Chapter 1 - THE BLOODLINE'S SHADOW
The mirror behind the bar seemed to refract the dim light of Ristorante Bellagio into a blinding glare. The face in the dusty photograph belonged to a dead woman, yet every line of her jaw, the slight asymmetry of her eyebrows, and the soft dimple near her lips mirrored my own reflection perfectly.
"Tell me, Mara," the man repeated, his voice dropping to a register that vibrated through the floorboards. "Do you recognize her?"
My tongue felt like lead. Little Leo—the boss’s son—was still clinging to my collarbone, his tiny chest rising and falling in rhythmic peace against my racing pulse. The dragon tattoo on the man’s hand caught the candlelight, the dark ink glistening like wet scales.
"I... I’ve never seen that photograph in my life," I whispered, lying through my teeth because every instinct my mother had drilled into me was screaming run.
The boss stood up slowly. He didn't draw a weapon, nor did his men shift their posture, but the atmosphere in the room crystallized into absolute terror. The restaurant manager was cowering behind the host stand, pretending to count receipts with trembling hands.
"My name is Julian Vance," the man said, taking a step toward me. The scent of spice, expensive tobacco, and rain washed over me. "The woman in that photograph was my wife, Sophia. She died eight months ago, three days after Leo was born."
I swallowed hard, pulling Leo a little tighter against my chest. "I’m sorry for your loss, Mr. Vance. But I’m just a waitress. I’ve worked here for six months. I grew up three states away."
"Is that so?" Julian reached into his breast pocket and pulled out a leather-bound journal. He opened it to a yellowed newspaper clipping from twenty-two years ago. "Sophia had a twin sister. They were separated at birth when the Vance-D'Angelo war tore the family apart. Her mother fled north with a newborn girl, changing her name to escape the dragon mark."
My knees nearly gave out. My mother. The scared woman who raised me on lukewarm canned soup and whispered warnings. The woman who made me promise never to look at men with ink on their hands. She hadn't been paranoid; she had been hiding me from an underworld war.
"You're Sophia’s sister," Julian said, his dark eyes softening with a dangerous mix of grief and awe. "You're my late wife's twin. That's why my son knows your heartbeat. He remembers his mother's sister."
Before I could process his words, the front double doors of Bellagio shattered inward.
Glass rained down across the white tablecloths as screaming customers dived under tables. Four men in tactical gear with red viper patches on their shoulders flooded the entryway, automatic weapons raised.
"Vance!" a voice roared through the smoke. "The D'Angelo family sends its regards!"
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Julian didn't flinch. In a fraction of a second, he pulled a silver pistol from his holster, grabbed my waist with his left arm, and shielded both me and his son behind his broad body as gunfire tore through the air.
"Hold him!" Julian commanded into my ear, his breath hot against my cheek. "Don't let go of Leo!"
