Then he stepped forward.
His Italian shoes creaked softly.
Elena froze.
Slowly, pale with terror, she turned her head.
Their eyes met.
Time stopped.
The four boys sensed her fear and turned together, staring at the tall man blocking the exit.
Now he could see it clearly.
They weren’t just similar.
They were identical.
Four perfect reflections of himself.
“Elena,” Alejandro demanded, his voice thunderous, shaking the walls.
“What the hell is going on?”
The smallest boy whimpered and ran to cling to her legs. The others followed, forming a trembling wall behind her.
“I trusted you,” Alejandro roared.
“And this is how you repay me? Turning my home into a hidden daycare?”
“They’re not strangers,” Elena said, her voice shaking but firm.
“They’re my nephews,” she lied—badly.
Alejandro laughed coldly.
“Then why are they wearing my clothes?”
He pointed to a shirt—one of his own, thrown away months earlier and crudely resized.
He reached out and grabbed the arm of the bravest boy.
The child didn’t cry.
He simply looked up.
Blue eyes.
Serious.
Familiar.
And there—beneath the elbow—
