CHAPTER TWO -- GHOST IN THE MIRROR

Six months passed in a blur of transformation.

Lorenzo taught me everything about being Natalia De Luca; heiress to an Italian-Indian crime dynasty that rivaled Rafael's organization in power and reach. I learned that my new body belonged to his sister, who was left brain-dead after an assassination attempt. The how and why of my consciousness transferring to her remained shrouded in mysticism and Lorenzo's cryptic explanations about ancient family gifts.

Every morning, I woke up reaching for a face that was no longer mine, aching for the person I used to be. The grief came in waves. Sometimes a gentle tide, sometimes a tsunami that left me gasping for air, huddled on the bathroom floor. Lorenzo would find me there, silent tears streaming down Natalia's face, and wordlessly help me to my feet. In those moments, he became truly my brother, the family I'd lost when my parents died, the support I thought I'd found in Rafael.

I learned to move in this taller, more lithe body. To speak with Natalia's slight accent, to write with her right hand though Alina had been left-handed. I studied Rafael's empire, memorizing his businesses, associates, enemies. I trained my mind and body into weapons, combat skills, business acumen, psychological manipulation.

All while dreams of drowning woke me night after night, my screams echoing through the De Luca mansion.

"Tell me about Antonio Greco," I demanded one evening, as Lorenzo and I reviewed Rafael's associates.

Lorenzo's face darkened. "Greco is Rafael's newest business partner. Old money, new ambitions. He specializes in strategic acquisitions, often buying businesses in financial trouble, stripping them for parts."

"And his connection to Isabella?"

"Lovers, we believe. Before and perhaps during her relationship with Rafael." Lorenzo slid a manila folder across the desk. "But more importantly, he was the man Isabella used to frame you.”

My fingers tightened on the folder. "She set me up to look like I was betraying Rafael by working with his enemy."

"Yes. Greco provided the forged evidence making it appear you had shared insider information about Rafael's operations. Information that only you could have known."

The betrayal cut fresh, despite the months that had passed. "And Rafael believed it. He thought I betrayed him."

Lorenzo hesitated. "The evidence was convincing. But I'm not certain Rafael ever fully accepted it. According to our sources, he's been investigating your death for two years."

Hope flared, unwanted and dangerous. I crushed it immediately. "It doesn't matter what he believed. He's guilty of my father's death either way."

Lorenzo watched me with knowing eyes but didn't challenge the lie.

Today marked the end of my preparation and the beginning of my revenge. I stood before the mirror in my Milan penthouse, examining the woman I'd become. The black Valentino gown clung to curves that still sometimes felt foreign to me, its deep neckline adorned with diamonds that had once belonged to the real Natalia.

"You look perfect," Lorenzo said from the doorway. "Rafael won't know what hit him."

I turned, studying my brother's face, I'd begun thinking of him that way despite myself. In these months, he'd become my anchor in this new reality. "And if he recognizes me somehow?"

Lorenzo laughed. "Impossible. You look nothing like Alina Verma."

"Not physically," I conceded. "But something deeper..." I couldn't explain the connection I still felt to Rafael, like a phantom limb that ached for him despite everything. How even now, preparing to destroy him, part of me yearned for the safety of his arms.

"Trust me," Lorenzo approached, adjusting my diamond earrings, "Rafael Moretti is a man ruled by his eyes first. By the time he looks deeper, you'll already be under his skin."

The car waited below to take us to Milan Fashion Week's most exclusive after-party. Intelligence confirmed Rafael would attend,his first major social appearance since Alina's death.

In the limousine, Lorenzo briefed me one final time. "Remember, you've been in Switzerland recovering from injuries and trauma. You're reclaiming your position in the family business. You know of Rafael by reputation only."

I nodded, fingering the phoenix tattoo on my wrist, a nervous habit I'd developed. "And Isabella?"

"Will be at his side, playing the devoted partner." Lorenzo's jaw tightened. "The timing works perfectly. Antonio Greco just finalized the casino deal with Rafael's organization."

My stomach twisted at the thought of seeing Isabella clinging to Rafael, the woman who had murdered me now claiming what was once mine. "How will I face her without wanting to tear her apart with my bare hands?"

Lorenzo covered my hand with his. "That desire will fuel you. Use it. Control it. Remember, revenge is a dish,"

"Best served cold," I finished, forcing a smile that felt brittle on my lips. "I know."

"I was going to say 'best served with champagne,'" he replied, handing me a flute of the bubbling liquid. "To the death of Alina Verma."

I raised my glass but couldn't bring myself to echo the toast. Because despite everything, despite my new body and name and purpose, Alina wasn't fully dead. She lived in my memories, in my dreams.

And in my heart that still, traitorously, skipped when the limousine pulled up to the venue and I saw Rafael Moretti emerge from his car, devastating in a black tuxedo, his face harder and colder than I remembered. Lines had formed around his eyes that hadn't been there before, and silver threaded at his temples. My breath caught painfully in my chest.

Isabella clung to his arm, gorgeous in red, the color of blood, of warning. Seeing her again sent a wave of remembered terror through me,water closing over my face, her hand pressing me down, down...

"Natalia." Lorenzo's voice pulled me back. "Breathe."

I realized I'd been holding my breath, my hand clenched so tightly around the champagne flute that it threatened to shatter. "I'm fine."

"Ready?" Lorenzo asked, watching my face carefully.

I took a steadying breath, tucking Alina's pain and fear deep inside, letting Natalia's cool confidence rise to the surface.

"I've been ready for two years."

The camera flashes were blinding as we stepped onto the red carpet. Whispers rippled through the crowd; Natalia De Luca, back from the dead, as Lorenzo guided me into the glittering party.

I felt Rafael's attention like a physical touch before I ever turned to meet his gaze. Across the crowded room, those piercing blue eyes locked on me with an intensity that nearly stole my breath.

For a moment, brief but electric, I was Alina again, seeing him for the first time at that charity gala, feeling the world tilt on its axis. The memory was so vivid I could almost taste the champagne from that night, hear the orchestra playing Debussy, feel the flutter in my stomach when he first smiled at me.

Then Natalia's steel spine straightened, and I smiled coolly in his direction before deliberately turning away. Let him come to me. Let him feel the strange pull without understanding why.

The night progressed according to plan. I charmed influential guests, reestablishing Natalia's presence in high society while always maintaining awareness of Rafael's position in the room. Isabella watched me like a hawk, her smile brittle when our eyes met. Each time I glimpsed her, my body remembered drowning; each time I glimpsed Rafael, my heart remembered loving.

An hour in, I positioned myself at the bar, ordering a glass of Macallan 25, Rafael's favorite whiskey.

Right on cue, he materialized beside me, drawn by curiosity and something deeper he couldn't yet name.

"I don't believe we've been introduced," he said, that voice,that voice I'd heard in dreams and nightmares,washing over me. "Rafael Moretti."

I turned slowly, glass in hand, and watched his eyes widen fractionally at the sight of the whiskey. "Natalia De Luca," I replied, extending my hand. "But something tells me you already knew that."

His fingers closed around mine, and electricity shot up my arm. Did he feel it too? The brief flicker in his eyes suggested yes.

"Your return to Milan has caused quite a stir, Ms. De Luca."

"Natalia, please." I held his gaze for one deliberate beat too long. "I've heard a great deal about you, Mr. Moretti."

"Have you now?" His smile didn't reach his eyes. Those eyes that had once looked at Alina with such love, now guarded, suspicious. The change hurt more than I expected.

"Your reputation precedes you." I sipped the whiskey, watching him over the rim. "Though I find reputation rarely tells the full story."

Something shifted in his expression, interest, wariness. "And what story are you interested in hearing, Natalia?"

I leaned slightly closer, close enough to catch his scent, sandalwood and citrus, unchanged after all this time. The familiar smell brought an unbidden rush of memories: his cologne on my pillow, on my skin, the scent that had once meant home. "The one no one else gets to hear."

Before he could respond, Isabella appeared at his side, her fingers digging possessively into his arm. "Darling, the Vanicellis are asking for you."

Rafael's eyes remained on mine for a moment longer before he nodded. "Of course." To me, he added, "Perhaps we'll continue this conversation another time."

"I'd count on it," I replied, raising my glass in a small toast.

As they walked away, I heard Isabella hiss, "Who is she to you?"

His response was too low to catch, but the tension in his shoulders spoke volumes.

Lorenzo appeared at my side. "Well?"

I drained the whiskey, embracing its burn. "He's curious. Drawn to me. And he doesn't understand why."

"Perfect." Lorenzo's smile was predatory. "And how was it, seeing him again?"

I turned to the bar, ordered another drink to hide my expression. "Like looking at a stranger wearing the face of someone I used to love."

A lie. Because when Rafael's eyes met mine, when his hand touched mine, two years and death itself seemed to vanish. And that terrified me more than anything.

Because revenge required a heart of stone, not one still capable of breaking.