CHAPTER 3: NO MORE RUNNING
954 Words
ELENA'S POV
I didn't sleep that night.
Every time I start to drift off, headlights flash behind my eyelids. I hear engines,random knocks at the door. My body is on full alert, brain wired, heart pacing like it knows something I won’t let myself admit out loud.
He’s coming.
The worst part isn’t the fear.
It’s the part of me that still remembers what it felt like to be seen by him.
Really seen.
Even if it was just for a night.
I tucked Luca in for the second time that evening. He woke up once from a bad dream,maybe he felt my tension like kids always do. But he settled after I sang to him. My voice was shaking. He didn’t notice.
Or maybe he did, and just didn’t say anything about it.
When I’m sure he’s asleep again, I go to the kitchen and pull out the envelope from the drawer beneath the toaster. I look at the photos again.
Me and Luca, laughing. Dante, scowling.
We don’t belong in the same story.
But here we are.
I flip the photo over, searching again for something I missed.
A symbol or a word or probably a number.
Anything.
But the back is blank.
The envelope is blank.
No signature. No message. Nothing.
He’s good. He always was. I just didn’t know how good.
I grab my burner phone and scroll through the old numbers saved on it. Most of them are dead ends people I used during the first year I was hiding. Smugglers. Fixers. A woman in Detroit who knew how to fake a child’s birth certificate and made it look state-issued.
I stopped at one name.
Nico.
He’s the only one who ever warned me not to mess with the Morettis. The only one who knew I’d already done it and didn’t ask questions.
I hesitate, thumb hovering over the call button. It’s been years. If Nico’s compromised, calling him would only put Luca in more danger.
But if I don’t… I’m going in blind.
And that’s exactly how Dante wants me.
I press the button.
It rings twice.
Then a voice I haven’t heard in five years answers.
“Elena.”
His voice is flat. Quiet. Alert.
My stomach drops. “You recognized the number?”
“No one else has it.”
Right.
He’s still watching out for me, then.
“I need help,” I say softly. “He’s looking for me.”
Silence.
Then a low breath, like a curse.
“Moretti?”
“Yes.”
“Where are you?”
I hesitate.
“No one’s supposed to know.”
“Elena, if he found you, others can too. That kid of yours—”
“His name is Luca.”
Another pause. Softer now.
“He’s four?”
“Four and a half.”
More silence. This time it stretches.
“He look like him?” Nico finally asks.
I close my eyes. “Yes. And no. Sometimes I look at him and all I see is me. But then he furrows his brows or goes quiet when he’s upset and… yeah.”
Nico doesn’t say anything for a moment. Then: “You’re not safe. You know that, right?”
“I know.”
“You staying put?”
“I can’t just yank Luca out of bed and disappear again. I swore I wouldn’t do that to him. Not unless I had no choice.”
There’s a pause.
“Then you’ve already made your choice.”
---
I hang up a minute later with a name: Vincent Caldera. Nico says he’s an old associate of Dante’s—now something of a ghost. Off the grid, but not out of reach.
“He left the family years ago,” Nico had said. “But he still watches the edges. He owes me a favor. He might talk.”
Might.
It's all I’ve got.
I write the name down on a yellow sticky note and tuck it behind a canister of flour. I’m not sure what I’m going to do with it yet. But it’s something. A breadcrumb. A line in the dark.
I go back to Luca’s room again, just to check.
He’s fast asleep, one arm flung over his stuffed lion.
For a long time, I stand there.
Staring.
Wishing I could turn back time.
---
The next morning, I put on a smile and drop Luca at daycare like nothing’s wrong. I even let him bring his lion. He waves at me through the window, grinning like I’m the safest thing in his world.
And for now, I still am.
But I feel eyes on me the moment I turn the corner.
I whip around. Nothing but parked cars and wind.
But something shifts in the air.
He’s close.
Too close.
I rush home, lock the doors, and double-check the windows. Then I pull out the photo again and stare at Dante’s face.
The same man who made my heart stutter from just a glance.
The same man who made me feel wanted.
The same man who can’t know what we are now.
I reach for my phone again. I should call Nico back. Ask him how to reach this Vincent Caldera.
But then something slips under the door.
A small white envelope.
I stare at it like it’s ticking.
Because it might as well be.
I walk over slowly and pick it up.
My fingers are shaking as I open it.
Inside is a note. Just one sentence.
“We need to talk. Tomorrow. Midnight. Pier 14.”
No signature.
But there’s no doubt in my mind who it’s from.
Dante Moretti is done watching from a distance.
He’s ready to meet.
- Writer
