I HAD THE DEVIL'S TWINS

CHAPTER SIX: THE COLLISION

DANTE

I climbed into the back of the car, my mind still on that little girl. Something about her felt familiar in a way I couldn't explain. Those gray eyes. That fearless attitude.

"That was weird," Marcus said from the front passenger seat. "You never talk to random kids."

"She was persistent," I said flatly. "And she reminded me of Elijah."

"Your son would never approach a stranger like that."

True. Elijah was withdrawn, quiet, careful. Nothing like that bold little girl with chocolate on her fingers and a smile that came too easily.

"How is the young master?" Marcus asked carefully. "Still not eating?"

My jaw tightened. "He barely touched breakfast. The staff said he locked himself in his room again last night."

Elijah had been getting worse lately. More tantrums. More silence. More distance between us no matter how hard I tried to reach him.

He needed his mother. But his mother was gone. Paid off and disappeared with her money, wanting nothing to do with us.

At least, that's what Victor had told me five years ago. The surrogate had no interest in the child. She'd signed the contract, delivered the baby, and left. Simple transaction.

Except nothing about Elijah felt simple. He was lonely. Angry. Hurting in ways I didn't know how to fix.

"We're home, sir," the driver announced.

The mansion loomed ahead—all stone and windows and cold elegance. I'd grown up here. Hated it here. Now I was raising my son in the same prison that had made my own childhood miserable.

I went straight to Elijah's room. He was sitting on his bed, still in pajamas even though it was noon, staring out the window at nothing.

"Elijah," I said from the doorway.

He didn't look at me.

I walked in and sat on the edge of his bed. My son was small for five years old, with my dark hair and gray eyes. He looked like me. But sometimes when he stared at anything like this, I saw someone else in his face. Someone I couldn't quite place.

"I brought you something," I said, pulling out another box of the chocolate he liked.

He glanced at it but didn't reach for it.

"You need to eat," I tried again.

"Not hungry," he mumbled.

"You said that yesterday. And the day before."

"So?"

I fought down my frustration. Getting angry never helped. "What if we went out today? Just you and me. Anywhere you want."

"You'll get a work call and leave," Elijah said bitterly. "You always do."

The accusation hit harder because it was true. I did always leave. Work came first. It had to. The company needed me. Our empire needed constant attention or it would crumble.

"I promise I won't take any calls," I said.

Elijah finally looked at me. His gray eyes were too old for a five-year-old's face. "You promised last time too."

I had. And I'd broken that promise when an emergency came up with one of our shipping contracts. I'd left Elijah with the nanny and disappeared for three days.

"This time will be different," I said, knowing it was probably a lie.

"Whatever." He turned back to the window.

I sat there for another minute, trying to think of something to say that would reach him. But the distance between us felt like an ocean. I didn't know how to cross.

Finally, I stood. "I'll have the cook make your favorite for dinner."

No response.

I left him there and went to my office, that familiar guilt sitting heavy in my chest. I was failing him. My own son. The only person in the world I actually cared about, and I couldn't figure out how to make him happy.

Marcus was waiting in my office with a stack of reports.

"The Harborview Hotel is still bleeding money," he said, setting the papers on my desk. "Third quarter in a row with losses."

"Fire the manager," I said automatically.

"We did. Twice. The problem isn't management. The location's bad, the building needs updates, and we're competing with three newer hotels in the same area."

I flipped through the reports without really seeing them. My mind was still on Elijah, on that little girl at the airport, in the strange sense that something was shifting even though I couldn't see what.

"What do you suggest?" I asked Marcus.

"Sell it. Cut our losses."

"No." I made that decision on instinct. "We don't sell. We fix it."

"That could take years and millions in investment—"

"Then that's what we do." I tossed the reports aside. "Anything else?"

Marcus studied me with that look he got when he thought I was being irrational. "Are you okay, boss?"

"Fine."

"You've seemed off since we got back from Chicago."

"I said," I'm fine." My tone made it clear the conversation was over.

Marcus left, and I turned to stare out my office window at the city below. Somewhere out there, Elijah's mother was living her life with my money, not caring that she'd left behind a son who desperately needed her.

I'd tried to find her. Spent a fortune on investigators. But Victor had made sure every trace of her disappeared. New identity, new location, everything scrubbed clean. He'd done too good a job following my original orders to make her vanish.

Now I had a son who barely spoke to me and no way to fix what was broken between us.

My phone buzzed with another work crisis. I answered it and forced myself to focus. Work I could control. Work made sense.

Everything else was just noise.

Anne

The taxi dropped us off in front of a small apartment building in a neighborhood that had seen better days. Not dangerous, but not great either. The best I could afford until I got a proper job.

" Is this home?" Mira asked, staring up at the crumbling brick.

"For now," I said, pulling our suitcases from the trunk. "It'll be better once we decorate."

She didn't look convinced, but she helped me drag the bags inside. The apartment was on the third floor—one bedroom, a tiny kitchen, a bathroom with a shower that dripped. The furniture was old but clean.

It was nothing like the luxury estate where I'd spent eight months as a prisoner. Nothing like the comfortable cottage we'd rented in the coastal town.

But it was ours. And it was temporary.

"I'm going to get a perfect job," I told Mira as we unpacked. "And then we'll move somewhere nicer. I promise."

"I like it here," she said, always trying to make me feel better. "It's cozy."

I pulled her into a hug. "What did I do to deserve you?"

"You're the best mommy ever," she said simply, like it was fact.

If only that were true. The best mother wouldn't have given away one of her children. Wouldn't have signed that contract. Wouldn't have taken the money and run.

But I'd done all of those things. And I'd live with that guilt for the rest of my life.

"Let's order pizza," I said, changing the subject. "Celebrate our first night back in the city."

"With extra cheese?"

"With extra everything."

While Mira colored at the small kitchen table, I pulled out my laptop and started searching for jobs. I'd been preparing for months—updating my resume, researching companies, reaching out to contacts.

One listing caught my eye immediately. Ashford Industries was hiring for multiple positions. They owned hotels, shipping companies, real estate. One of the biggest corporations in the city.

The pay was incredible. The benefits were better. And they were holding open interviews next week for a new hospitality division position.

I bookmarked it and kept searching, but my mind kept going back to Ashford Industries. Something about the name felt important, though I couldn't figure out why.

Probably just because they were so well-known. Everyone in the hospitality industry knew the Ashford name.

I'd go to the interview. Put my best foot forward. Show them what five years of hard work and determination had built.

And maybe, finally, I could stop running and start actually living again.