THE WOMAN WHO WAS SUPPOSED TO BE ᴅᴇᴀᴅ

For several seconds, nobody moved.

Elina could hear the refrigerator humming behind the bar.

A fork clinked somewhere in the dining room.

The baby breathed softly against her chest.

Then she looked at the pH๏τograph again.

“My wife.”

The man’s words seemed to echo inside her skull.

Elina shook her head.

“No.”

His eyes narrowed.

“You know her?”

“I’ve never seen her before.”

“Then why do you have her face?”

Elina’s mouth opened.

Nothing came out.

She looked down at the baby.

His tiny fingers were still wrapped around hers.

She had never held a child before tonight.

Yet something about him felt disturbingly familiar.

The man stepped closer.

One of his bodyguards moved with him.

“Sir—”

“Stay back.”

The command was quiet.

The guard stopped.

The mafia boss stood less than a foot away from Elina.

Up close, she could see the exhaustion beneath his eyes.

Not the coldness everyone else had feared.

Something older.

Something wounded.

“What was her name?” Elina asked.

His jaw тιԍнтened.

“Isabella.”

The name struck her strangely.

A flash of something.

Rain.

A woman’s perfume.

Someone humming beside a kitchen window.

Elina blinked.

The memory disappeared.

Her fingers тιԍнтened around the baby.

“Where did she die?”

The man’s expression changed.

“You don’t remember?”

Elina stared at him.

“Remember what?”

He reached toward her.

She flinched.

His hand stopped in midair.

For the first time, he looked uncertain.

Then he slowly pointed toward her left cheek.

“That dimple.”

Elina instinctively touched it.

“My mother used to tell me I was born with it.”

The man’s face went pale.

“Your mother?”

“I don’t know her.”

Silence.

“What do you mean?”

Elina swallowed.

“I grew up in foster homes.”

The room seemed to disappear around them.

The man’s eyes widened.

“Who raised you?”

“I don’t know.”

“Your birth certificate?”

“I never saw the original.”

His breathing changed.

He turned toward one of his men.

“Call Marco.”

The guard immediately pulled out his phone.

Elina stepped backward.

“What are you doing?”

The man looked at her.

“Finding out who you are.”

“I know who I am.”

“No.”

His voice cracked for the first time.

“You know the name they gave you.”

Elina felt the blood drain from her face.

He glanced at the pH๏τograph.

Then at the sleeping baby.

Then back at her.

“My wife disappeared nine months before my son was born.”

Elina’s heart slammed against her ribs.

“Disappeared?”

“I was told she died.”

“By whom?”

He didn’t answer.

The silence was answer enough.

The baby suddenly stirred.

His eyes opened.

For a moment, he looked at his father.

Then he turned toward Elina.

His little hand reached for her face.

She lowered her cheek.

The baby touched it.

The mafia boss stared.

The child smiled.

A tiny dimple appeared in his cheek.

Exactly where Elina’s was.

Nobody spoke.

Elina felt tears burn behind her eyes.

“That’s impossible.”

The man slowly shook his head.

“No.”

His gaze never left the child.

“What’s impossible is that my son recognized you.”

Elina looked toward the pH๏τograph again.

The woman in black smiled from behind the glᴀss.

And suddenly, beneath the fear, another feeling rose.

A question she’d carried without knowing it for her entire life.

What if she hadn’t been abandoned?

What if she’d been hidden?

Behind her, the restaurant doors locked with a heavy click.

Elina turned.

One of the guards had closed them.

The mafia boss looked at her.

“We’re going somewhere.”

Her pulse raced.

“Where?”

He glanced once more at the pH๏τograph.

“To find out why everyone told me my wife was ᴅᴇᴀᴅ.”

Elina looked down at the baby sleeping peacefully in her arms.

For the first time, she understood something terrifying.

Maybe the child hadn’t chosen her because she reminded him of his mother.

Maybe he had chosen her because—

She was.