Author pov,

The next day dawned with the faint glow of a rising sun stretching across the Italian coast. At the Sinclair mansion, silence reigned, but in the private airfield of Naples, the massive Sinclair jet gleamed under the morning light. Inside, two men prepared for a journey that would change their family’s history forever—Leonardo Sinclair and his eldest son, Carlos.

The jet sliced through the clouds, carrying with it not only power and wealth but also eighteen years of grief, longing, and hope. Hours later, the aircraft descended into Mumbai, its silver body gleaming against the hazy sky.

The doors opened, and the humid Indian air rushed in. Leonardo stepped out first, his sharp gaze scanning the airport. Despite the years that had softened his hair with silver, he walked with the authority of a king. Carlos followed, towering and cold, his expression unreadable, though his stormy eyes betrayed his turmoil.

At the foot of the jet, a line of black SUVs awaited. Beside them stood a middle-aged man in a crisp suit, his posture respectful yet confident—Mr. Chauhan, Leonardo’s loyal man in India. He had served the Sinclairs faithfully for years, overseeing their business ties in the subcontinent.

Chauhan stepped forward, bowing his head slightly.

“Welcome, Boss. Welcome to India.”

Leonardo’s lips curved faintly. “Thank you, Chauhan.”

Carlos’ voice was sharp, impatient. “Let’s go. No need to waste time here.”

Chauhan gestured toward the cars. “Yes, Boss. Everything is ready.”

They slid into the back of the sleek black SUV. The driver pulled them away from the airport’s chaos, merging into the crowded Mumbai streets. Through tinted windows, Leonardo watched the city flash by—rickshaws buzzing, children running barefoot, skyscrapers rising beside slums. It was a world far different from the marble halls of the Sinclair mansion, but it was the land where his lost daughter had been raised. His chest ached at the thought.

Carlos leaned back, his jaw tight, fists clenched on his knees. He hated waiting, hated silence, but above all, he hated knowing Annie had lived eighteen years without them.

“Where is she now?” Carlos asked finally, his voice cold.

Chauhan’s eyes flicked to the rearview mirror. “In an orphanage, Boss. Not far from here. A small place. Simple, but clean. The caretaker, Ragu, has been taking care of her.”

Leonardo’s brows furrowed. “Caretaker?”

“Yes,” Chauhan replied. “He found her five years ago on the streets. She was crying, alone. He brought her in.”

Carlos’s hand slammed against the seat. His eyes darkened, rage burning. “That means… whoever kidnapped her, whoever stole her from us, they’re still out there. Alive.”

Leonardo’s voice cut through, low but firm. “Calm yourself, Carlos.”

Carlos turned to him, his voice sharp. “Calm? She suffered for eighteen years, Father! While we lived in wealth, she was thrown on the streets like trash. And you want me to calm down?”

Leonardo met his gaze, unflinching. “Yes. Because right now, our focus is not vengeance. It is Annie. We will find the bastard who took her, and we will end him. But first, we get her back. After eighteen years, we get our little princess home.”

Carlos’s chest heaved, but he finally leaned back, swallowing his fury. His father was right. Vengeance could wait. For now, Annie mattered more.

The SUVs finally pulled up outside a modest building. The orphanage stood humble, its faded paint peeling, its iron gate slightly rusted. Children’s laughter echoed faintly from within. It was a place far removed from the luxurious Sinclair world.

As they stepped out, a man rushed forward to greet them. His frame was thin, his clothes simple, his eyes kind yet wary. This was Ragu, the orphanage owner.

“Sir, how can I help you?” he asked, his voice polite.

Leonardo’s presence filled the small courtyard. His tone was steady, commanding. “I want my daughter.”

Ragu blinked, confusion flashing across his face. “Sir… do you mean you wish to adopt a girl?”

Before Leonardo could answer, Carlos stepped forward, his glare sharp as a blade. “No.” His voice carried such authority that Ragu flinched.

“Then… then what do you mean?” Ragu stammered.

Chauhan’s voice was calm but firm. “Listen carefully, Ragu. My Boss’s daughter has been staying in this orphanage. Her name is Annie.”

Recognition flickered in Ragu’s eyes. He nodded slowly. “Annie… yes. Annie.” He gestured with his hand. “Please, come with me.”

They followed him through the courtyard, past cracked walls and small rooms filled with the chatter of children. Then they stepped outside into a garden area where the sound of soft music floated through the air.

Under a tree, sunlight filtering through the leaves, sat a girl. She was beautiful in a way that was effortless—long dark hair fell over her shoulders, her skin glowed with natural warmth, and her delicate fingers strummed a guitar resting on her lap. She sat alone, her eyes closed, her soul pouring into the melody.

Leonardo’s breath caught. His throat tightened. For a moment, he couldn’t move. His Zara… she was there in that girl. In her face, her grace, her very aura. Tears burned his eyes, though he fought them back.

Carlos froze beside him, his heart slamming in his chest. His sister. His blood. His Annie.

Ragu’s voice was gentle. “She is Annie.”

Chauhan’s tone hardened. “My Boss wants her back.”

Ragu hesitated, lowering his voice. “Sir… first, we must do paperwork. Adoption, custody transfer, all legal things.”

Leonardo finally spoke, his voice rough with emotion. “Then let’s go. Now.”

They moved into the orphanage’s small office, a simple room with worn wooden chairs and stacks of old files. Chauhan and Ragu began pulling papers, discussing procedures.

Leonardo sat quietly, his eyes distant. “Since when… since when has my Annie been here?”

Ragu folded his hands. “Five years ago, sir. I found her crying on the street. Alone. No parents, no one around. She was fragile, terrified. I brought her here.”

Carlos’s voice was sharp, filled with fury. “That means she spent thirteen years in hell before that. Whoever did this is still alive.”

Leonardo slammed his fist on the table, silencing him. “Enough. For now, we thank God she survived. After eighteen years, we get her back. That is what matters.”

But Ragu’s face darkened. “Sir… there is one problem.”

Leonardo’s eyes narrowed. “What problem?”

Ragu hesitated, his voice low. “Annie… she hates men. Sometimes she gets panic attacks. She doesn’t even go near them. And she never told us why she behaves this way. We did not push her.”

Carlos’s eyes blazed. “That bastard… what did he do to her?!” His fists shook with barely contained rage.

Leonardo’s jaw tightened, pain flashing across his features. He closed his eyes, steadying himself. “Fine. We will deal with it. Just finish the paperwork.”

Chauhan placed a hand on Leonardo’s arm. “Boss, you both should rest at the hotel. The paperwork will be done by tomorrow. Then Annie will be yours again.”

Leonardo exhaled heavily, nodding. “Fine.” He rose, his gaze lingering on the window where faint music still drifted from Annie’s guitar. “Tomorrow. Tomorrow, she comes home.”

Unaware, Annie sat outside, lost in her song. She had no idea that her father and brother were already here—that her life was about to change forever.

---

Meanwhile, back in Italy, the Sinclair mansion was restless. The grand hall, usually filled with calm strength, now echoed with the voices of five brothers. Damien, Luca, Marco, Matteo, and Danny sat together, their thoughts consumed by one thing—Annie.

Damien leaned against the table, his eyes scanning documents though his mind wasn’t on them. “If Father and Carlos are handling it, things will go smoothly. Legally, politically, everything will be covered.”

Luca sprawled on the couch, smirking faintly though worry lingered in his eyes. “Smoothly? You know Carlos. He’ll scare half of India before even reaching Annie. The girl won’t know what hit her.”

Marco paced the room, his fists clenched. “I hate waiting. I should’ve gone. If anything happens…”

Matteo spoke calmly, his voice steady. “Marco, think. Father was right. Too many of us showing up would draw attention. Annie’s safety comes first.”

Danny sat silently, his face pale, his hands gripping the edge of the couch. His voice broke softly. “Do you think… do you think she’ll accept us? Or will she hate us… for not being there?”

The brothers fell silent. Danny’s words cut through them all.

Damien placed a hand on Danny’s shoulder. “She is our blood. Our sister. Once she sees us, she will know. Blood never lies.”

Luca smiled softly, though his voice cracked with emotion. “And when she does… she won’t just get one brother. She’ll get six. We’ll make up for every second she lost.”

Marco growled. “And whoever took her… they’ll regret ever being born.”

Matteo’s voice was low but firm. “First, we welcome her. Then we protect her. Always.”

Danny whispered, tears in his eyes. “Please, God. Let her come home.”

In the silence that followed, each brother’s heart beat with the same prayer. Their lost sister would return. And the Sinclairs would be whole again.

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