CHAPTER 1 – THE SECRET HIDDEN IN ELENA’S PAINTINGS
The fire in the old stone fireplace had burned for almost an hour, but Logan Marchetti still felt cold.
Not the kind of cold that came from the storm outside.
Not the kind that settled into abandoned houses and old wooden floors.
This was the cold of a man discovering that eight years of grief had been built on a lie.
He sat in the same room where his sister Elena had once painted until sunrise. The walls were still covered with faded sheets. The furniture remained untouched. The piano in the corner still carried a thin layer of dust.
Everything looked frozen in time.
Except for the two little girls sleeping on the couch.
His nieces.
The word felt impossible.
Wrong.
And yet somehow, it fit.
Nova slept curled around the stuffed rabbit, her small fingers wrapped tightly around its patched ear. Luna lay beside her, still holding the leather sketchbook even in sleep.
Like someone had taught her never to let it go.
Like that book was the only thing keeping her safe.
Logan stared at them from his chair.
Two children.
Two innocent faces.
Two pairs of eyes that belonged to the only person in the world who had ever made him feel human.
Elena.
His little sister.
The girl who used to climb onto his bed during thunderstorms because she hated lightning.
The girl who believed every person had goodness hidden somewhere inside them.
Even him.
Especially him.
“You’re going to hate what I found.”
Marcus Reed’s voice came from the doorway.
Logan looked up.
His right-hand man stood there, rain dripping from his dark coat, carrying several bags.
Marcus had been with him for twelve years.
He was one of the few people alive who knew the real Logan Marchetti.
Not the monster newspapers described.
Not the mafia boss politicians feared.
The brother who secretly visited Elena’s art exhibitions.
The man who kept every birthday card she ever gave him.
The man who had never forgiven himself for failing to save her.
“Tell me,” Logan said.
Marcus glanced toward the sleeping girls.
His expression changed.
Marcus was not a man who showed emotion easily.
But when he looked at them, something softened.
“Those are Elena’s daughters?”
Logan didn’t answer.
He didn’t need to.
Marcus already knew.
“I ran the basic information,” Marcus said quietly. “The names are real. Nova Elena Marchetti. Luna Elena Marchetti.”
Logan’s jaw tightened.
“Middle name?”
“Elena gave them her own name.”
The room became silent.
“Who is their father?”
Marcus hesitated.
That was enough.
Logan stood.
“Marcus.”
“There is no father listed.”
“No father?”
“No.”
Logan walked toward the window.
Outside, the storm continued to attack the old estate.
“But children don’t appear from nowhere.”
Marcus placed a folder on the table.
“There’s more.”
Logan opened it.
Inside were photographs.
Documents.
Records.
A birth certificate.
A hospital report.
And one photograph.
Elena.
Alive.
Eight years after everyone believed she was dead.
Logan stared at the image.
His sister stood outside a small country house somewhere in Vermont. She looked older. Her hair was shorter. There were shadows beneath her eyes.
But she was alive.
And beside her stood two little girls.
Infants.
His nieces.
His hands tightened around the photograph.
“She was alive,” Marcus whispered.
Logan didn’t speak.
Because if he did, something inside him would break.
The strongest man in the Marchetti family.
The man who controlled half the criminal world on the East Coast.
The man who had watched enemies die without blinking.
Was standing there trembling because his dead sister had been alive.
And he had never known.
“Who knew?” Logan asked.
Marcus looked away.
That was the answer.
Someone knew.
Someone always knew.
“Find out.”
“Logan—”
“Find out who knew Elena was alive.”
Marcus nodded.
But before he moved, Luna’s voice came from behind them.
“Uncle Logan?”
Both men froze.
Logan turned.
The little girl stood there holding the sketchbook.
She looked terrified.
Not of him.
Of something else.
“What is it, sweetheart?”
The word came out naturally.
Too naturally.
And that scared him.
Because Logan Marchetti did not call people sweetheart.
He did not soften.
He did not become gentle.
Except with Elena.
And somehow, now, with Elena’s daughters.
Luna walked closer.
“She told me you would be angry.”
Logan frowned.
“Who?”
“Mommy.”
His heart stopped.
“She told you about me?”
Luna nodded.
“She said you would think you failed her.”
The room went completely still.
Logan looked away.
Because that was exactly what he thought.
Every single day.
“She said you would blame yourself.”
Luna opened the sketchbook.
A new page.
One Logan had not seen.
A letter.
Written in Elena’s handwriting.
His breath disappeared.
“Where did you get that?”
“Mommy gave it to me.”
“When?”
“Before she went to heaven.”
Logan stared at the page.
The handwriting was unmistakable.
His sister.
His Elena.
The person he had buried in his heart.
The person who had never stopped haunting him.
He picked up the paper.
And read.
Logan,
If you are reading this, then something happened to me.
I know you. Better than anyone.
You will be angry first.
Then you will blame yourself.
Please don’t.
You spent your whole life protecting me. But sometimes the people we love are fighting battles we don’t let others see.
I had to disappear.
Not because I stopped loving you.
Because I loved you too much.
There are people inside our family who would destroy anything to gain power.
People you trust.
People who smile at your table.
People who call you family.
Logan stopped reading.
His eyes moved to the next sentence.
And suddenly, the room felt colder.
Vincent knows the truth.
The paper nearly slipped from Logan’s hand.
No.
Impossible.
His uncle.
The man who raised him after their parents died.
The man who taught him how to survive.
The man who stood beside him at Elena’s funeral.
“No,” Logan whispered.
Marcus looked at him.
“What?”
Logan handed him the letter.
Marcus read.
His face changed.
For the first time in twelve years, Logan saw fear in Marcus Reed’s eyes.
“Vincent?”
Logan stared into the fire.
Memories rushed back.
His uncle’s comforting words.
His uncle’s hand on his shoulder.
His uncle telling him to let go.
His uncle saying Elena was gone.
Because maybe she wasn't.
Maybe Vincent had made sure she disappeared.
The old house creaked.
A sound upstairs.
Logan immediately reached for his weapon.
Marcus moved in front of the girls.
Training.
Instinct.
Protection.
A second later—
Another sound.
A slow footstep.
From the second floor.
But Greystone Manor was supposed to be empty.
Logan raised his gun.
“Who’s there?”
Silence.
Then a voice.
A woman’s voice.
Weak.
Broken.
Almost impossible.
“Logan…”
The gun lowered.
Because he knew that voice.
He had heard it in dreams for eight years.
He had heard it every night after losing her.
No.
It couldn’t be.
The woman appeared at the top of the stairs.
Pale.
Thin.
Older.
But alive.
Logan stopped breathing.
Marcus whispered:
“Jesus…”
The woman gripped the railing.
Her eyes filled with tears.
“Little brother…”
The world disappeared.
Because standing in front of him—
May you like
was Elena Marchetti.
Alive.
