The photograph haunted me.
I stared at it for hours after the mission, the faces burned into my mind like a brand. The boy looked like me. The man looked like the stranger in the mirror I’d come to accept as myself. But the garden—the sunlight, the smiles—it didn’t belong to me. It couldn’t.
I didn’t have a family. Viktor had told me that from the beginning. My parents had been slaughtered, betrayed by the people they trusted most. The Don had saved me, given me purpose when I had nothing. That was the truth I’d built my life on.
So why did this photograph feel more real than anything Viktor had ever said?
The first crack came when I brought the photo to Viktor.
I hadn’t planned on showing him, but I needed answers. The image burned in my pocket like a hot coal, and I couldn’t shake t
