Opening the Box

Opening the Box
Isabella's POV

"That's my mother?" I stared at the photo on my phone, my hands shaking so badly I almost dropped it.

The woman tied to the altar looked like an older version of me. Same dark hair, same eyes, same shape of face. But there was something else—a hardness in her expression that I'd never seen in my own reflection.

"We have to go get her," I said, standing up. "Right now."

"It's a trap," Marco said immediately. "They want you to come rushing in without thinking."

"I don't care if it's a trap! That's my mother!"

"A mother you've never met," Dante pointed out gently. "A mother who's been in hiding for twenty-five years while you thought you were someone else's daughter."

His words stung because they were true. This woman was a stranger. But she was also the person who gave birth to me. The person the Kozlovs had kept away from me my entire life.

"What if we had more information?" Elena asked quietly. "What if we knew exactly what we were walking into?"

"How would we get that?" Nico asked.

Elena looked at me. "The box. You said there were letters inside. Maybe Vincent wrote down something that could help us understand what's really going on."

I'd almost forgotten about the wooden box. It sat on the floor where Dante had dropped it after finding the tracker. All my father's secrets, waiting to be discovered.

"Open it," Marco said. "We need to know everything before we make a move."

I picked up the box with trembling hands. It felt heavier than before, like the weight of all those secrets was pressing down on me.

The brothers gathered around as I lifted the lid.

Inside were the things I'd seen before—old photos of my childhood, the wedding rings, some letters tied with string. But now I knew these photos were lies. The little girl smiling in those pictures wasn't really Isabella Cross. She was someone else. Someone stolen and hidden.

"The letters," Dante said. "Start with those."

I untied the string and unfolded the first letter. My father's handwriting covered the page.

"Read it out loud," Marco urged.

I took a shaky breath and began:

"My dearest Isabella, if you're reading this, then I'm gone and you've learned the truth. I don't expect you to forgive me for the lies, but I hope you'll understand why I told them.

Twenty-five years ago, I was a different man. A man who did terrible things for money. When the five families asked me to help with their ritual, I thought it would be simple. I thought I could handle it.

I was wrong.

They brought six babies to that warehouse. Six innocent children, each one stolen from their family. The plan was to kill them all and bury them together as a symbol of the alliance between families.

I was supposed to be the one who buried them. That's all. Just dig the graves and cover them up after Alessandro Romano did his work.

But when I saw you—the sixth baby, crying in your basket—something broke inside me. Or maybe something finally healed. I couldn't let it happen.

So I took you. I ran. I left the city with you and Marie, the woman who would become your mother in every way that mattered.

Marie couldn't have children of her own. When I brought you home and told her what I'd done, she cried for hours. Then she looked at you sleeping in your basket and said, 'She's ours now. We'll protect her forever.'

And we did. For twenty-five years, we kept you safe. We kept you hidden. We gave you a normal life.

But I always knew they would come eventually. The Kozlovs never forgot about their stolen daughter. Don Alessandro never forgot that I betrayed the pact.

I've been gathering evidence all these years. Everything is on the USB drive—proof of what happened, proof of who was involved, proof of where the other five children are buried.

Use this information however you think is right. Destroy the families who did this. Or make a deal to keep yourself safe. I trust your judgment more than I ever trusted my own.

I love you, Isabella. You were never my blood, but you were always my daughter.

—Vincent"

My voice broke on the last words. Tears streamed down my face, dripping onto the letter and smudging the ink.

"He saved you," Elena whispered. "He gave up everything to save you."

I couldn't speak. My throat was too tight with emotion.

Dante gently took the letter from my hands and set it aside. "What else is in there?"

I reached into the box and pulled out the USB drive. It was small and black, containing enough information to destroy multiple crime families.

Underneath it was another envelope, this one sealed with wax. I broke the seal and pulled out a single sheet of paper.

It wasn't from my father. The handwriting was different—elegant and flowing.

"It's from my real mother," I said, recognizing the feminine script.

"Read it," Marco urged.

I unfolded the paper and began:

"To my daughter, wherever you are,

My name is Katerina Kozlov. I am your mother, though I never got to hold you, never got to watch you grow, never got to tell you how much I love you.

They stole you from me when you were three months old. They said you were needed for the ritual. They said your sacrifice would make our family strong.

I begged them not to take you. I screamed and fought and pleaded. But my father—your grandfather—said the alliance was more important than one baby's life.

When Vincent Cross disappeared with you instead of burying you, I knew. Somehow I knew you were alive. I felt it in my heart.

I've been in witness protection ever since, hiding from my own family, waiting for the day when I could find you. The FBI promised to help me, but they needed evidence first. They needed proof of what the families had done.

If you're reading this, then Vincent kept his promise. He gathered the evidence and got it to you safely.

Please, Isabella—if that's what they named you—please use this information to bring them all down. Avenge the five children who died. Honor the man who saved you.

And if possible, find me. I've never stopped looking for you.

Your mother, Katerina"

The room was completely silent when I finished reading.

I looked up at the brothers with tears still flowing. "She's been trying to find me for twenty-five years."

"And now the Kozlovs have her," Nico said grimly. "They're using her to draw you out."

"Then it's working," I said, my voice stronger now. "Because I'm going to that warehouse."

"We all are," Dante said. "But we're not walking in blind. We're going to plan this carefully, and we're going to get everyone out alive."

My phone buzzed again. Another message.

Two hours until dawn. Your mother is getting impatient. She wants to meet her daughter before she dies. Don't keep her waiting.

A new photo loaded. This one showed Luca tied to a chair next to my mother. His face was bruised and bloody, but his eyes were still defiant.

And standing behind them both, holding a large knife, was an old man with cold eyes.

Don Kozlov. My grandfather.

The man who ordered my death when I was three months old.

The message continued: Bring the USB drive and come alone. Any tricks and I'll make sure you watch your mother and Luca die slowly. Then you'll join them.

But it was the final line that made my blood freeze:

P.S. - I know you're with the Romano brothers. Tell them their father has something to confess. Something about who really killed their mother. Ask him about the woman who looks just like Katerina. Ask him why he kept her locked in the basement for twenty years.

I showed the message to the brothers.

Dante's face went white. "What does that mean?"

Marco grabbed his phone and dialed a number. After a moment, he spoke urgently: "I need eyes on our father's house. The basement. Check for any hidden rooms. Do it now."

We waited in tense silence for three minutes that felt like three hours.

Finally, Marco's phone rang. He answered and listened, his expression growing more horrified with each passing second.

When he hung up, he looked at his brothers with something like grief in his eyes.

"They found a room," he said quietly. "A hidden room in the basement. There's a woman inside. She's been chained there for years."

"Who is she?" I asked, though part of me already knew.

Marco's voice shook as he answered:

"She looks exactly like the woman in that photo. Like your mother, Isabella. Like Katerina Kozlov."

"But that's impossible," Dante said. "Katerina is at the warehouse with the Kozlovs."

"Unless," Nico said slowly, "there are two of them."

The truth hit me like lightning.

"Twins," I whispered. "My mother had a twin sister."

And if Don Alessandro had been keeping one twin locked in his basement for twenty years, that meant everything we thought we knew about this war between families was wrong.

The woman at the warehouse wasn't my mother.

She was my aunt.

And we'd just been given two hours to figure out which twin was which before someone died.