I didn't exactly choose to be stolen at four years old.
But the French underworld isn't big on consent.
One minute I was Donatella Acardi, Mafia royalty. The next? Just another stolen kid bleeding in someone else's basement.
That's where I met Ami...
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Donatella POV
I had just changed into dry clothes, tied my hair up, and was finally lying on my bed, blanket halfway over my face and Amir sitting on the floor next to me fiddling with his laptop again, when I heard it.
Knock knock.
Soft, hesitant. Like whoever it was didn’t want to be annoying—but they definitely were.
I groaned and flopped an arm over my eyes. “I swear to God if that’s Enzo asking if I’m hiding secret rage or whatever the hell again, I’m going to shove a fork up his—”
Another knock.
I opened the door with the driest expression in the world ready on my face—only to see Luca. My twin.
Of course.
His curly hair was a damn mess, one sock on, hoodie halfway zipped, smiling like I hadn’t literally almost exploded thirty minutes ago.
“Hey,” he said, all soft and hopeful. “Can we talk?”
My first reaction was absolutely not. I didn’t do soft, hopeful talks. I did kill orders, USBs, explosions, and trauma.
But he was still standing there like a human Golden Retriever.
“…Fine.”
He came in cautiously, like he expected me to kick him out mid-word. Smart. He sat on the edge of the bed like it might bite him. Amir looked up from the floor, nodded at him once, then left the room. A traitor. Abandoning me with a walking sunshine ray.
“I just… I keep thinking,” Luca said slowly, voice quieter now, “like… thirteen years. That’s a long time. And I know you probably don’t remember me much. But I remember you. Little things. I used to hold your hand a lot ‘cause you were scared of thunder.”
I didn’t say anything. Mostly because that hit a little too hard.
He played with the string of his hoodie. “When you were gone, it felt like something just… disappeared. Not just from the house, but from me. Like a part of my chest was gone. And I—I never got it back.”
I blinked at him.
I was good at detecting lies. Lies had a rhythm, a smell, a breath. This wasn’t one. This was raw, shaky, and honest.
“…I get it,” I said finally, staring at my ceiling. “I didn’t remember anything at first. But I always felt it. That something was off. That I wasn’t whole.”
His eyes lit up just a little, and I immediately regretted being that open.
“Really?” he asked.
“Yeah. Don’t get too excited.”
He chuckled, then nudged my shoulder gently. “What do you like now? I mean, like... who are you?”
“Dramatic much?” I said, but he just waited, looking at me like I was something worth figuring out.
