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 twenty-four hours.
That was it. No second chances. No room for screwups. And in those twenty-four hours, I had to pull off a digital resurrection, snatch back what was stolen, and burn every trace before anyone realized the data was gone.
I check the time.
4:33 PM.
I didn’t have my own laptop—fried, exploded, gone. And Amir’s? In enemy hands. Somewhere probably getting combed through while I sat in this oversized goddamn castle trying not to lose my mind.
I needed a machine. Fast. And I knew just the one.
Luca.
My twin.
I didn’t even think twice before leaving the room. I stormed through the hall barefoot, hoodie thrown on over a tank top, blood still drying under one of my fingernails from earlier, because of course I hadn’t bothered cleaning up properly. Priorities. I passed Dante in the hallway—he looked like he wanted to say something—but one look at my face shut him right up. Smart.
Luca’s room was on the far left wing, tucked right under the old observatory. I didn’t knock. I barged in.
He jumped a little. “Donnie—what the hell?”
“I need your laptop,” I said, already scanning the room.
He blinked, sitting up straighter from his bed, hugging a pillow. “Wait, what?”
“I said I need your laptop,” I repeated, slower, sharper. “Now.”
“Can you—what is going on with you lately?” he asked, a little more quietly. “You’ve been acting like a damn—”
“Luca.” I turned to face him, voice flat. “Give. Me. Your. Laptop.”
He didn’t move for a second. Then his shoulders sagged.
“…Why mine?”
“Because you’re the only one who won’t ask questions loud enough for someone else to hear,” I said, holding out my hand.
He hesitated again. I could see it in his eyes—he was trying to read me, trying to figure out if this was a game or a test or maybe another layer of my ever-growing insanity. I didn’t give him the chance. I walked over to his desk, ripped the charger out of the wall, and snatched the laptop up in one hand.
“Tella—!”
“Thanks, brother dearest,” I said over my shoulder. “I’ll wipe it later.”
And I was out the door before he could argue, feet slamming against the marble floors as I bolted down the corridor, across the long arched hallway that led back to my room. I slammed the door shut and locked it, double-bolted it, then shoved a chair under the handle for good measure.
