The Blood They Stole From My Daughter

Adriana's POV

The moment I pushed open the front door, my heart was pounding.

"Lucia! Mommy's home!"

Ten years. Ten whole years I'd been running operations in Switzerland for the family, working to secure a clean future for my daughter. Now I was finally back, finally able to hold my baby again.

When she turned around, my breath caught for a second.

What a beautiful child—golden hair, clear blue eyes. I rushed over and pulled her into a tight embrace, tears streaming down my face.

"Baby, let Mommy look at you. You've grown so beautiful." I touched her face with trembling hands. "I'm sorry Mommy was away for so long."

"She's been waiting for you," Marco said, walking out of the kitchen with a smile. "Asked about when Mommy was coming home every single day."

A sharp pain shot through my chest. I'd missed every day of her growing up.

"Mommy's never leaving again," I said, gripping her hands. "Never again."

At dinner, I was excited like a child, constantly sharing stories about Switzerland with her.

"Remember when you were little, you were terrified of the neighbor's big dog?" I laughed. "You'd always hide behind Mommy whenever we walked past."

The girl looked at me blankly, blinking.

"What dog?"

My smile froze. Marco quickly jumped in: "She's been having some memory issues lately. The doctor says it might be psychological changes from adolescence."

"It's okay, baby." I forced myself to keep smiling. "You'll remember gradually. Ten years is a long time—it's normal to forget some things."

But something inside me was aching.

While watching TV, I instinctively reached out to stroke her hair. This had been our routine since she was small—I'd always run my fingers through her hair while we watched TV, and she'd always loved it.

She suddenly pulled away.

"I don't really like people touching my hair," she said, looking a bit embarrassed.

My hand froze in mid-air. Didn't like it? My Lucia had never refused my touch before.

"Teenagers are all like that," Marco explained. "They start setting their own boundaries."

"Of course." I pulled my hand back, forcing a smile. "Mommy should respect your space."

But why? Why did something feel wrong?

Late at night, thunder rumbled overhead.

I remembered how little Lucia used to be terrified of thunderstorms—she'd always come crying to my bed. I quietly pushed open her bedroom door, ready to comfort her.

She was sleeping soundly.

With thunder this loud, she had no reaction at all?

I sat gently on the edge of her bed, wanting to stroke her back like I used to, to help her relax. She rolled over, and her pajama top slipped off her shoulder.

Moonlight fell across her left shoulder.

My world collapsed in an instant.

Smooth skin. Nothing there.

Where was the tattoo? Where was Lucia's family tattoo on her left shoulder?

It had been inked when she was three—a small rose vine design, symbolizing Marcelli family bloodline. A mark that would never disappear.

My hand trembled in the air.

I rushed to the study and pulled out all of Lucia's photos, examining them one by one.

The tattoo was there. In the photo from when she was three, a small black design on her left shoulder.

At five, the tattoo was clearer.

At eight, the tattoo was still there.

I grabbed a magnifying glass, checking over and over. No mistake, absolutely no mistake. That tattoo couldn't disappear. It was impossible.

My phone trembled as I dialed a number.

"Tommy? This is Adriana Marcelli." My voice was barely a whisper, but every word carried lethal intent. "I need your help."

"Boss? You're back?"

"I need you to run a check on someone immediately. The girl living in my house." I looked toward the upstairs, fire burning in my eyes.

That girl wasn't Lucia.

So where was my real daughter?