Chapter 1 - The Four Boys With My FaceThe bathroom that shattered six years of liesHours before I was supposed to put a diamond ring on another woman’s finger, four six-year-old boys walked into a restaurant bathroom wearing my face.
I was Dominic Moretti, a man Boston feared, a man raised to recognize danger before it spoke.
Yet I stood completely paralyzed.
The first boy had my eyes.
The second had my jaw.
The third had the same crooked smile I had hated in childhood photographs.
And the fourth had the little crease that appeared between my eyebrows whenever I was angry.
All four wore navy sweaters, khaki pants, and identical expressions of mild curiosity.
They looked at me as if I were the strange one.
I gripped the marble sink until my knuckles turned white.
“How old are you?”
The smallest one held up six fingers.
“Six.”
My heartbeat became a violent pounding inside my chest.
Six.
I looked at the four children again.
Six years ago, there had been one woman.
Elena Vale.
The only person who had ever made me consider walking away from the Moretti empire.
The only woman I had loved enough to imagine a life without guns, guards, and blood.
She had disappeared six years ago.
Or so I had been told.
Footsteps sounded beyond the bathroom door.
“Boys? Come on, sweetheart. We have to go.”
That voice.
My entire body went cold.
Elena.
The door opened.
She stepped inside wearing a long cream coat, dark boots, and the same silver pendant I had given her six years ago.
Our eyes met.
Her face lost every trace of color.
“Dominic.”
I could barely speak.
“Elena.”
The boys rushed toward her.
“Mom!”
Mom.
The word nearly dropped me to my knees.
She immediately pulled the four boys behind her.
My hand moved toward the inside pocket of my jacket where my engagement ring waited.
I stared at the children.
Then at her.
“They’re mine.”
Elena’s lips parted.
“No.”
The answer came too quickly.
I stepped closer.
“They’re six.”
She said nothing.
“You were pregnant.”
Her eyes flashed with something that looked like fear.
“You left.”
“I never left you.”
“You disappeared.”
“You were the one who told me never to come back.”
I froze.
“I never said that.”
She stared at me.
For several seconds, neither of us moved.
Then one of the boys tugged her sleeve.
“Mom, is he Daddy?”
Silence.
A terrible, crushing silence.
Elena closed her eyes.
“Not here.”
I looked at the boy.
“What’s your name?”
He hesitated.
“Luca.”
Another stepped forward.
“I'm Nico.”
The third smiled.
“Matteo.”
The smallest pointed at himself.
“Adrian.”
Four names.
Four sons.
Four impossible pieces of my blood standing in front of me.
My phone began vibrating.
I ignored it.
It vibrated again.
And again.
Finally I looked at the screen.
Twenty-three missed calls.
All from my uncle, Marco Moretti.
Then a message appeared.
DO NOT LET ELENA LEAVE THE BUILDING.
My blood turned cold.
I looked up.
Elena had seen my face change.
“What happened?”
Before I could answer, the bathroom door opened again.
Two men in black suits entered.
My security detail.
Except I had never sent them.
One reached beneath his jacket.
Elena immediately shoved the boys behind her.
“Dominic,” she whispered, “don't let them take my children.”
The first gunshot exploded through the restaurant.
People screamed outside.
I grabbed Elena and dragged the boys down as bullets tore through the bathroom mirror.
The glass shattered.
Luca began crying.
I pulled him against my chest.
And for the first time in my life, I felt something stronger than fear.
Rage.
I drew my gun.
“Stay behind me.”
Elena stared at me.
“Dominic…”
I fired once.
Then twice.
The bathroom went silent.
One attacker collapsed.
The other disappeared through the emergency exit.
I rushed after him.
But before I reached the door, my phone buzzed again.
This time it was a photo.
A picture of Elena.
Taken twelve minutes earlier.
Then another.
My four sons.
Then a final message.
YOUR FIANCÉE KNOWS WHO THE CHILDREN BELONG TO.
I slowly turned toward Elena.
She was holding the boys tightly.
And she was crying.
“What does Sloane know?”
Elena looked at me.
“Everything.”
The lights in the restaurant suddenly went out.
And somewhere in the darkness, someone whispered my name.
“Dominic…”
It wasn't Elena.
May you like
It was my father.
The man who had been dead for four years.
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