Chapter 2 - The Ghost in the MirrorThe weight of the baby in my arms suddenly felt like lead. My pulse hammered in my ears, a frantic, breathless drumbeat that drowned out the hum of the Ristorante Bellagio. I stared at the man—this apex predator whose very skin was branded with the dragons my mother had warned me against—and then back at the glass.
The woman in the frame was me. Yet, she wasn't me.
"I... I don't know her," I managed to choke out, though my voice sounded like it belonged to a stranger trapped at the bottom of a well.
The boss didn't blink. He reached out, his ink-stained fingers brushing the loose strands of hair away from my forehead, his touch terrifyingly gentle yet completely immovable. "A ghost doesn't know her own reflection, maybe," he murmured, his breath hot against my temple. "Look at the corner of your left eye. The faint crescent scar. My wife got it falling off a horse in Sicily when she was twelve. You have it, too. Down to the millimeter."
"Sir, please—" I stepped back, trying to hand the baby back to him, but the boy let out a sharp, panicked wail, burying his tiny face deeper into my neck, his small fists gripping my collar so tightly the fabric tore.
"Don't," the boss commanded, his voice dropping an octave, instantly freezing every waiter within ten feet. "He stays with you. And so do you."
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Before I could run, before I could scream, the heavy glass front doors of the restaurant blew open. A rush of freezing winter air swept inside, carrying the unmistakable metallic scent of rain and drawn steel. Three of the boss's bodyguards instantly drew their hidden sidearms, forming a wall around our table.
"Boss," the man with the broken nose snarled, his eyes fixed on the entrance. "We've been compromised. The Vanguard is here."
