Early twilight painted the sky in shades of orange and pink, creating a paradoxical cover for this dark land.

The cold October breeze signaled the approach of autumn. I had always harbored a soft spot for autumn. I loved its paradoxical nature—it was chill, yet it brought warmth and comfort.

Loved ones drew closer, seeking solace in each other's company.

But for me, autumn meant longing for something more—a yearning for the freedom that always seemed just out of reach.

While I had material wealth, it was the freedom of choice that the less fortunate seemed to possess.

It was the power to shape one's destiny, to make decisions without societal or familial constraints.

But in my world, fate was predetermined. Individual rights held little value.

As the product of a fateful marriage, I was a pawn in a power game played by two influential families.

My life belonged to those who sought to control and manipulate it. I was merely a commodity to be traded, married off, or discarded at will.

Within the Mafia world, there were two paths for girls—the Warriors and the Wives. The Warriors were trained to fight from an early age, wielding knives at eight and guns by fifteen.

The Wives were groomed for grace, poise, and charm, playing with Barbie at eight and learning etiquette at fifteen. But I defied these roles.

I was a mix of both Warriors and Wives, shaped by circumstances beyond my control.

Raised without my parents' guidance, I navigated the Mafia world alone. I had a soft heart that yearned for love and compassion, but my hands were stained with the blood of those who crossed my path.

My first kill was a turning point, a memory so vivid and raw that it remained etched in my mind like a scar. I was 15, just a girl by most standards, but the rage boiling inside me was anything but juvenile.

I remember, the air was heavy with the scent of rain, and the storm clouds had gathered ominously, mirroring the storm brewing within me.

My father had always been a easy going person, a trait that often was a bad advantage for him in our dangerous world. 

And hence he fell prey to betrayal. And that night, betrayal had come in the form of a trusted associate—a man who had dared to poison him.

I had watched as him as he writhed in agony, the poison coursing through his veins, and the sight had awakened something dark and primal within me. 

The doctors had managed to save him, but the damage had been done. 

The man responsible had to pay.

I and Michele, found him hiding in a rundown warehouse on the outskirts of town. He was a coward, trembling at the sight of us, but my heart was cold, her mind focused on one thing—revenge.

As I approached him, the memory of my father's pain fueled my anger. 

The man pleaded, begged for mercy, but  fifteen year old Serafina was beyond hearing. 

Her hand gripped the knife with a steadiness that surprised her. 

She was only 15, but she felt like she had lived a hundred lifetimes in that moment.

"You tried to kill my father," I hissed, my voice low and menacing. "You thought you could get away with it?"

He tried to speak, but I silenced him with a swift slash of the blade. 

Blood spattered across my face, warm and sticky, but I didn't flinch. 

I felt nothing but a cold satisfaction as I watched the life drain from his eyes.

I was no longer just a girl; I was a killer. And in the Mafia world, that was the only way to survive.

I was an enigma in a world that thrived on power and control.

Despite my defiance, my family hadn't disowned me. They knew that severing ties with me would mean my father's death.

My father, once an average Mafia member, had risen to become a powerful caporegime in the past six months.

It was thanks to a mission I led during the summer that brought him recognition. In return, he promised to find me a suitable husband, a reward that felt more like a punishment.

At twenty years old, I had already made a name for myself in the Mafia world.

While my peers dealt with university dramas and crushes, I was immersed in a world of bloodshed and violence.

My education extended beyond textbooks; it was a deadly curriculum that taught me the art of killing.

Amidst the darkness, one person shone like a beacon of light—Lucien Beauchene, known as "The Prince" in the underworld. Tall and charismatic, he ruled his Mafia empire with a firm hand. His otherworldly beauty left women ranging from 19 to 69 soaked, and I was no exception.

Lucien's father and mine had been friends since their early days in the Mafia.

While Lucien's father built his realm through determination, my father's path was marred by gambling losses. 

Lucien had been a constant presence in my life since childhood. He took me to parks and fairs, allowing me to experience normalcy amidst chaos.

But he also taught me the dark arts—blades, firearms, and lethal skills. He was my confidant, mentor, and a source of warmth that transcended traditional familial relationships.

With each passing day, my feelings for Lucien deepened, blossoming into something forbidden yet undeniable.

He  was everything she wasn't. Where I was fire, he was ice, calm and composed even in the most chaotic situations. 

His mere presence had a way of soothing the storm inside me, a storm that had been brewing for years in the world of bloodshed and power plays. 

He was the one person who saw me, truly saw me, beyond the façade I had to wear as a Mafia princess.

He made me feel... safe. Not in the traditional sense, because there was nothing safe about Lucien or the world we lived in. 

But when I was with him, I felt like I could let my guard down, even if just for a moment. 

In his eyes, I wasn't just the Moretti heiress, destined for a life of arranged marriages and power struggles. 

I was Serafina, the girl who loved the crisp autumn air, who longed for freedom, who had a soft heart hidden beneath layers of steel.

He had taught me how to survive in a world that would me her up and spit me out if I showed any sign of weakness. 

And yet, with him, she didn't have to be strong all the time. With Lucien, I could be vulnerable, even if just in the privacy of my thoughts.

His eyes softens when he looks at me, the rare moments when the walls he kept so carefully constructed would come down. 

It was in those moments that I felt a warmth I couldn't find anywhere else. 

A warmth that made my heart ache with a longing so deep, it terrified me. 

I loved him with a ferocity that matched the rage I felt when she thought of losing him. 

And that was the scariest part—loving someone in a world where love was a weakness.

But with Lucien, love didn't feel like a weakness. 

It felt like strength, like something pure and powerful that could cut through the darkness of our lives. 

He calls me his "Perle," his pearl, and every time he did, it was like he was reminding me of my worth, of the beauty he saw in me even when I couldn't see it myself.

When he looked at me, it was like he could see right through to my soul, and in those moments, I feel like I was more than just a weapon, more than just a pawn in a deadly game. 

Lucien made me feel alive, in a way that nothing else did. He made me want to fight for something more than just survival. 

He made me believe that maybe, just maybe, there was a future for us, a future where we could be together without the weight of our families' expectations hanging over our heads.

But that future was as uncertain as everything else in their world. 

For now, all I had were these stolen moments, these memories of him that I clung to like a lifeline. 

Because no matter how dark things got, no matter how many bodies I had to bury, Lucien was the light that kept me going. 

He was my strength, my weakness, my everything. And that terrified me more than anything else.

Because in our world, love was dangerous. And loving Lucien? That was the most dangerous thing of all.

I still remember the tender moment when he kissed my cheek, his eyes filled with pride as I stood first in my class.

He had become more than just my Polaris; he was my forbidden love, simmering beneath the surface, yearning for release.

I sat cocooned in my silk blankets, gazing out at the tranquil scene outside. 

Lush green mountains, a beautiful sky, acres of meadows, and a serene pond a few meters away from the mansion.

Yet this tranquil scenery did nothing to soothe my mind. I was exhausted. Exhausted as fuck.

The previous night had been filled with tension as we received news of Russian spies infiltrating one of our drug stash houses.

Glancing at the clock, I realized it was almost 6 AM—a reminder that the world outside was awakening. I shook off the drowsiness and prepared myself for another day at university.

As I made my way to the garage, I saw a tall figure leaning against a sleek black Audi. 

It was Lucien.

Sometimes, he would drive me to the university and I'd happily spend the rest of the day, giggling on the 45-minute drive.

I enjoyed watching him as he sat beside me, his face a balm for my tiredness.

With a skip in my step, I approached his car. "Good morning," I greeted him with a smile.

"Morning, Perle," he responded, returning the smile. "Let's get you to university before you're late," he suggested, gesturing toward the open car door.

"Of course," I agreed, eagerly sliding into the passenger seat.

As the engine roared to life, he turned his attention to me. "So, what are your plans for your birthday?" he inquired, his eyes filled with genuine interest.

"Nothing much," I sighed, feeling a sense of resignation. "It's just another birthday, after all."

"Don't be so dismissive, Perle," he chided gently. "It's supposed to be fun turning 21. How can we not celebrate it in grand style, darling?"

I shrugged, uncertain. "I don't know. Birthdays have never been a big deal for me." Birthdays are just a celebration for surpassing your death date every year.

There is nothing so special about it. Life and death are seconds apart in my world. But also, turning twenty-one meant entering a new chapter of my life—one that would inevitably lead to marriage.

"Well, this one should be," he insisted, a mischievous glint in his eyes. "We'll make sure it's unforgettable."

Our conversation drifted to his work, and he shared the latest updates from the underworld.

He spoke of the thriving weed supply, the success of illicit businesses, and the safety of all things illegal under his watchful eye.

Every word he uttered seemed to wrap me in a sense of calm and security, offering respite from the harsh realities of my world.

Just as usual, his words faded away in the background and my focus lingered only on his face and his soul. Dressed in a sharp, three-piece silver suit with a thin blue tie, he exuded an aura of power and sophistication.

The suit clung to his body like a second skin, accentuating his every contour. He could have easily graced the covers of fashion magazines as a supermodel if he wasn't a mobster.

As the car came to a stop, I knew it was time to go. Reluctantly, I tore my gaze away from him and mustered a smile. "I should go now," I said, my voice tinged with renewed energy.

"Yes, have a good day," he replied, his eyes filled with warmth. "Good day, Perle," he called after me as I stepped out of the car, his words lingering in the air.

The day unfolded in its usual routine, with classes and interactions with friends and acquaintances.

During university hours, I spent time with Cynthus, a handsome gay man who had become a close friend.

After my lectures, I visited my usual café, studying for the upcoming exams. Some days, I'd be so exhausted or tangled into webs of meetings and preparations that studying was impossible.

Even if I had exams the next day, I'd be in one of my clubs negotiating a drug deal or attending a party full of fake smiles and grey lies.

So, whatever limited time I got for studying, I'd give it my best shot.

Finally, after spending my whole afternoon at the café, I called my driver, and he took me back to my house. As I entered, I was greeted by my mom.

She greeted me with a simple "Good evening," to which I responded with a nod and a soft "Good evening."

"Freshen up, I need to talk to you, Serafina."

As I headed to my room, I couldn't help but reflect on my life and surroundings. My mother's voice was a constant in my world, yet I felt like a stranger in my own home.

The mansion, with all its grandeur, felt like a cage. Every ornate detail, every lavish room, was a reminder of the life I was trapped in.

I longed for simplicity, for a life where I could make my own choices, where my worth wasn't determined by my family's legacy or the blood on my hands.

I freshened up and changed into something comfortable, letting out a sigh as I looked at myself in the mirror.

My reflection stared back, eyes tired but defiant.

I wasn't just a Mafia princess; I was Lady Moretti—strong, capable, and longing for freedom.

When I returned to the living room, my mother was waiting, her expression unreadable. "Sit," she said, her tone softer than usual.

I sat down, bracing myself for whatever she had to say.