Ivano Salvatore stepped out of the grand opera house, his polished leather shoes clicking softly against the cobblestone as he adjusted his cufflinks with methodical precision. The night air was crisp, carrying the faint aroma of roses from the nearby gardens and the occasional hint of damp stone from the city streets. Above, the crescent moon hung low, its light casting silver outlines on the gothic architecture of the opera house behind him.

The performance of Macbeth had been predictably excellent, the tragic tale of ambition and downfall was timeless echo of power plays that Ivano had witnessed over centuries. Yet, as he descended the wide marble steps to his waiting car, a subtle unease gnawed at the edges of his composure.

"Sir," Matteo, his ever-loyal enforcer, appeared at his side, his expression tight. "There’s been an incident."

Ivano arched an elegant brow, his cane tapping lightly against the ground as he paused. "What kind of incident?"

Before Matteo could respond, a sharp cry split the air. Ivano turned back toward the opera house, his sharp blue eyes narrowing as the glow of flames illuminated the windows. Smoke curled into the night sky, thick and black against the pale moonlight.

"The opera is on fire," Matteo said grimly, glancing over his shoulder as people began spilling out of the building in panicked waves.

Ivano’s grip on his cane tightened as he watched the chaos unfold. Screams punctuated the air, mixing with the crackle of flames and the acrid scent of burning wood. He remained still, unshaken, his mind racing through the implications.

A voice nearby muttered, barely above a whisper but loud enough to reach his heightened senses, "They say Macbeth is cursed… Every time it’s performed, something terrible happens."

Ivano’s jaw tightened, but his expression betrayed no more than mild annoyance. Superstitions were for the ignorant and the weak, yet even he could not entirely ignore the peculiar timing of the blaze.

As he turned to leave, intending to distance himself from the commotion, a sudden sensation stopped him in his tracks. It was faint at first, like a whisper against his consciousness, but it grew stronger with each passing second. His breath hitched—a rare occurrence for a man who had mastered control over centuries.

And then, he saw them.

Through the chaos, through the blur of flames and fleeing figures, a pair of eyes locked onto his. They were unlike anything he had ever seen, shimmering with an unearthly brilliance that seemed to hold the secrets of the universe. They weren’t blue, nor green, nor any color he could name with certainty—deep, iridescent shades of violet, like amethysts caught in the moonlight.

The world seemed to still. The screams and crackles of fire faded to a distant hum, and even time itself seemed to falter. For the first time in centuries, Ivano felt something unfamiliar stir within him—a sharp, electric pull that resonated deep in his chest, bypassing logic and reason entirely.

The woman stood amidst the chaos as if she belonged to it, her blonde hair cascading like liquid gold over her shoulders, the flames framing her like a living portrait. Her gaze was steady, unyielding, as though she had been waiting for him all along.

Ivano’s grip on his cane tightened, his knuckles whitening against the smooth wood. He prided himself on his ability to read people, to see through facades and peel away their layers until nothing remained hidden. Yet, this woman was an enigma—her presence both unsettling and magnetic.

As if sensing his thoughts, she tilted her head slightly, a faint, knowing smile curling at the corners of her lips. It wasn’t a gesture of kindness, nor was it mocking; it was something else entirely, something Ivano couldn’t place but felt compelled to unravel.

Matteo’s voice broke through the haze. "Sir, we need to leave. The authorities will be here soon."

Ivano didn’t respond immediately, his gaze still locked with hers. She didn’t move, didn’t flinch, even as the flames roared higher and the crowd surged around her. There was something ancient in her eyes, something that whispered of danger and promise all at once.

Finally, she turned, her hair catching the glow of the fire as she disappeared into the smoke and shadows, leaving nothing but the faint scent of saltwater and wildflowers in her wake.

Ivano inhaled deeply, the sensation lingering like a phantom touch against his skin. He turned to Matteo, his voice measured but laced with an undercurrent of curiosity. "Find out who she is."

Matteo frowned, his brow furrowing. "Who, sir?"

Ivano’s eyes flickered briefly back to where she had been, though the space was now empty, save for the rising flames. "The woman." he said simply, as though it were obvious.

Matteo hesitated but nodded. "Of course, sir."

Ivano turned and descended the steps, his steps calm and unhurried despite the chaos around him. As he slid into the backseat of his car, he couldn’t shake the image of those violet eyes, nor the inexplicable pull they had awakened within him.

The engine roared to life, the car gliding smoothly into the night. Ivano leaned back against the seat, his fingers absently tracing the silver head of his cane.

A faint smile curved his lips as he stared out the window, his reflection in the glass distorted by the city lights. "A siren in the flames," he murmured to himself. "How delightfully inconvenient."

The night stretched ahead, but Ivano knew one thing with absolute certainty—he would see her again. And when he did, the game would truly begin.

◍⁠✧⁠*⁠。

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