Mafia Princess

Chapter 2: Brothers?

Jane's POV

Two days later, a black SUV rolled into our barangay.

It was too clean, too quiet for the muddy road. The kind of car you see on TV, carrying politicians or artista. It didn’t splash through puddles. It glided.

The neighbors stared. Aling Nena stopped mid-scoop of ice cream. The kids playing tumbang preso froze. Even the stray dogs went quiet.

It stopped in front of our gate.

A tall guy stepped out. Early 20s. Broad shoulders. Black shirt, black pants. Eyes that scanned every rooftop like he was expecting trouble. Like he was expecting someone to shoot.

He walked straight to our gate. Didn’t look left or right.

Nanay was already at the door. She must have been watching the window. Tatay was behind her, his factory uniform still on. Mark and Liza were home from school early. Nanay must have called them. Ben was peeking from behind Tatay’s leg.

I watched from the window. My chest was a drum.

“Ma’am,” the guy said when Nanay opened the gate. Respectful. But cold. Like he’d practiced it. “I’m Alexander Wilson. I’m here for my sister.”

Sister.

Nanay didn’t argue. She didn’t say "what sister or who are you". She just turned and called, “Jane.”

My name. But not in her voice. In her 'apology' voice.

I walked outside. My legs were working without me telling them to.

That was how I met my brother.

Alexander looked at me like he was checking for broken bones. His eyes went from my head to my feet and back up. Not creepy. Like a doctor. Like a soldier.

“You’re safe,” he said. It wasn’t a question. “Dad sent me. You’re coming home.”

“Home?” I repeated. My voice was small.

“The Wilsons,” Alexander said. “Your real family.”

Real family. Like Nanay and Tatay and Mark and Liza and Ben were fake. The word tasted like metal.

Before I could answer, two more boys got out of the SUV.

One was my age. A bit taller than me. Same curl in his dark hair. Same shape to his jaw. Same eyes. He stared at me and I stared back. It was like looking in a cracked mirror. A mirror that moved on its own.

“Jake,” Alexander said. “Your twin.”

Twin. The word didn’t make sense. I was the second youngest. I was Jane Lopez. I didn’t have a twin.

The other boy was older, maybe 18. Messy hair. Scar on his eyebrow. Arms crossed. He didn’t smile. He looked at me, then at the house, then at the neighbors, then back to me. Like he was counting exits.

“Zachary Miller,” Alexander added. “He’s not blood. Doesn’t matter. He’s family.”

I gave a small, unsure wave. I don’t know why. It was stupid.

Zachary just nodded. One time. Down and up.

Nanay was crying quietly. No sound. Just tears down her face, catching in the lines around her mouth.

Tatay stood behind me. One hand on my shoulder. The other clenched at his side. His knuckles were white.

Alexander stepped forward and handed Tatay a thick envelope. Brown. No writing on it. But it was fat.

“For raising her,” Alexander said. “For keeping her alive. Dad doesn’t forget debts.”

Tatay looked at the envelope like it was a dead rat. “Keep your money,” he said, voice rough. Rough like he’d been shouting, but he hadn’t. “Just… keep her safe.”

“She will be,” Alexander said. “The Wilsons are the most powerful family in the world. No one touches what's ours.”

Ours.

I didn’t know anything. I didn’t know what 'most powerful family' meant. I didn’t know why a 20-year-old talked like he was 50. I didn’t know why my twin looked like he was about to p**e.

I only knew that the brother I never had was now holding out a hand, and my whole life was packed in a school backpack.

“Do I have a choice?” I asked Alexander.

He considered me. Really looked. Not like an adult humoring a kid. Like he was weighing something.

“No,” he said, honestly. “But you have us.”

Us.

I looked back at Nanay. At the kitchen where I’d learned to cut garlic and where I’d just learned I wasn’t hers. At the bedroom I shared with Ate Liza, where we whispered about crushes and K-dramas at 1am. At Kuya Mark, who was glaring at Alexander like he wanted to fight him. At Ben, who was crying now too, loud and unashamed.

Then I looked at Jake. My twin. Who had my eyes. Who was biting his lip like he was trying not to cry too.

I took Alexander’s hand.

It was big. Warm. Callused.

And just like that, Jane Lopez started becoming Jane Wilson.