MasukI could not move.My mother's words remained suspended between us, impossible to accept and impossible to dismiss.I gave birth to Sophia.And I did not give birth to you.I looked through the glass again.Two names.Two children.One of them belonged to my mother.The other had been brought into this hospital and given a name that was never supposed to belong to her.Mine.I turned slowly toward Valentina."Then who gave birth to me?"She pressed a hand against her mouth before lowering it again."I do not know.""You expect me to believe that?""I know where you came from. I know who brought you here. I know what happened that night. But I never learned who your biological mother was.""Who brought me?""Matteo."The answer came quietly.I looked at the empty room behind the glass."Matteo Rinaldi brought me here?""Yes.""Why?""Because he said your life depended on it."Lucien stood near the doorway, his weapon still in his hand. His attention remained on the corridor, but I knew
The photograph remained in the man's hand between us.Two newborn babies.Two names.One of them was mine.The room seemed smaller with that piece of paper in front of me. I could hear the old ventilation system humming somewhere above us, the faint movement of the pipes, the uneven breathing of my mother. Every sound felt separate and painfully clear.SOPHIA VEYRA.ANASTASIA RINALDI.I looked at my mother.She had spent my entire life calling me Anastasia Veyra.She had watched me answer to that name at school, at home, during family arguments, during every birthday celebration, every Christmas, every ordinary morning when none of us had any reason to question who I was.Now she was telling me the name had been false from the beginning."Rinaldi," I said quietly. "Why does that name belong to me?"My mother looked at the man holding the folder."I told you not to bring her here."He smiled."You stopped having a choice years ago."Lucien remained motionless with the gun pressed again
The abandoned hospital stood at the edge of the city, hidden behind overgrown trees and a rusted iron fence. Most of its windows were dark, but a few on the upper floor reflected the headlights of our cars as we approached. The building had been closed for years, yet someone had recently cleared a path through the weeds leading toward the main entrance. Fresh tire marks cut through the damp earth.Someone was using the place.I sat in the back seat beside Lucien, staring at the hospital through the window. His security team had surrounded the property before we arrived, but he had brought only a few men inside. Cassian stayed close, carrying a compact weapon beneath his jacket.My mother's photograph remained open on my phone.The clock behind her showed 2:17.The same time recorded on my birth certificate.I had spent the entire drive trying to convince myself that the message was designed to frighten me. There were dozens of explanations. Someone could have found my birth records. S
"Your mother."Lucien said it again, this time with the certainty of a man who had just discovered that the ground beneath his entire family history was built on a lie. He held the phone toward Cassian, enlarged the photograph of the agreement, and examined the signature at the bottom of the page. I moved closer to read it myself. The handwriting looked familiar, but the image was too small to show every detail. Whoever had taken the photograph had captured the document at an angle, leaving part of the final page in shadow.My mother had signed an agreement with Lucien's father and my uncle. She had concealed Sophia's escape, admitted she had spoken to Vittorio six months earlier, and now claimed my father had never been the third signatory. Each new discovery made the previous one harder to understand. I had grown up believing my parents were trapped in a bitter rivalry with the Morettis, a feud that had shaped every important decision in our family. Now I was beginning to wonder whe
The restaurant stood on a narrow stretch of land overlooking Lake Como, hidden behind a row of cypress trees and an iron gate that opened only after Lucien’s driver presented the invitation. I had expected a grand hotel or one of the expensive establishments that catered to men who enjoyed displaying their wealth. Instead, the building looked like an old private residence, its pale stone walls covered with climbing ivy, its windows glowing amber against the dark water. Two black cars were parked near the entrance, but neither carried a visible security detail. That bothered me more than a dozen armed men would have.Someone had arranged this meeting carefully. The invitation had arrived less than an hour after we left the clinic, leaving us little time to investigate the sender or prepare a proper response. Whoever had sent it knew we would accept. They had offered the third part of an agreement that had haunted both our families for years, and they had chosen a location where refusin
By the time we left the Moretti estate, the sky above Milan had darkened to the color of old slate, and the streets were filling with the evening traffic that made every journey through the city unpredictable. I sat in the rear of the black sedan with the documents from Room 17B secured inside my bag, watching the familiar buildings give way to quieter streets lined with expensive apartments and private medical facilities. Lucien sat beside me, reading the report Cassian had sent to his phone. He had changed into a charcoal suit, but the faint mark near his collar suggested that the earlier confrontation had been less orderly than he wanted me to believe.I had changed as well. My damaged dress was gone, replaced by black trousers, a cream blouse, and a jacket Elena had found in the estate's guest wardrobe. My wrist had been wrapped by the house medic, who had warned me to avoid putting too much pressure on it for the rest of the day. I had thanked him and immediately ignored the advi







