* The forbidden flame *
The room smelled of smoke, steel, and sin.
Men in black suits moved in silence, their shadows long against the crimson walls. At the center sat Maximus, the man they called The Ghost King. His cold eyes carried the weight of many deaths, yet somewhere, buried deep behind that deadly calm, lived a secret only one woman knew.
They called it the rule of the blood oath:
> "A mafia king may have a thousand mistresses, but never a wife.
Love is weakness. Marriage is death."
Maximus knew this rule by heart.
He had sworn to it in blood.
He had killed for it.
But that was before Sylvia.
Sylvia wasn't like the others, she was light in the midst of his endless night. Her laughter disarmed him. Her touch burned him more than any weapon ever could. He tried to resist, tried to bury what he felt, but every time she looked into his eyes, something inside him cracked.
And he hated himself for it.
Because in the mafia, love wasn't just forbidden, it was punishable by death.
No one ever walked away alive after breaking the blood oath.
Not even the king.
What made it worse was the secret behind every member of The Empire:
They weren't just men.
Before joining, each one had taken the dark rite, a ritual that bound half their souls to darkness itself. They were half demon, half human and that was what made them unstoppable, ruthless, and feared across the underworld.
But when Maximus fell for Sylvia, something began to change.
His human side grew stronger...
and the demon inside him began to revolt.
* INT. PRIVATE CLUB – NIGHT *
Rain drummed against the glass walls of The Mirage Club, where only the elite of the underworld were allowed.
Music throbbed low, like a heartbeat hiding beneath silk and danger. Cigars glowed. Laughter laced with liquor floated in the air.
Maximus sat alone in his private booth, a corner soaked in shadows. A glass of bourbon rested in his hand, untouched. His men whispered nearby, but he wasn't listening.
Then she walked in.
Sylvia.
Her red dress shimmered beneath the dim lights, hugging every curve like the fabric was made for sin. Her hair cascaded down her back, long and dark, her eyes carrying a fire that no demon could resist.
Maximus's grip on the glass tightened until it cracked slightly at the rim.
He had seen beauty before but this, this was something else.
Something dangerous.
> Maximus (low tone): "Who is she?"
One of his men leaned in, voice trembling.
> Bodyguard: "New dancer, boss. Goes by Sylvia. Came in last week from the East Side. No records, no affiliations."
Maximus leaned back, his eyes still fixed on her.
> Maximus: "She won't be a dancer for long."
---
Later that night, when the club emptied and the music died, she came to clear his table. She didn't look at him, not even once. But he felt her fear and her calm blending like two opposite worlds.
He spoke, his voice calm but commanding.
> Maximus: "What's your name?"
She didn't flinch.
> Sylvia: "You already know."
Her boldness caught him off guard. Most women would've trembled under his gaze, but she stood her ground.
> Maximus: "You're not afraid of me."
Sylvia: "Should I be?"
Maximus (smirking): "Everyone should."
Sylvia: "Then maybe I'm not everyone."
Something flickered in his eyes, a spark he hadn't felt in decades. He wanted to stop, to end the conversation before it began. But the demon in him went quiet, as if watching.
When she turned to leave, he said her name again, softly this time.
> Maximus: "Sylvia."
She paused. Looked over her shoulder.
> Maximus: "If you value your peace, stay away from me."
She smiled faintly.
> Sylvia: "Peace is boring."
And that was the moment it all began.
The fall of a king.
The curse of a love that would tear empires apart.
In all his years drenched in blood and power, Maximus had never felt this kind of chaos within. A single glance from her and his demons went silent, his rules forgotten. He had conquered cities… yet here he was, conquered by a woman's gaze.
The mansion was dimly lit, drenched in golden shadows that flickered across the marble floor. The sound of rain outside beat against the wide glass windows, a reminder of the storm that always seemed to follow Maximus wherever he went.
In all his years of reigning as a Mafia King, Maximus had never once felt this — this pull, this heat, this unexplainable bond that tied his very soul to a woman. It wasn't lust. It wasn't mere desire. It was something far more dangerous… something he could neither control nor kill.
Sylvia.
The name itself had become a rhythm in his mind. Her laughter haunted his quiet moments; her scent lingered in his thoughts long after she was gone. Every time she passed by, he felt the blood in his veins stir as though her presence dared his demonic half to feel something human again.
He tried to fight it. Gods, he tried.
He buried himself in work — in the blood and smoke of his empire. He trained his men harder, punished them harsher, and drank until his body went numb. But even in his drunken haze, her image danced in the flames of his cigar.
And that's when he knew...
He was doomed.
Because in the Mafia world, love was weakness.
And weakness was death.
But Maximus couldn't stay away. He found himself standing outside her chamber night after night, convincing himself it was coincidence. Watching her through the open window as she brushed her hair by candlelight, the golden glow wrapping her like a forbidden prayer.
One night, when the ache in his chest became unbearable, he entered.
No words. No explanations. Just the heavy silence of two souls who were never meant to touch, yet did.
From that night, the rules were broken.
And though the world didn't end immediately, Maximus knew… It was only a matter of time before it came crashing down.
* Lingering shadows *
Amara jerks awake, panting, her breath shallow and uneven.
She sits upright with a start, sweat trickling down her temple. Her eyes dart around the dimly lit room — the wardrobe, the curtain fluttering gently, the chair by the corner — everything seems in its place, yet something feels off.
Her hand flies to her chest.
She listens to the frantic rhythm of her heartbeat, pounding against her palm.
AMARA
(whispering to herself)
How… How did I even fall asleep?
She furrows her brows, scanning her memory.
AMARA (whispering)
Last night… I'm sure… someone was watching me.
Her voice trembles slightly, and she looks toward the window where the faint morning sun now spills in, chasing away the night's chill.
She shuts her eyes, takes a deep breath, and whispers—
AMARA
Get a grip, Amara. It's just your mind playing tricks on you again. Nobody's watching.
Slowly, she swings her legs off the bed and stands. The wooden floor creaks beneath her feet. She walks to the small dresser, straightens the bedspread, folds her thin blanket, and tucks in the corners neatly, a quiet ritual of control.
On the table by her bed lies a small brown diary. She opens it, flips to a clean page, and begins to write in careful strokes:
> "Another morning, another chance. I'm still breathing. I'll make today count, no matter how tired, no matter how lost. I'm Amara and my strength will never rust.."
She pauses, smiles faintly at the words, then closes the diary and places it under her pillow.
AMARA
(softly, praying)
Thank you, God… for keeping us through the night. Please, let today be peaceful.
With that, she stretches, adjusts her apron, and walks to the door. The faint sound of clattering dishes greets her from the other side.
She opens the door — and there he is.
* INT. LIVING ROOM – MORNING *
Raymond is already awake, crouched near the center table, cleaning and rearranging things. The sight makes her blink in surprise.
AMARA
(half smiling, walking toward him)
Raymond… you're awake already? You're a visitor, you shouldn't be doing that.
RAYMOND
(grinning without looking up)
A visitor? Since when did I become a visitor here? I've always been family and you know that.
Amara chuckles lightly, leaning against the doorway.
RAYMOND
So… what's the plan for today? Any break? Maybe we go out, breathe a little?
AMARA
(shaking her head, sighs)
No breaks. I still have to work today. Madame Celine doesn't give anyone time off.
RAYMOND
(stands up, stretching)
Damn… this job is really wearing you out.
AMARA
(glances at him with a teasing smile)
And you? Heading out again today?
RAYMOND
(scratches the back of his neck, shy smile)
Well… maybe not. Couldn't hurt to stay a little longer, right? Spend more time with my family friends. It's been too long.
AMARA
(smiling warmly)
You're welcome here anytime, Raymond. For as long as you want.
She walks toward the kitchen, tying her apron properly.
AMARA
Let me prepare breakfast before Chrisi wakes up, you know him. He'll be hungry enough to eat the spoons too.
RAYMOND
(laughs)
That's the Chris I know.
As she disappears into the kitchen, the warm scent of frying eggs and tea begins to fill the room, the air light with something rare in this house: peace.