Chapter 3 - The Lion's Shadow
By 8:00 a.m., Elena’s phone was vibrating across the table like an angry wasp.
The screen read: *SUPERVISOR - CHATSWORTH.*
Elena looked at the phone, then looked at Mia, who was currently kicking her tiny feet against the bedsheets, cooing at the water-stained pattern on the ceiling.
Elena swallowed the lump in her throat, swiped the screen, and brought the phone to her ear. "Mr. Henderson?"
"Where the hell are you, Elena?" Henderson’s gravelly voice barked, background clatter of hotel laundry carts audible through the line. "Your shift started twenty minutes ago on the ninth floor. We have an executive checkout at eleven. You know the policy: one no-show without twenty-four hours' notice, and your locker gets cleared out."
Elena gripped the edge of the mattress. This job was her entire lifeline. Without it, the sixty-two dollars—now down to fourteen after Sal's bodega—would be gone by tomorrow.
"I'm... I'm violently ill, Mr. Henderson," she lied, her voice cracking with authentic strain. "Food poisoning. I can barely stand up. Please, just give me today. I’ll work a double tomorrow. I’ll take Sunday without overtime."
A heavy sigh on the other end. "Tomorrow morning at six sharp, Elena. If you're one minute late, don't bother coming in at all."
The line went dead.
Elena let the phone drop. She had twenty-four hours of borrowed time.
She turned to Mia, who was now blowing bubbles with her mouth, completely oblivious to the fact that her father was the most feared monster in the Tri-State area. Elena smiled despite herself, reaching out to stroke the baby's soft cheek. Mia immediately grabbed Elena’s pinky finger with her entire hand, her grip remarkably strong, pulling Elena’s knuckle to her mouth to gnaw on it.
"You're a little fighter, aren't you?" Elena whispered softly.
She couldn't stay in the apartment all day without supplies. Mia needed diapers; the makeshift towel wrap Elena had fashioned would only hold for so long. She needed wet wipes, more formula, and clean baby clothes that didn't have world-famous designer logos screaming out to every passerby.
Elena wrapped Mia securely inside an old oversized winter parka, zipping it so only the tip of the baby’s nose and her wide, curious hazel eyes were visible. She slipped the platinum lion pendant into her front jeans pocket, keeping her hand resting over it like a burning coal.
When Elena stepped out onto the sidewalk of 31st Avenue, she felt the shift in the air immediately.
Astoria was a noisy, bustling working-class neighborhood. Usually, the streets were filled with Greek grandmothers pulling grocery carts, construction workers grabbing coffee from food carts, and kids running to school.
Today, the corner intersections were occupied by sleek, unmarked black Cadillac Escalades idling at the curbs.
Men in dark overcoats stood on the corners. They weren't cops; cops had a posture of bored authority. These men had dead eyes, broad shoulders, and right hands tucked casually into their left armpits. They were looking at everyone who passed by. Specifically, they were watching anyone carrying a bag, a stroller, or a bundle.
Elena’s heart leaped into her throat. She instantly turned her head, pulled her scarf up to her nose, and ducked into the nearest laundromat-pharmacy combo on 34th Street.
Through the plate-glass window, she watched as two of the suited men approached a local sanitation worker who was emptying a street bin. One of the men took the worker by the elbow, leading him into the shadow of an awning. A thick envelope of cash changed hands, followed by rapid, sharp questioning. The worker shook his head frantically, pointing toward the subway station.
"They're combing the blocks," Elena realized, her stomach turning to ice. "They know she was left somewhere out here."
She moved quickly through the aisles of the small store, grabbing a value pack of size-2 diapers, gentle wipes, and a cheap three-pack of plain yellow cotton onesies.
At the register, the middle-aged cashier was staring out the window at the idling Escalades.
"Freaks," the woman muttered, scanning the diapers. "Whole neighborhood is crawling with them since six this morning. My cousin says they stopped three mothers pushing strollers over on Broadway. Demanded to see inside the carriages! Who the hell does that in broad daylight?"
"Did... did someone call the police?" Elena asked, keeping her head low as she pulled out her last crumpled ten-dollar bill and change.
The cashier laughed humorlessly. "Police? Honey, half an hour ago, a police cruiser rolled past that black truck, slowed down, saw the driver, and just kept on driving like they were blind. Whoever those guys work for, they own the badges too."
Elena gathered her plastic bags, tucked Mia closer to her chest, and slipped out the back exit into the residential alleyways.
She walked quickly, her sneakers splashing through dirty puddles, staying off the main avenues. Her mind was racing in circles.
*Why not just hand her over?* a voice whispered in her head. *Walk up to one of those men in the black cars, give them the baby, show them the pendant. They'll take her home to her father.*
Elena stopped in a brick alcove between two brownstones, looking down at Mia. The baby looked back up at her, blinking slowly, entirely calm against Elena’s chest.
Elena remembered who Lorenzo Moretti was. A man whose enemies ended up in the concrete foundations of shipping docks. What if those men on the street weren't Lorenzo's men? What if they were the men who paid the nanny to drown her in the first place?
If she handed this innocent, defenseless baby to the wrong man, Mia wouldn't be going home to a penthouse. She would be going back into a dumpster. Or the East River.
"No," Elena whispered, pressing her face against Mia's soft hair. "I have to be sure. I won't let anyone hurt you."
As she turned the corner toward her tenement, she caught sight of a black sedan parked directly across from her front stoop. A man in a dark trench coat was talking to her landlord, holding up a glossy photograph.
May you like
Elena's breath hitched. She backed into the shadow of the brick stairwell, pressed herself flat against the cold wall, and waited.
***
