Chapter 1
A feared mafia boss walked into my restaurant carrying a baby who supposedly rejected everyone, then ordered me to hold him when the child began desperately reaching for me. The second his son fell peacefully against my chest, the man went pale and whispered, “Only his mother could do that.” Then I saw the photograph behind the bar, and the dead woman in it looked almost exactly like me.
My name is Elina Valdez, and until that night, the biggest danger in my life was missing rent.
I was halfway through another miserable double shift at Restorante Orelio when the entire dining room suddenly went silent.
Two men in black suits entered first.
Then came him.
Tall. Broad-shouldered. Scar across one cheek. Tattoos disappearing beneath an expensive collar.
Every employee seemed terrified of him.
But what unsettled me most was the baby in his arms.
He couldn't have been more than nine months old. Blonde hair, serious eyes, tiny black vest. My manager quietly warned me not to make a mistake as I approached their table.
I barely finished introducing myself before the baby stared at me.
Then he reached.
Not casually.
Desperately.
His little arms stretched toward me while his father tried pulling him back. The baby immediately began crying.
One of the bodyguards frowned.
“He doesn't like strangers.”
Apparently, I wasn't a stranger to him.
When I stepped closer, the crying stopped.
His tiny hand grabbed my apron.
His father slowly removed it.
The baby grabbed my thumb instead.
That's when the man's expression changed.
“Hold him.”
I stared at him. “Excuse me?”
“My son. Hold him.”
Every survival instinct told me this was a terrible idea.
But the child wouldn't release me.
So I took him.
The instant his body touched mine, he melted against my chest.
No crying.
No fear.
Just a deep little sigh, as though he'd finally found something he'd been searching for.
The mafia boss stared at us like he'd seen a ghost.
“He won't let anyone hold him,” he murmured. “Not the nannies. Not my sister. Nobody.”
I swallowed.
“Then why me?”
His eyes hardened.
“Only his mother could calm him like that.”
My stomach turned cold.
Before I could answer, something behind him caught my attention.
An old photograph hung beside the bar.
I'd walked past it hundreds of times.
I'd never truly looked at it.
A young woman stood in the picture wearing a black dress. Dark hair framed her face. She had a small dimple in her left cheek.
My dimple.
My eyes.
My smile.
Almost my face.
The baby curled closer against me.
His father slowly followed my stare toward the photograph.
And for the first time that night, the most dangerous man in the room looked frightened.
Because the woman in that picture wasn't me.
May you like
But she could have been my twin.
And judging by his face, he knew exactly who she was.
