Elena's POV
"Hello, baby girl."
My blood froze.
The voice wasn't distorted this time. Not a recording. Not a hallucination from one of their drugs.
It was real.
Alive.
And it belonged to the man I'd buried ten years ago.
My father.
I turned slowly.
There he stood, in the flesh. Black suit. Clean shave. Scar still visible beneath his right eye — the one he got the night of the Orlov raid in Milan. His eyes were the same shade of coal I'd memorized as a child.
And yet… they felt empty.
Like he wasn't wearing his own skin.
"What is this?" I asked, voice flat, hollow.
He took a step forward. "It's time we talked."
I backed away.
"No. You're supposed to be dead."
"I was."
"No!" I shouted. "You don't get to show up now — now — after selling Mom, after selling me."
"I didn't sell you."
"Bullshit."
"Elena—"
"You let them take us! You let them lock her in that basement like some science project. You—" My voice cracked. "You told them I didn't need to know. You called me a sacrifice."
His mouth twitched, like the guilt wanted to come but never learned how to walk.
Then he said something I never expected.
"She's not your mother."
Silence.
The kind of silence that chokes.
"What?"
"She's not your mother, Elena."
"You're lying."
He stepped closer. "She raised you. She loved you. But she wasn't your biological mother."
"You're lying."
"Do you remember when she disappeared for seven months after the Palermo raid?"
I swallowed.
"She was in hiding—"
"No," he said. "She was recovering. From a failed pregnancy. One we both weren't supposed to speak of again. But she couldn't carry. Couldn't… finish the plan."
My knees trembled.
He kept talking.
"So we did what others were already doing. We used the Legacy program. And we found a surrogate."
My world shattered.
"You're telling me I was… created?"
"You were chosen," he corrected softly.
I laughed, broken and breathless.
"You sound just like her. That witch you partnered with. Mother."
He winced.
"She calls herself Mother. But she's no one's parent. Just a machine wearing flesh."
I turned, pressing both palms against the mirror.
"Why now?" I whispered. "Why show me this now?"
He stepped beside me, his voice low. "Because they lied to me, too. They were never going to let you go. Not even after the trial."
"The trial?"
"You think this is the end, Elena?" His eyes glinted. "This is only the opening act. The real game starts tomorrow."
"What are you talking about?"
He looked me dead in the eye.
"There's another one."
My heart stopped.
"Another what?"
"Another version of you."
My breath caught.
"No."
"They cloned the bloodline. Created another heiress. Grew her in the same womb. Taught her obedience. Discipline. Silence."
I shook my head. "No. You're lying."
"She was activated three months ago. She's already taken over the Palermo sector."
"Shut up."
"She looks like you. Walks like you. But she was built to replace you. Her name is Evelyn."
I dropped to the floor.
Evelyn.
The name scraped across my brain like rusted knives.
"There was never supposed to be two," my father continued. "But Mother lost faith in your rebellion. So she created your shadow."
I looked up, tears blurring my vision.
"Where is she now?"
He hesitated.
Then said, "She's standing trial at the next Summit. As you."
"What summit?"
"The Concorde Council. Next week. Every major mafia family will be there. And they'll swear allegiance to whoever sits at the Romano throne."
My pulse spiked.
"And she's taking my place?"
He nodded. "Unless you stop her."
I stood.
Chest rising. Eyes burning.
"What do I have to do?"
He took something from his coat — a keycard, red-stamped and biometric encrypted.
"Use this. It'll get you through the back sector. There's one exit they forgot I built. It leads to the docks."
"And then?"
"You run."
I snatched the card.
But before I could turn away, he said, "One more thing."
I paused.
He handed me a photo.
Of me.
Standing next to Lorenzo.
Smiling.
Except I'd never taken that picture.
My father whispered, "That's not you."
I ran.
Through the tunnels. The echoes of alarms pinging in the distance.
They'd discovered the breach.
But I didn't care.
I passed the stasis labs. Passed the cells where other women cried into shadows.
I burned it all into memory.
Because I'd be back.
I swore it.
I found the door — exactly where he said it would be.
Biometric sensor.
One scan of my palm and the door hissed open.
Salt air hit me like a blessing.
Freedom.
I stumbled toward the docks, boots sliding on wet stone.
The moon hung heavy over black water.
Then I saw him.
Lorenzo.
Leaning against a post, one arm in a sling, bruised and battered, but alive.
He turned when he saw me.
And smiled.
"About time, wife."
I ran to him.
Threw my arms around him, breath catching.
"How—?"
"I escaped during the lockdown. Knocked out one of their guards and used his uniform. I've been waiting here since sundown."
I gripped him tight.
"You have no idea what I found."
He pulled back slightly, brushing hair from my face.
"Try me."
I opened my mouth to speak.
But stopped.
Because something was off.
His touch. His smell. The way he tilted his head.
Too perfect.
Too smooth.
"Say my name," I whispered.
He blinked. "Elena."
"No. The name you gave me after our wedding night."
He hesitated.
And that was all the answer I needed.
I stepped back.
Heartbreaking.
"You're not him."
He straightened.
Then smiled.
Too wide.
Too fake.
And in a voice that was almost his, he said:
"No. But he's watching."
Then a flash.
Something sharp stabbed my neck.
I crumpled.
As darkness swallowed me, I saw her face in the distance — standing at the end of the dock, hands clasped behind her back.
Evelyn.
My face.
My voice.
But not me.
She smiled.
And whispered:
"Let the real legacy begin."
(CLIFFHANGERS INCOMING)
Somewhere deep below the surface, the real Lorenzo screamed inside a glass chamber…
…while above, his replacement climbed into the jet with my double… and the world prepared to bow to a queen built in a lab.