy. And it means one of two things: the unification of our houses… or their complete destruction."
Isabella's heartbeat echoed in her ears.
"And the scroll?"
"It tells how it ends."
She took a step closer. "How?"
Matteo's jaw clenched. "With betrayal. And a body in the water."
---
The neutral event was hosted by the Donatis—a minor but ambitious mafia family hoping to secure favor from both Russos and Romanos. Their ballroom glimmered in gold, but the atmosphere was ice.
No weapons. No guards inside. Just family. That was the rule.
But no rule could keep centuries of bloodshed from creeping into every glance.
Adrian Russo entered first, flanked by his younger cousin, Angelo. His father, Vincent Russo, was already conversing with the Donati matriarch at the far end of the room. The Russo heir's jaw was tight, eyes scanning the guests with practiced indifference.
Then he saw her.
Isabella Romano. Standing beside her aunt and a few of her lesser cousins, dressed in a sea-blue gown that clung to her figure like it had been poured on. A silver chain rested against her collarbone, glinting in the light.
He hated the way she glowed.
He hated the way she looked right through him.
But most of all, he hated the sharp pain that pierced his chest every time she did.
"Don't," Angelo whispered beside him. "Your father said not to engage."
"I'm not engaging," Adrian said flatly, already walking toward her.
---
Camille froze when she saw them drift toward each other.
Isabella, standing serene and collected like royalty. Adrian, storming forward like a prince marching toward a battlefield.
They met in the center of the ballroom, guests parting instinctively.
No words at first. Just tension.
Adrian's breath caught. There it was again—the heat. Not anger. Something more ancient. Fire simmering beneath his skin, rising with every heartbeat. He clenched his fists, knuckles pale.
Isabella tilted her head slightly. "Didn't expect to see you without your leash."
Adrian's lip twitched. "Didn't expect you to show up without a chalice of poisoned wine."
She smirked. "Tempting."
He took another step. "You've been avoiding me."
"You've been predictable."
The lights flickered above.
A low hum passed through the floor—subtle, but present. The chandelier swayed slightly.
Both of them felt it.
Power.
Awakening.
Adrian's skin grew hot. Isabella's necklace pulsed faintly blue. She gasped and took a step back.
"What's happening?" Camille called out, trying to push through the gathering crowd.
Before either Adrian or Isabella could speak, a shout echoed from across the room.
"Adrian!"
Vincent Russo stormed forward, grabbing his son's shoulder. "You promised me you wouldn't cause trouble."
Adrian's eyes glowed for half a second—golden-orange, flickering like fire—before returning to normal. He didn't fight his father, but he didn't look away from Isabella.
She, too, was being ushered away by Matteo, her uncle's grip iron-clad.
"Don't look at him again," Matteo warned under his breath. "You'll break the seal."
"What seal?" Isabella demanded, but he said no more.
---
Later that night, Adrian sat on the marble tiles of the Russo estate's rooftop garden, shirt damp with sweat, steam rising from his skin.
He had spent the last hour submerged in a freezing bath and still the fire refused to go.
His cousin Angelo approached silently, handing him a bottle of water.
"What the hell is happening to me?" Adrian asked.
Angelo hesitated. "It started after you saw her?"
Adrian didn't respond. He didn't need to.
"You're connected," Angelo said quietly. "You always have been. You just didn't want to admit it."
Adrian looked up at the moon. "It's not just her."
"Then what?"
Adrian turned slowly. "It's me. Something's waking up. And I don't know if I can stop it."
---
Meanwhile, in the Romano mansion, Isabella traced the outline of the scroll again. This time, she noticed something she hadn't before.
A seal.
A broken one.
She turned it over, the symbol bleeding blue across the parchment.
She whispered to herself, "It's already begun."