The room tilted.
Not literally—but it might as well have. Because everything Alessio just said cracked the foundation beneath me like an earthquake.
"Someone else knows who you are."
But that wasn't the part that had me trembling.
It was what came next.
"And they're not here for what you saw. They're here for who you are."
I stared at the screen showing the men outside my old apartment. They weren't standing—they were waiting. One of them checked his watch. The other two scanned the area, alert, calculating.
"They know your face," Alessio said. "Which means this wasn't a coincidence."
I turned to him, my voice unsteady. "What are you saying? That this has something to do with me? With my… life?"
"Yes."
"But that's impossible. I'm just an art student. I grew up in foster homes, bounced between families—my whole life has been quiet, normal, invisible."
He looked at me then, really looked at me.
"Elena," he said slowly, "who told you your parents were dead?"
My heart skipped.
"What?"
"You said you grew up in the system. That they died. Who told you that?"
"The social worker. When I was six. There was an accident. That's all I know."
His jaw clenched. "That's not all there is."
A hot wave of disbelief rose in my chest. "You don't know anything about my parents—"
"I know your mother's name was Isabella Romano."
My breath froze in my lungs.
"She was the only daughter of Matteo Romano. A rival boss. One of the most dangerous men Italy ever produced."
"No," I whispered, backing up. "No, that's not—"
"She disappeared twenty-two years ago. Everyone thought she died. But she didn't. She ran. She tried to escape the world she was born into. And she gave birth to a daughter in secret."
My hands were shaking now.
"You."
"No." My voice cracked. "That can't be—"
"We found old surveillance files last night. She lived under an alias in Chicago. Changed her name. Faked her death in a car crash with a stolen body. Her daughter was placed into the foster system."
I felt sick. The room swam.
"You're not just a witness, Elena," he said. "You're blood. Mafia royalty."
The words shattered something inside me. I sank into the nearest chair, numb, cold all over.
"You're lying," I said weakly.
"I'm not."
He pulled something from his pocket. A photo. Old, worn, grainy. He handed it to me.
My hands trembled as I took it.
A woman. Young. Dark hair. Warm eyes.
Holding a baby.
I recognized the birthmark on the baby's collarbone.
It was mine.
"I didn't want you to find out like this," Alessio said. "But they're here now. Romano's old allies. They must've found out you're alive. They think you're the key to reclaiming his empire."
I stared at the photo.
My whole life I thought I was nobody.
Turns out I was hiding from the truth.
"And you?" I asked. "What do you want from me?"
He looked at me, his voice raw.
"I don't care about the Romano name. I don't want your bloodline. I want you."
"Why?" I whispered.
"Because before I knew who you were, I already needed you. And now that I know what's coming for you, I will burn this city to the ground to keep you safe."
The part of me that wanted to run suddenly didn't know where to go.
Because if what he said was true…
I wasn't running from the mafia anymore.
I was the mafia.
And they were coming for their lost heir.