Chapter 1 - THE GHOST IN THE REFLECTIONThe air inside Restorante Orelio felt like it had turned to lead.
Elina Valdez couldn't tear her eyes away from the polished brass and mirror frame behind the bar. The photograph was old, the sepia tone fading at the edges, but the face looking back at her was unmistakably, chillingly her own. The same slight arch of the brow, the exact curve of the jawline, and that distinct, faint dimple tucked into the corner of the left cheek.
How?
Her heart hammered against her ribs like a trapped bird. She was a nobody. An orphan who had bounced through three foster homes before aging out into a life of cheap rent, worn-out sneakers, and endless trays of sea bass. She had no family. No history.
So why was her face staring out from a vintage frame in an upscale, mafia-tied restaurant?
"Elina."
The boss’s voice cut through her panic, low and dangerous, vibrating right against her spine. He hadn't moved away; if anything, he had closed the distance. The scent of spice, smoke, and expensive bourbon washed over her.
"I asked you a question," Dante Orelio murmured, his dark, piercing eyes darting from her pale face down to the baby resting trustingly against her chest. The infant was fast asleep now, his tiny fingers still tangled safely in the fabric of Elina's white uniform shirt. "Who are you? And why does Leo look at you like he’s finally found what he lost?"
Before Elina could choke out a lie, a heavy hand slammed down on the bar counter beside them. It was Marco, Dante’s chief enforcer, his face drained of color as he stared at the photograph behind the bar, and then back at Elina.
"Boss," Marco breathed, his voice trembling in a way that terrified Elina more than a raised weapon ever could. "Look at the frame. Look at the date engraved on the brass plate."
Dante’s gaze flicked to the bar. His eyes narrowed. The air pressure in the room seemed to drop straight to zero.
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Engraved neatly on the small gold plaque beneath the glass were two words: Elena Orelio. Rest in Peace.
Dante slowly turned his head back to Elina. The fierce, intimidating mafia lord looked, for one fractured second, like a man who had just seen a ghost walk straight out of hell.
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