Elena's POV
"She died when I was thirteen," I whispered.
But the image on the screen didn't lie.
There she was.
Same high cheekbones. Same sharp eyes.
Older. Bruised. But alive.
And staring straight into the camera like she knew I'd be watching one day.
Lorenzo looked at me, voice like ice cracking over water. "Then someone lied."
I couldn't speak.
Couldn't breathe.
My mother—Isabella Romano—had been declared dead in a warehouse fire. Closed casket. Mafia funeral. End of story.
But now, here she was.
Not a ghost. Not a dream.
Alive.
Held in the basement of my father's forgotten villa like a secret locked behind blood-stained walls.
I stumbled back, heart hammering.
Lorenzo caught my arm.
"Sit down," he said.
"No."
"Elena—"
"I said no!" I snapped, yanking away from his grip.
"I buried her," I said, voice shaking. "They showed me the body. They let me cry for her."
He looked at me, jaw tight. "And that's exactly why they faked it."
My blood went cold.
"You think my father—?"
"I know he knew. That's his property in the footage. His crest on the gate. And his security detail in the background."
I stared at the frozen frame of my mother's face, hollow and alive.
"What the hell was he hiding?" I whispered.
Lorenzo didn't answer.
Because we both knew the truth was going to hurt more than any bullet.
An hour later, Lorenzo called in a contact from Milan — a former hacker turned intel broker named Salvi. He decrypted the rest of the files on the burner phone.
I sat stiffly on the leather couch in the panic room, wrapped in a wool blanket, hands still trembling.
The video played again.
Footage from security cams. Logs. Hidden correspondences.
My mother wasn't just a prisoner.
She was a prisoner with a number: X-79.
And the code kept repeating. On blueprints. On transport schedules. On shipping manifests marked "PROJECT LEGACY."
"What is this?" I asked.
Salvi looked pale.
"It's a breeding program."
I blinked.
"What?"
He swallowed. "Years ago, the Bratva started a secret operation. Quiet. Off-the-books. They tracked women with elite bloodlines — especially those connected to the five original mafia families. They wanted to create an heir. One heir. A perfect successor. A weapon born into power."
My skin turned to ice.
"They weren't just stealing names," Salvi continued. "They were stealing wombs. And your mother… she was their first test subject."
Lorenzo cursed.
I leaned forward, whispering, "You're telling me my father sold her… to them?"
"Or made a deal he regretted," Salvi said. "Either way, he didn't save her."
I stood.
"Then I will."
Lorenzo rose beside me. "We don't even know where she is now—"
"She's alive, Lorenzo!"
"I know. But we can't storm a Bratva compound blind. We'll all die."
"I don't care."
"Well, I do."
We locked eyes.
And for the first time, I saw fear in his.
Not for him.
For me.
"Elena," he said quietly, "you don't know what you're walking into. If she's been down there this long, if she's part of Project Legacy—"
"She's my mother."
"And you're my wife."
His voice cracked.
"I don't care what started this marriage, Elena. I don't care what we were supposed to be. But you are mine now. And I won't lose you too."
I felt the tears burn but refused to let them fall.
Because I couldn't afford to break.
Not yet.
"I'm going," I said.
"Then I'm coming with you."
We left that night.
No guards.
No convoy.
Just me, Lorenzo, and a map burned into my memory.
The villa was two hours out of Trapani, nestled in a forgotten pocket of coast, surrounded by olive trees and silence.
I used to run through its halls barefoot as a child, chased by shadows and sunshine.
Now I was returning with a gun on my hip and blood in my mouth.
When we arrived, the gates were rusted shut.
Lorenzo scaled them with practiced ease, then opened the side entrance for me.
We moved like ghosts.
Room by room. Floor by floor.
The villa was empty.
Too empty.
"Where's the staff?" I whispered.
"They pulled out."
"Why?"
He crouched near the dining hall, picking up a still-warm cigarette. "Because they knew we were coming."
My stomach dropped.
"Trap?"
"Looks like it."
But we didn't leave.
We pressed deeper.
Down to the wine cellar. Through the false wall. And into the corridor I'd only heard whispers about as a child.
A door stood at the end of it.
Reinforced steel.
Lorenzo cracked it open with the override key Salvi gave us.
And inside—
Nothing.
Just a single chair.
A chain on the floor.
And a smear of dried blood.
My throat tightened.
"She's not here."
"No," Lorenzo said. "But she was."
I picked up the chain.
It still smelled like her perfume.
Jasmine and gunpowder.
Then I saw it—on the wall, scratched in with a broken nail or knife:
ELENA – FIND NIKA
I stepped back.
Nika?
The name spun in my head.
"She's alive," I said, breathless. "She's trying to help me. She left this."
"But who's Nika?"
"I don't know." I pressed a hand to my chest. "But I think I'm supposed to."
Lorenzo took a photo of the message. "Let's move. If this was a trap, they're not going to wait forever to spring it."
We turned to go—
But then the wall exploded.
Smoke. Heat. Shrapnel.
My body slammed against the floor.
Lorenzo landed on top of me, shielding me from the worst of it, but we were both dazed, ears ringing.
Boots approached.
Five men.
One with a scar down his face. Another holding a taser.
"You were warned," one of them said in a thick Russian accent.
Lorenzo reached for his weapon.
They fired first.
Shock hit him in the ribs.
He dropped hard.
I screamed.
Tried to grab the gun.
A boot pinned my hand.
"No, no," the scar-faced man said. "You're not going anywhere, Mrs. Vitale."
Then everything went dark.
I woke in a van.
Hands bound.
Lips dry.
Lorenzo was beside me. Unconscious. Bleeding from his side.
And across from us—watching me like a lion with a bleeding deer—sat a woman in black.
Sharp jaw. White gloves. Cold eyes.
"You're awake," she said in perfect English.
"Who are you?"
She smiled.
"You can call me Mother."
( OH SHIT NOW WHAT ! CLIFFHANGER AS PER USUAL MY FRIENDS 😁)
She reached into her coat and pulled out a photo.
My mother.
Alive. In chains. Next to another woman.
She tapped the image with her gloved finger.
"Find Nika?" she echoed. "You should have killed her when you had the chance."