Aurora De Luca.
The name sat between them like a bomb waiting to detonate. The folder still lay open in her lap, filled with images and documents that didn't belong to her—but somehow did. Pictures of a little girl she recognized. Handwritten notes. A blood-stained birth certificate with a last name she'd never seen before.
De Luca.
Her pulse roared in her ears.
"That's not—" she choked. "That can't be my name. That can't be my family."
Rafael leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees, watching her like he was waiting for something to snap.
"Your mother went into hiding the night your father was murdered," he said calmly. "She burned every connection to the De Luca name. Changed your records. Took you somewhere no one would look."
Aurora's lips trembled. "You're lying."
"I don't lie, carina." His voice was like gravel soaked in silk. "You were born into blood. You just didn't know it."
