Chapter Six – The Devil’s Gift

(Elena’s POV)

I had convinced myself that I could ignore him.

That if I stayed busy enough—helping Mother organize charity events, attending Sophia’s endless brunch invitations, listening to my father’s booming voice drone on about “family duty”—I could scrub Damian Rossi from my thoughts like chalk from a slate.

But it didn’t work.

Every night since the masquerade, I replayed the same moment on a loop: his hand at the small of my back, his lips brushing the shell of my ear as he murmured, “Careful, princess. You’re dancing with the devil.”

I hated the way my body reacted even now, weeks later. My mind screamed enemy, but my pulse betrayed me, drumming against my ribs as if it longed to hear his voice again.

So when I came down for breakfast that morning and saw the package on the dining table, wrapped in black velvet ribbon with no card, my blood went cold.

“Who left this here?” I asked the maid, Maria, who was clearing the silverware.

She shrugged nervously. “It was delivered by courier, signorina. No name.”

I didn’t have to ask.

It was him.

My father’s enemies sent bullets, knives, threats. Damian Rossi sent velvet and silence.

I carried the box upstairs, ignoring my mother’s questioning glance as I passed her in the hall. Once inside my room, I locked the door and set the package on my vanity.

For a long moment, I simply stared at it.

Opening it would be surrender. A silent acknowledgment that Damian had managed to slip past the walls of the Moretti household and into my private world. But leaving it untouched felt impossible, like holding my breath against an oncoming storm.

With trembling fingers, I untied the ribbon and lifted the lid.

Inside lay a single object.

A necklace.

The chain was delicate gold, almost fragile, but the pendant was what caught my breath. A tiny crown wrought from onyx and diamonds, dark yet dazzling, heavy for its size.

It wasn’t the kind of jewelry one wore to a gala or a wedding. No, this was a message.

A claim.

My reflection in the vanity mirror blurred as I held it up, the crown swinging like a pendulum. My throat tightened, equal parts fury and something I didn’t want to name.

The door creaked open behind me.

“Elena?”

I spun, hiding the necklace in my palm. My mother stood there, her hands folded, eyes shadowed with worry.

“You didn’t come down to eat.” She stepped closer, studying me with that gaze that always seemed to peel me open. “What is it?”

“Nothing,” I lied too quickly.

Her lips thinned. “He’s trying to get to you, isn’t he?”

I swallowed hard. “Who?”

“You know who.” Her voice dropped to a whisper. “The Rossi boy. Your father won’t even speak his name in this house, but I know the look in your eyes, Elena. It’s the same look I had once, long ago, when—” She cut herself off abruptly, pressing a hand to her lips.

“When what?” I pressed, my heartbeat stuttering.

But she only shook her head. “Forget I said anything. Just… whatever gifts he sends, whatever words he whispers, you must ignore him. Promise me.”

Her plea made me want to confess everything, to show her the crown burning in my palm. But something inside me recoiled.

Because deep down, I didn’t want to ignore him.

I wanted to know why he had chosen me, why he risked open war by circling me like a hawk. I wanted to know what he saw when he looked at me with those dark, unyielding eyes.

“I promise,” I said softly, though the lie tasted bitter.

Mother kissed my cheek, then left me alone.

I sank onto my bed, the necklace dangling from my fingers. The little crown glittered wickedly, a reminder that Damian Rossi wasn’t a man to be dismissed.

That night, when I finally slid beneath my sheets, I placed the crown pendant beneath my pillow.

And I dreamed of him again.

The next day, my unease doubled.

Everywhere I turned, I expected to see him.

At Sophia’s café, I swore I caught a glimpse of his tailored suit in the reflection of the glass. On the street, the black car idling across from the boutique felt too deliberate. Even the air seemed thicker, heavy with anticipation.

When I returned home, there was another gift waiting.

This time, no box. Just a single black rose laid on my pillow.

I stared at it for a long time, my stomach twisting.

The rose was fresh, its petals still cool with dew. Which meant someone had been in my room.

The thought chilled me. Yet, a thrill curled deep in my chest.

I snatched the rose and stormed downstairs, straight to the garden where I knew no one would hear me scream.

“What do you want from me?” I hissed into the night air, clutching the flower like a dagger. “Why won’t you leave me alone?”

The shadows answered.

A figure stepped out from beneath the olive tree, tall, composed, unmistakably him.

Damian Rossi.

My heart stopped, then thundered so loudly I feared he could hear it.

“You already know what I want,” he said softly, his voice a caress and a blade all at once.

I backed away, clutching the rose tighter until thorns pricked my palm. “Stay away from me.”

He smiled faintly, like a predator humoring its prey. “If that’s what you wanted, you wouldn’t be standing here, whispering into the dark.”

My cheeks burned. “You broke into my room—”

“I don’t break,” he interrupted, stepping closer, his presence swallowing the space between us. “I claim.”

The rose slipped from my hand.

“Why me?” I forced the question out, my voice trembling despite my defiance. “You could have any woman in this city. Why the daughter of your enemy?”

For the first time, something flickered in his gaze. Not amusement. Not cruelty. Something darker.

“That answer,” he said slowly, “will come in time. For now, all you need to know is this—” His hand lifted, brushing a strand of hair from my face with terrifying gentleness. “You belong to me, Elena Moretti. And soon, everyone will see it.”

I slapped his hand away, breath ragged. “I will never belong to you.”

His smirk returned, infuriatingly calm. “We’ll see.”

Before I could reply, he vanished back into the shadows, leaving the black rose at my feet like a fallen crown.

That night, I locked my door and shoved the necklace into the back of my drawer.

But sleep never came.

Because deep down, beneath the fear and fury, one truth burned clear as fire:

Part of me didn’t want him to stop.