Chapter 1: Four Little Mirrors
The first boy looked at me and frowned.
Then he reached behind his neck with his left hand, pushed his dark hair out of his eyes, and tilted his head slightly.
I stopped breathing.
Because I had been making that exact gesture since I was six years old.
Then the other three boys did it, too.
Four identical movements. Four identical faces.
And four pairs of brown eyes that looked exactly like mine.
I stood frozen beside the marble sinks of an upscale restaurant in Boston's Back Bay, my right hand gripping the edge of the counter so tightly that my knuckles turned white.
"Are you okay, mister?"" the smallest boy asked.
I stared at him.
He had a tiny scar above his left eyebrow.
I had the same scar.
Mine came from falling off my grandfather's stone staircase when I was five.
"What are your names?"" I asked.
The boy nearest the door smiled.
"I'm Noah.""
The second boy raised his hand.
"I'm Ethan.""
"I'm Lucas," said the third.
The smallest one waited until the others finished.
"I'm Caleb.""
Four names.
Four boys.
Four faces that could have been taken from photographs of my childhood.
I was thirty-seven years old. I had negotiated with men who carried guns under their jackets. I had watched a rival businessman threaten my family across a restaurant table without moving a muscle.
But standing in front of four six-year-old boys, I couldn't remember how to form a complete sentence.
"How old are you?"" I finally asked.
"Six," Noah answered.
"Almost seven," Ethan corrected him.
"No, we're all six," Lucas protested.
"Mom says we have to wait until February.""
February.
My stomach tightened.
Six years ago, in February, the woman I loved had disappeared from my life.
Before I could ask another question, Caleb studied my face with unsettling concentration.
"Mom says it's rude to stare," he announced.
I almost laughed.
Almost.
"Your mother sounds like a smart woman.""
"She is," Noah said proudly.
"She's the smartest person in the whole world.""
"Even smarter than teachers," Lucas added.
"And doctors," Ethan said.
Caleb shrugged.
"She knows how to fix everything.""
Something about the way he said that made my chest ache.
I looked at their clothes. Navy sweaters, khaki trousers, matching little brown shoes. Each boy wore a different colored watch, and their hair had clearly been combed with care.
They looked like brothers.
Not merely brothers.
Identical brothers.
I had never heard of four boys born together in my social circle, but that wasn't what frightened me.
What frightened me was the possibility that I already knew exactly who their father was.
"Where's your dad?"" I asked before I could stop myself.
The four boys exchanged glances.
Then Noah answered.
"We don't have one.""
I felt something cold travel down my spine.
"Everyone has a father," Ethan said matter-of-factly.
"But we don't know ours.""
"Mom says we don't need to worry about him," Lucas added.
Caleb looked down at his shoes.
"She says he doesn't know us.""
The words landed like a physical blow.
I opened my mouth.
Nothing came out.
Then a woman's voice echoed from the hallway.
"Noah? Ethan? Lucas? Caleb?""
My entire body went rigid.
I knew that voice.
I knew its soft, slightly breathless quality. I knew the way it rose at the end of a sentence when the woman speaking was trying to sound patient.
Six years could pass.
A thousand miles could separate us.
I would still recognize it.
"Stay where you are, boys!"" the woman called.
"I told you not to wander away from the table!""
The boys immediately started toward the door.
"Mom!""
"Mom, we found someone!""
"He's really tall!""
"Mom! He looks like somebody!""
Their little shoes slapped against the polished floor.
I couldn't move.
The doorway filled with a familiar silhouette.
A cream-colored coat.
Dark chestnut hair falling over one shoulder.
One hand holding a phone, the other carrying a small shopping bag.
Then she stepped into the bathroom entrance.
And the world stopped.
"Dominic?""
Her voice cracked on my name.
I looked at her.
Isabella Hayes.
The woman I had loved more than my own life.
The woman I had searched for until my grandfather threatened to cut off every resource I controlled.
The woman whose apartment I had found empty one morning six years earlier.
The woman who had left me with nothing but a handwritten note.
I'm sorry. Please don't look for me.
She stood there now, six years older, with faint lines around her eyes and a face that looked both familiar and impossibly distant.
For several seconds, neither of us spoke.
Then her eyes moved from my face to the four boys.
Her shopping bag slipped from her fingers.
An orange rolled across the floor.
"Mom?"" Noah whispered.
Isabella didn't answer.
She was looking at me.
"What are you doing here?"" she finally asked.
I glanced at the boys.
Then back at her.
"That's what I was about to ask you.""
Her expression changed.
Not surprise.
Fear.
Pure, unmistakable fear.
She stepped forward and gathered the four boys behind her.
"Come on, sweetheart. We're leaving.""
"Wait.""
"Dominic, don't.""
"How old are they?""
Her jaw tightened.
"That's none of your business.""
"How old?""
"Mommy?"" Ethan tugged at her coat.
"Why are you talking like that?""
She looked down, and for a moment, her expression softened.
"Nothing, baby. We just need to go.""
Then Noah looked up at me.
"Mister, are you coming to our birthday party?""
Isabella closed her eyes.
I felt my pulse pounding in my ears.
"When's your birthday?"" I asked.
"February fourteenth," Noah said.
February fourteenth.
My hands went numb.
I remembered that date.
Not because it was Valentine's Day.
Because it was the night Isabella had told me she was pregnant.
I remembered the little Italian restaurant where we had celebrated. I remembered her fingers trembling around a glass of sparkling water.
I remembered kissing her forehead and promising that our child would never have to be afraid of anything.
And I remembered waking up six years ago to an empty apartment.
"Isabella," I whispered.
She looked at me.
"Are they mine?""
Her lips parted.
For one terrible second, I thought she might tell me the truth.
Instead, she reached for Caleb's hand.
"Come on, boys.""
"Mom, why is that man looking at us?""
"Because he knows me," she said.
"Is he your friend?""
Isabella swallowed.
"No.""
The word hurt more than it should have.
Then she looked directly at me.
"He was someone I used to know.""
Someone.
Not the man she had loved.
Not the man she had once promised to marry.
Someone.
I took a step forward.
"Don't walk away from me again.""
Her eyes flashed.
"You don't get to tell me what to do.""
"I've spent six years wondering if you were alive.""
"And I've spent six years making sure my children were safe.""
The word children hung between us.
My children.
She seemed to realize what she had said.
Her face went pale.
I lowered my voice.
"Isabella, please.""
For the first time, something broke through her anger.
Her eyes filled with tears.
But she wiped them away before any could fall.
"Enjoy your evening, Dominic.""
Then she took the boys and walked out.
I remained beside the sink.
A few seconds later, I heard four little voices in the hallway.
"Mom, that man has our eyes.""
"Mom, why was he sad?""
"Mom, are you crying?""
And then Isabella's voice, barely audible:
"No, sweetheart. I'm not crying.""
I waited until the footsteps disappeared.
Only then did I reach into my jacket.
My fingers closed around the velvet ring box.
At 7:30, I was supposed to propose to Sloane Barrett.
The woman my grandfather had chosen for me.
The woman who could unite two powerful Boston families.
But suddenly, the diamond inside that box looked like the most ridiculous thing I had ever owned.
I pulled out my phone.
"Marco," I said when my driver answered.
"Yes, Mr. Moretti?""
"Cancel tonight.""
A pause.
"Cancel the proposal?""
"Cancel everything.""
"Your grandfather is expecting—"
"I don't care what my grandfather expects.""
I ended the call.
Then I stared at the bathroom doorway.
Four boys.
Six years old.
Born on February fourteenth.
And their mother had looked at me as if I were the last person on earth she wanted them to meet.
I had one question now.
May you like
Why had Isabella kept my sons from me?
And what had happened six years ago that made her believe I was dangerous to my own children?
