Marco’s fingers tightened around the edge of the table, his knuckles turning white as his mind processed what Luca had just revealed.
Tracked. Watched. For years.
“You’re telling me,” Marco said slowly, his voice dangerously low, “this organization has been keeping tabs on us since before Matteo was even born?”
Luca nodded, his face grim. “Everything that’s happened—the attacks, the betrayals, the near misses—none of it was random. It was all part of a bigger plan.”
Carmen let out a shaky breath, her arms wrapping around herself.
“They’ve been watching us for years,” she whispered, horrified.
The words sent a sharp, cold ache through Marco’s chest.
He had spent his life fighting enemies he could see. Enemies with faces, names, weaknesses.
But this?
This was something else entirely.
“Why?” he demanded, looking back at Luca. “Why would they go this far? Why Matteo?”
Luca exhaled, flipping through the documents again.
“Because it’s not just about Matteo,” he said. “It’s about you, Marco. It always has been.”
Marco’s muscles tensed.
“What the hell does that mean?”
Luca’s eyes were dark, unreadable.
“They didn’t just track you. They studied you. Every deal, every ally, every enemy you made—they were watching. And when Matteo was born…”
He let the words hang.
Marco swallowed hard, his pulse roaring in his ears.
“They decided he was part of their plan,” Luca finished.
Carmen took a shaky step back, shaking her head.
“No,” she whispered. “No, he’s just a little boy. He’s—he’s ours.”
Marco felt something inside him snap.
Matteo wasn’t some piece on a chessboard.
He was their son.
And now he was in the hands of people who had been planning this for years.
His blood boiled with pure fury.
“We’re getting him back,” Marco said darkly. “And then we burn this entire f**king organization to the ground.”
The lavish mansion was silent.
Matteo sat on a plush chair, his small hands curled into his lap, his feet bare against the thick carpet.
The room was grand, beautiful, perfect.
But it wasn’t home. It never felt like home.
Ella sat across from him, watching. Studying. Waiting.
She reached into a small box beside her and pulled out an old photograph.
She placed it in front of Matteo, her fingers brushing over the edges.
“Look, sweetheart,” she whispered.
Matteo leaned forward, staring at the image.
It was a picture of a boy. Dark hair, warm brown eyes, soft features.
He looked… familiar.
Matteo’s brows furrowed.
“Who is that?” he asked softly.
Ella smiled, her fingers gently stroking his curls.
“That’s you, Rafael.”
Matteo’s heart skipped a beat.
Rafael.
That name again. It felt strange. Foreign. But also… familiar. He traced the photo with his tiny finger, his mind racing.
“That’s me?” he whispered.
Ella’s smile widened, but there was something cold in her eyes.
“Yes, my love,” she whispered back. “That’s you.”
Matteo stared at the image. His head hurt. Something inside him felt… wrong.
But Ella’s voice was so soft, so warm, so certain. And if she said it was him…
Maybe it was. Maybe he had been wrong all along. Maybe he was never Matteo.
Maybe he was always Rafael.