The Mistake

I woke up to the sound of boots on marble. Sharp, steady, too deliberate to belong to anyone except him.

Luca.

The memory of last night came rushing back — his voice, his stare, the way he looked at me like he was peeling back layers I didn’t even know I had.

I sat up fast, the thin blanket pooling at my waist. The lock turned with a click.

He entered without knocking, his men lingering in the hall. This time he wasn’t wearing a suit jacket — just a white shirt, sleeves rolled to his elbows, a few buttons undone. Somehow that made him even more dangerous.

He didn’t say a word at first. Just watched me from across the room like I was some kind of equation he was trying to solve.

I crossed my arms. “What now? You run out of women to kidnap?”

The corner of his mouth twitched. “You’re bold for someone in your position.”

“Bold keeps me breathing.”

He nodded once, as if that was an answer he respected. Then he gestured to the chair across from mine. “Sit.”

“I’m already sitting.”

“Not there.” His tone sharpened. “Here.”

I rolled my eyes but stood up anyway. The second I moved, one of his men closed the door from the outside. The sound of the lock sliding into place echoed through the room.

I sat opposite him, keeping my chin high even though my hands were trembling beneath the table.

He folded his fingers, watching me. “Let’s start again. Tell me who you are.”

“Sienna DeLuca. Twenty-four. Mechanic. You already had your goons dig through my life, so why are we pretending like this is an interview?”

He ignored the sarcasm. “Tell me about your family.”

“My family?” I frowned. “What, you want a family tree?”

“If that’s what it takes.”

“My mom’s dead. My dad’s a ghost. I grew up in foster care. You want more, check my social security record.”

His jaw tightened slightly. “No siblings?”

“No.”

He leaned back slowly, eyes narrowing. “You’re lying.”

I stiffened. “Excuse me?”

“You hesitated.”

“I blinked,” I said through clenched teeth. “People do that when they’re tired of being interrogated.”

He studied me for another long second, then pushed a small photograph across the table. My breath caught.

It was a picture of a girl who looked exactly like me — same eyes, same lips, same everything — except her smile was softer, her hair longer, and she wore a pale dress that looked too delicate for the real world.

“This is Serena,” Luca said quietly.

I swallowed hard. “The woman you think I am.”

“The woman you were,” he corrected.

“Wow,” I muttered. “You really don’t quit.”

He ignored that. “You were gone for years. Everyone thought you were dead. I thought—” He stopped himself, exhaled, and tried again. “Then I saw you at the market, and everything I buried came back.”

“You buried it in the wrong grave,” I said. “That’s not me.”

He slid the photo closer. “Look at it.”

“I already did.”

“Really look at it.”

I stared at the picture, forcing myself not to flinch. The resemblance was eerie — haunting, even. If I didn’t know any better, I would’ve believed it myself.

“I’m sorry for your loss,” I said softly, “but you’ve made a mistake.”

His gaze darkened. “No. You’re hiding something.”

I slammed my palms on the table. “What could I possibly hide from a man like you? You know where I live, where I work, probably what I had for breakfast this morning. You’re just too obsessed to admit you’re wrong.”

He didn’t even blink. “You have her eyes.”

“And apparently her face, congratulations. Maybe there’s a science explanation for it. But I’m not her.”

His silence felt heavier this time. Like my words were cracking something inside him he didn’t want to face.

Then he leaned forward, elbows on his knees, voice dropping to something that almost sounded like curiosity. “If you’re not Serena, then why do you feel familiar?”

“I don’t.”

“You do.”

He was too close now — close enough that I could smell the faint trace of his cologne, something warm and expensive that clung to my skin like static.

I wanted to shove him away. I wanted to scream. But all I could do was hold his stare.

“Tell me about the scar on your shoulder,” he said suddenly.

My eyes widened. “What scar?”

He smirked, like he’d caught me. “You don’t remember.”

“I don’t have a scar.”

“Yes, you do. A small one, shaped like a crescent. Right here.” He gestured toward his shoulder.

I shook my head. “You’re insane.”

“Prove it. Take off your jacket.”

“Not a chance.”

He tilted his head, voice soft but sharp. “If you’re not her, what are you afraid of? I’ll find out?”

“Boundaries, Luca,” I snapped. “Ever heard of them?”

That actually made him laugh — low, amused, dangerous. “You talk like you’ve never been afraid of anyone.”

“I haven’t. Not until you.”

That shut him up.

The silence stretched so long I could hear both our breathing. His hand twitched slightly, like he wanted to reach for me but stopped himself.

Then, almost in a whisper, he said, “You really don’t remember me, do you?”

That threw me. “What?”

He looked at me differently now — not angry, not obsessed, just… hollow. “You don’t remember the river. The summers. The lemon trees behind the villa.”

I blinked, confused. “I grew up in a city, Luca. The closest thing I had to a lemon tree was the vending machine at the foster center.”

His face fell, just for a second. Then it hardened again. “Stop lying.”

“I’m not lying!” I shot back, frustrated tears threatening to spill. “Why would I lie about a life I never had?”

He stood so abruptly his chair scraped against the marble. “You must’ve forgotten. Maybe something happened to you—”

“I didn’t forget anything,” I interrupted. “You’re just refusing to accept that maybe, just maybe, I’m not your perfect lost girl.”

He stared at me like I’d just blasphemed. “Perfect?” he repeated. “You think Serena was perfect?”

“I don’t know, Luca. You tell me. You’ve built a whole prison around a memory.”

He stepped closer, his voice breaking for the first time. “She was everything. The only part of my life that wasn’t soaked in blood. And then she disappeared.”

I swallowed hard. “And you think I’m her come back to save you?”

He didn’t answer, just dragged a hand through his hair, pacing like a man at war with himself. “No. That’s not possible.”

“Finally,” I muttered, rubbing my temples.

“But then how do you explain this?” He spun toward me, eyes burning with something fierce. “Your face. Your name. Even your voice—”

“Coincidence,” I said firmly. “Or genetics. Or the universe playing a cruel joke on you.”

He let out a bitter laugh. “The universe doesn’t joke with me, sweetheart. It punishes.”

“Then maybe I’m your punishment,” I said quietly.

He stopped pacing. Our eyes locked again, something sharp flickering between us.

“Maybe you are,” he whispered.

I didn’t know what to say to that. The air felt suffocating. My chest hurt, not from fear this time, but from the weight in his voice.

He sank back into the chair, elbows on his knees, staring at the floor. “You really don’t remember me,” he murmured again, mostly to himself.

I hesitated. “No.”

He exhaled slowly, like the last bit of fight was draining from him. “Then I’ve made a mistake.”

Relief flooded through me. “You think?”

His gaze lifted — softer now, uncertain in a way that made me uneasy. “Maybe I owe you an apology.”

“Maybe?”

He almost smiled. “Don’t push your luck.”

I opened my mouth to respond, but the door burst open before I could. Marco — the man from the car last night — stepped in, a folder in hand.

“Boss,” he said urgently, glancing between us. “We found something.”

Luca stood instantly. “Not now.”

Marco ignored him and handed him the folder. “You’ll want to see this.”

Luca took it, flipping through the papers. His eyes scanned the page once, twice, and then froze.

“What is it?” I asked, curiosity overriding caution.

He didn’t answer. His knuckles whitened around the folder.

“Luca?”

He looked up slowly, and for the first time since I’d met him, he looked… unsettled.

“What?” I demanded. “What did you find?”

He closed the folder and set it on the table, his jaw tight. “You were right,” he said finally.

I blinked. “About what?”

“You’re not Serena.”

Something in the way he said it made my stomach twist. “Okay… then we’re done here, right? You let me go?”

He didn’t respond.

I frowned. “Luca?”

He turned toward the window, running a hand over his mouth. “There’s something else.”

“What?”

He hesitated — too long.

I took a step forward. “What did you find?”

He turned back to me, eyes colder than I’d ever seen them. “Serena didn’t just disappear.”

My throat went dry. “What are you talking about?”

“She was taken,” he said softly. “And the people who took her... they left someone behind.”

“Someone?” I repeated, confused.

He nodded once, gaze locking with mine. “You.”

The room went silent. My breath caught in my chest.

“What do you mean, me?”

He took a step closer, voice dropping to a whisper. “You’re not just her look-alike, Sienna. You’re her twin.”

The words hit me like a punch.

Twin.

The photo. The face. The feeling that none of this was random — it all snapped into place, and my knees almost gave out.

But before I could say anything, Luca’s phone rang. He glanced at the screen, his expression shifting from shock to fury.

He answered, his tone sharp. “What?”

I couldn’t hear the reply, but I saw his jaw clench, saw his entire body go rigid.

When he hung up, his eyes met mine again — and this time, the softness was gone.

“They know you’re here,” he said.

“Who?”

He didn’t answer. He just grabbed my wrist, pulling me up from the chair.

“Luca—”

“Move,” he ordered, voice low, dangerous again. “Now.”

And as he dragged me toward the door, all I could think was—

What if he wasn’t the only one who’d made a mistake?