MasukSerena moved like a shadow through the service corridors of the Virelli estate, heart pounding with cold exhilaration. The nursery wing was only two turns away. She could already picture the quiet room, the sleeping child, the moment she would reclaim her leverage....or eliminate it. Eros’s orders were clear. The boy was either a tool or a liability. She paused at a corner, listening. Distant footsteps. Guards changing shifts. Perfect timing. What she did not hear or anticipate were the three men who tracked her from the rooftops and the dark garden paths, communicating in short, silent bursts through encrypted earpieces. Luca’s orders had been precise: Do not intercept. Do not engage. Follow. Report every step. Victor’s voice came through the channel, low and steady. “Target heading for the nursery. Confirm.” “Confirmed,” one of the trackers answered. “She’s confident. No idea we’re on her.” In the study, Luca watched the live feed from a hidden camera that had been install
Giovanni stood frozen in the doorway of the safe-house bedroom. The bed was empty. The IV line hung loose. Sofia’s clothes—the ones the private doctor had left folded for her—were gone. Only a single note remained on the pillow, written in a shaky but determined hand: "I’m done being weak. Tell my husband I said this. He will understand." He crumpled the paper, a mix of frustration and reluctant admiration tightening his chest. “Stubborn woman.” He grabbed his phone and dialed Luca immediately. At the Virelli estate, Luca answered on the first ring. “She’s already on the way?” “She’s gone,” Giovanni said tightly. “Left a note. Said she’s done being weak and that you’ll understand. No car. No weapons. Just determination. I’m tracking her with the access I have to the city's camera—she’s heading toward the city, but the signal’s weak.” Luca’s free hand clenched the balcony railing. The words hit him harder than he expected. I’m done being weak. Sofia’s voice echoed in his memo
The hallway lights stabilized, casting long, harsh shadows across the estate’s polished floors. Serena stood frozen outside Luca’s private office, lockpicking tools still in her gloved hand. Victor emerged from the darkness like a ghost, flanked by two more armed men. His expression was carved from stone—no triumph, only cold efficiency. “Drop the tools,” Victor ordered, gun already drawn. “Slowly.” Serena calculated her options in a heartbeat. Fight? She was outnumbered and outgunned. Run? The corridor offered no immediate escape, and she knew the estate’s layout better than most. But the hidden room was too far. She let the tools clatter to the floor and raised her hands, forcing a bewildered, tearful expression onto her face—the one Sofia would wear. “Victor? What is this? I was looking for mamma’s locket. I thought it might comfort the baby—” “Save it,” Victor cut her off. He stepped forward and secured her wrists with zip ties, tighter than necessary. “Don Luca wants a wo
Dawn crept over the Virelli estate like a reluctant witness, painting the marble halls in pale gold. Luca had barely slept. He stood at the window of his study, nursing a black coffee, watching the grounds where armed men patrolled in pairs. The doctor was now in a secure holding room in the basement, guarded by Victor’s most loyal. The truth about Serena burned in Luca’s chest like acid. He had married Sofia believing she was his redemption—a woman who softened the edges of his brutal world. Now that illusion lay shattered. The woman sleeping down the hall in their shared suite was a stranger wearing his wife’s face. And she held his son. A soft knock interrupted his thoughts. Dante entered, looking as exhausted as Luca felt. “She’s awake,” Dante said quietly. “Asking for the baby. Playing the part perfectly. Even smiled at the new nanny.” Luca set his cup down. “Let her have supervised time with him. One wrong move and we end this. But I want eyes on her every second. Instal
The doctor arrived at the Virelli estate the following morning, the same specialist who had previously diagnosed Sofia with severe PTSD. Luca had insisted on the visit after the latest strange incidents and Serena’s outburst at dinner. The family gathered in the main sitting room, tension thick in the air. Serena, playing the role of Sofia perfectly, sat on the couch with the baby in her arms. She looked tired but composed, the image of a new mother recovering from a difficult birth. The doctor began his examination in a private room. He checked her vitals, asked gentle questions about her mood and memory, and observed her interactions with the baby. Serena answered calmly, mimicking Sofia’s gentle demeanor. Then the doctor looked at her face — really looked. His expression changed instantly. Shock flashed across his features. His hands froze mid-motion. He recognized her. Not as Sofia. As the woman who had threatened him months ago to misdiagnose the real Sofia. Dante, Luca,
***This Chapter Contains Mature Content And Is Not For Viewers Younger Than The Age Of Eighteen***Luca sat on the edge of the bed, watching Sofia — or the woman who looked like Sofia — as she fed their newborn son. The baby, now a week old, latched on with strong, healthy sucks. Luca’s hand rested on her knee, but his mind was elsewhere.“We never decided on a name,” he said softly. “We talked about it the night before labor. Do you remember what we chose?”Serena looked up, a flicker of panic hidden behind a tired smile. “Of course I remember,” she said, voice soft and convincing. “But everything from that night is a bit hazy. The pain… the exhaustion. Can you remind me?”Luca studied her for a long moment. Something in her answer felt off. The real Sofia would have remembered. She had been so excited about naming their son. He filed the hesitation away, forcing a gentle smile. “Lorenzo. We both liked Lorenzo Virelli.”Serena’s smile widened, perfect and warm. “Lorenzo. Yes. I remem







