Elena's POV
"You should have killed her when you had the chance."
Her voice was like poison soaked in sugar — smooth, elegant, and absolutely deadly.
I stared at the photo she held up between two manicured fingers.
My mother, strapped to a chair. Barefoot. Pale. Eyes wild with rage. Beside her, a woman with a sharp nose, split lip, and scars carved into her collarbone.
The name pulsed in my mind like a drumbeat.
Nika.
"Who is she?" I asked, my voice dry and cracked.
The woman across from me tilted her head, studying me like a specimen under glass.
"Your mother's lover."
My mouth fell open.
She smiled at my reaction.
"Oh, don't look so shocked. You think your father was the only one keeping secrets? Isabella Romano played her part in this war too. She just chose the wrong side to fall in love with."
The van rumbled beneath us, the road winding tighter as we moved deeper into unknown territory. Lorenzo was still unconscious beside me, slumped with blood soaked into his shirt.
I leaned toward him instinctively.
The woman's heel slammed into my thigh.
"Ah ah, wife," she said. "No touching."
I gritted my teeth. "What do you want from us?"
"I don't want anything from you," she replied. "You were a complication. A wildcard we never accounted for. He"—she nodded toward Lorenzo—"was always part of the equation. But you? You're proof the old bloodlines still bleed."
"Let us go," I hissed. "Before you regret it."
She laughed.
"You're brave. Just like her."
She meant my mother.
"What did you do to her?" I demanded.
"She did it to herself. She broke the contract. Tried to run with Nika. Tried to burn down the very project she helped create. So we made an example of her."
"You locked her in a basement!"
"She was safer there than out in the wild. We gave her a choice. Loyalty or exile. She chose love." Her face hardened. "And love is weakness."
I wanted to scream.
Instead, I said, "And Nika? What happened to her?"
The woman leaned forward.
"She disappeared. Took a drive up north with a fake passport and vanished into the wind. Your mother never forgave herself. She thought she'd died. But we know better now, don't we?"
She tapped the photo again.
"She's alive. And she's hiding something."
I narrowed my eyes. "What?"
The woman smiled.
"You."
The van stopped suddenly.
Doors opened.
Sunlight burned through the shadows.
We were dragged out — me and Lorenzo — into a courtyard surrounded by black stone walls. Remote. Hidden. Guarded.
This wasn't a home.
It was a fortress.
I recognized it immediately from the old files in my father's office.
Santuario Nero.
The Black Sanctuary.
A retired Orlov prison.
Now repurposed.
A breeding ground for secrets.
Two guards shoved me through the gates.
I fought them. Kicked. Bit.
They didn't flinch.
Lorenzo stirred as they lifted him. His eyes fluttered open, then rolled back as the pain kicked in.
He was alive.
Barely.
They threw us into a cell.
No windows.
Only one lightbulb flickering above.
I crawled to Lorenzo, cradled his head.
"Hey," I whispered, brushing hair from his forehead. "Wake up."
He groaned. "Are we dead?"
"Not yet."
"Shame."
I gave a broken laugh. "They're holding us in the old Orlov prison. Santuario Nero."
His eyes sharpened instantly. "That place was shut down ten years ago."
"Well, it's open again."
He winced. "Who took us?"
I hesitated.
"She calls herself Mother."
Lorenzo's whole body went still.
Then he whispered, "No."
"What?"
"That's not her name. It's her title."
"What are you talking about?"
He turned toward me, voice low. "Mother is the head of the Orlov inheritance program. The architect of the Project Legacy files. She doesn't work for the Bratva. They work for her."
My pulse roared.
"So we're in deep."
He nodded. "We're in the lion's mouth."
I looked around the cell.
No cameras.
No windows.
But someone was watching.
I could feel it.
Hours passed.
No food.
No water.
Then the door creaked open.
And she walked in again.
"Hello, bride."
"Go to hell," I muttered.
She smirked. "Oh, I've lived there long enough. I made it my home."
She tossed a small metal device onto the floor.
A projector.
The wall lit up with video again.
But this time, it wasn't surveillance.
It was a recording.
Of my mother.
Younger. Stronger. Standing in a boardroom surrounded by men in Bratva uniforms.
Her voice rang out clearly:
"We can't control the future unless we create it. That's what Project Legacy is about. Not fear. Not submission. Survival."
I stared, mouth dry.
"I know that recording," the woman said. "It's the one that made her dangerous. Because somewhere along the way, she stopped believing it. She decided love mattered more than blood. And that made her disposable."
I stood.
"I don't care what she said. I don't care what lies you twisted. She's still my mother."
"She's still a traitor."
"She's a better woman than you'll ever be."
She moved like lightning.
Backhanded me so hard I tasted blood.
But I didn't fall.
I spit it out.
Smiled.
"Hit harder, Mother. Or don't bother."
For the first time, her smile faltered.
"You've got her fire," she murmured. "Let's see how long you last before it burns you alive."
Then she turned to leave.
Paused at the door.
"Oh—and if you're wondering where your dear friend Nika is…"
She reached into her coat again.
Pulled out a new photo.
Slid it across the floor toward me.
A woman.
In chains.
Hanging from the rafters of a cold concrete room.
Tortured. Bloodied. But alive.
It was Nika.
And beneath the photo, in block print:
TRANSFERRED TO CELL BLOCK 6 – BREEDING STATUS: PENDING.
My scream echoed through the walls.
Lorenzo caught me as I collapsed.
I could feel his heart breaking beneath my hands.
"She's alive," I choked. "They have her."
"I know," he said, voice shaking. "And now we know what they're planning."
I looked up.
"What?"
He turned toward me, eyes like frostbite.
"They don't want to kill us, Elena."
"Then what?"
He swallowed hard.
"They want us to give them an heir."
(CLIFFHANGERS INCOMING ...THUMP...HE HE ...THERE IT IS )
The door slammed shut.
Locks turned.
A voice crackled over the intercom:
"Let the trial begin."