**June 5th, 11 pm**
"Enter," I say coldly in response to the light knocking sound on my office door. Anthony, one of my men who specializes in investigations, enters the room, checking the hallway before shutting the door firmly behind himself.
"I apologize for the intrusion, sir, but I think you will find this quite important." I set my pen down on my desk at the urgency in his tone.
"Do not keep me waiting," I say, my voice even colder. I clasp my hands in front of me.
The movement startles him into action. He places the file in his hands on the desk in front of me. He opens it, revealing the photo of a young girl—probably 17 or 18, from the looks of it—with half dark and half light hair curled to frame her face. Her gray eyes and pale skin add to the effect of the photo being in black and white, and it's almost startling to look at.
"What is this?" I ask, looking back to Anthony.
He clears his throat, clasping his hands behind his back. "A girl Aleksandr Petrov and a few others from various mafias did a photoshoot and interview with recently." Anthony keeps his stare on the floor, and I'm tempted to smash his face into it for wasting my time with this. That is, until he says, "Look at the name."
Aurora Villavicencio-Moreau. Aurora, the name we'd given my daughter before she's been stolen from our hospital room the very day she was born. Villavicencio-Moreau. Villavicencio as in Gilbert Villavicencio, and Moreau as in Julia Moreau. The last known aliases of Robert and Alina Johnson, the very people that kidnapped said daughter. My chest tightens as I look at the picture again.
Black and white hair—the white patch of hair caused by piebaldism, like her twin brother Archer has—gray eyes that look almost exactly like mine if you look closely. Her mother's—Rebecca's—nose and plump lips. Lips curved into a perfect smile, as if she had done the movement from the moment she was born.
"I looked into her as soon as I heard her name. She goes to an international boarding school in California and stays with her adoptive parents during breaks," Anthony says softly. I rub my hand over my heart, trying to relieve some of the intense burning I'm starting to feel. "Everything you need to know about her is in that folder. I already had your jet prepared for takeoff." I look up at that, and he finally meets my stare. "I assumed you would want to see her as soon as possible."
I let out a breath as I stand, hoping despite reason that this lead is real. We've had other ones about children in the foster system that matched her description before, but all had proven not to be our Aurora. Nearly 17 years, and hundreds of investigators, and none of them had been able to find her. But I know this one is my daughter. There's no denying it, even just from a picture.
"Remind me to give you a raise when I get back. Or a castle. Hell, you can have anything you want from me."
I don't bother staying to watch Anthony's reaction as I pull out my phone to send a message to my sons.
~~~
**June 6th**
10 minutes later, my four oldest sons—Salvatore, Marcello, Donatello and Dario—and I all step into the private jet. I haven't told them where we are going yet, but this is a common enough occurrence that they haven't bothered to ask.
~~~
**June 6th, 7 am**
Our plane lands in Los Angeles a few hours later. With the morning traffic, Aurora's house is over an hour away. We're in the bulletproof black SUV—the interior altered to fit two long rows facing each other—and on our way out of the airport when Marcello finally caves.
YOU ARE READING
Mio Sole
Action[English] After her 'parents' (who turned out to have been ex-mafia members who turned against their leader) had died, Aurora was sent to an elite boarding school in Los Angeles, California. ~~~ Aurora is a 16 year-old French fashion student and d...
