Chapter 1 - The Lockdown at Saint Juniper
“Nobody leaves.”
Roman Garza’s order did not rise above a low rumble, yet it struck the grand dining room of Saint Juniper like a physical blow. The soft clinking of silver, the hushed gossip of San Antonio’s elite, the subtle hum of the jazz trio in the corner—everything died instantly.
The two bodyguards positioned near the archway stepped forward, smoothly placing their heavy frames between the polished brass doors and the fleeing patrons. The panic in the room turned brittle, sharp enough to cut.
“Mr. Garza, please—” the restaurant manager gasped, clutching his chest. “The health inspector, the city councilmen at table four—”
“Close the heavy doors,” Roman said, his Slate-gray eyes never breaking contact with Ava. “Lock them from the inside. Tell the kitchen to shut down.”
Ava stood frozen behind the linen-draped table, the heavy glass water pitcher slipping through her sweat-slicked fingers. It shattered against the parquet floor. Crystal shards exploded across the glossy wood, splashing iced water over the polished leather of Roman’s handcrafted boots. She flinched, instinctively dropping to her knees to clean up the mess—a instinct drilled into her by months of surviving minimum-wage shifts.
“Don’t,” Roman commanded.
Before she could touch a shard, his massive hand wrapped around her wrist. His skin was scorching hot, his grip like iron, yet he did not squeeze hard enough to bruise. He hoisted her back to her feet with frightening ease.
“Daddy! Mommy!” Lily’s shrieks grew hysterical. The three-year-old girl fought against the high-chair harness, her face flushed red, tiny teardrops trailing down her chubby cheeks. She wasn't pointing at the broken glass. She wasn't pointing at her father. Her small, trembling hand was outstretched directly at Ava’s chest.
Ava’s heart hammered against her ribs like a trapped bird. “Sir, I swear on my life, I don’t know your child. I’ve lived on the South Side all my life. I work two jobs. I go home to my grandmother. That’s it!”
Roman slowly reached into his tailored jacket. The bodyguards shifted, their hands disappearing beneath their coats. The remaining patrons gasped, terrified he was drawing a weapon.
Instead, Roman pulled out a worn, silver locket attached to a heavy chain. With a flick of his thumb, he popped it open and held it inches from Ava’s face.
Inside the locket was a faded photograph of a woman.
Ava stared at it, her breath hitching in her throat. The woman in the picture had Ava’s exact almond-shaped eyes, the same slight arch in her dark brows, and the same tiny mole just beneath her left collarbone. The resemblance was so exact it felt unnatural—like looking into a mirror framed in antique brass.
“Her name was Sofia,” Roman rasped, his voice rough with an emotion he clearly tried to bury deep. “My wife. She died in the maternity ward at South Side General Hospital three years ago. The doctors handed me a cold, lifeless baby and told me my wife bled out on the operating table.”
Ava’s lips parted. “That’s... that’s impossible. My mother died when I was born twenty years ago—”
“Sofia didn’t die three years ago,” Roman whispered, his grip on her wrist tightening just enough to pull her an inch closer. “And the child she was carrying wasn't the child I took home that night. Because the woman in this photo... is standing right in front of me.”
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Before Ava could process his insane words, the lights inside Saint Juniper flickered violently and died, plunging the entire restaurant into pitch-black darkness.
A single gunshot echoed through the dark.
