Chapter 2 - THE NAME ON THE NEWS
By seven the next morning, Elena had not slept for a single minute.
The baby lay against her chest beneath two blankets, one tiny fist curled into Elena’s faded sweatshirt.
Her fever had fallen a little.
Not enough.
Elena kept checking her breathing every few seconds.
She had spent the last of the cash in her kitchen drawer on infant fever medicine, formula, diapers, and a cheap thermometer from the twenty-four-hour pharmacy three blocks away.
The pharmacist had looked at the baby.
Then at Elena.
Then at the expensive little Gucci onesie sticking out beneath the blanket.
Elena had felt his eyes follow her all the way to the door.
Now she sat on the edge of her bed while daylight struggled through the basement window.
The television was on with the volume low.
She had turned it on because silence made her think too much.
That was a mistake.
A red banner suddenly appeared across the bottom of the screen.
BREAKING NEWS.
Elena reached for the remote.
Then she saw the photograph.
The baby.
The same dark curls.
The same round cheeks.
The same tiny dimple near the left corner of her mouth.
Elena stopped breathing.
The anchor’s expression was serious.
“An urgent citywide search is underway for six-month-old Sofia Moretti, daughter of New York businessman Lorenzo Moretti.”
Elena looked down.
The baby stirred.
Sofia.
Her name was Sofia.
The television showed another photograph.
This time Lorenzo was carrying the baby down the steps of a private medical center.
He wore a dark suit.
His face looked cold enough to stop traffic.
But the way his hand protected the back of his daughter’s head did not look cold.
It looked terrified.
The anchor continued.
“According to a statement released by the family, the child disappeared from the Moretti residence shortly after midnight.”
Elena’s heart dropped.
Disappeared from the residence.
Not abandoned.
Taken.
She looked toward the apartment door.
For the first time since bringing Sofia home, Elena wondered whether the person who had put the baby in the dumpster might still be looking for her.
The television changed to footage of reporters standing outside a towering Manhattan building.
Black SUVs lined the curb.
Police vehicles crowded the street.
Dozens of cameras pointed toward the entrance.
Then Lorenzo Moretti stepped outside.
Every reporter shouted at once.
He ignored them.
He walked to a microphone.
His face was pale.
His eyes looked like he had not slept either.
“My daughter is six months old.”
The street became silent.
“She has a medical condition that requires monitoring when she develops a high fever.”
Elena stared at the screen.
Her grip tightened around Sofia.
Lorenzo continued.
“If someone found her, she is not in trouble.”
His jaw tightened.
“Whoever has Sofia and is keeping her safe has my gratitude.”
A reporter shouted a question.
“Mr. Moretti, do you believe this was a kidnapping?”
Lorenzo’s eyes changed.
Only slightly.
But Elena saw it.
“Yes.”
Another reporter shouted.
“Do you know who took her?”
Lorenzo looked directly into the cameras.
“I know enough.”
Then he stepped away.
Elena shut off the television.
The apartment became silent except for the old radiator clicking beside the wall.
Sofia opened her eyes.
For the first time, they were clear enough to focus.
She stared up at Elena.
Dark brown.
Almost black.
Exactly like Lorenzo’s.
“Your daddy is looking for you,” Elena whispered.
Sofia blinked.
Elena brushed a curl away from her forehead.
“I should call him.”
She looked at her phone.
Her thumb hovered over the emergency number displayed during the broadcast.
Then another thought stopped her.
Someone inside Lorenzo’s home had taken Sofia.
Someone with access.
Someone who could enter a guarded penthouse, remove a baby, carry her through one of the most secure buildings in Manhattan, and disappear.
If Elena called the wrong person, she might be sending Sofia back to whoever had put her in that dumpster.
The realization turned her stomach.
She needed to know more.
At nine fifteen, someone knocked on her door.
Elena froze.
Sofia was asleep in a laundry basket lined with towels beside the bed.
Nobody visited Elena.
Nobody.
The landlord never knocked this early.
Her coworkers did not know exactly where she lived.
The knock came again.
Three slow taps.
Elena stood.
She crossed the apartment quietly.
“Who is it?”
Silence.
Then a man answered.
“Building maintenance.”
Elena looked at the rusty pipe above her sink.
There had been no maintenance in this building since approximately 1998.
“What do you need?”
“Water leak downstairs.”
Elena’s basement unit was downstairs.
Her stomach tightened.
Sofia made a tiny noise behind her.
The hallway went completely silent.
Then the man outside said something different.
“Ms. Reyes?”
Every hair on Elena’s arms rose.
She had not given him her name.
Elena stepped backward.
Her phone was on the table.
Too far.
The doorknob slowly moved.
Locked.
Thank God.
A second later, the man spoke again.
His voice was calm.
“Open the door.”
Elena grabbed the phone.
She did not answer.
Then she heard another sound.
A second voice in the hallway.
“Wrong apartment.”
The first man muttered something.
Footsteps moved away.
Elena waited.
One minute.
Two.
Five.
She did not move until she heard the building’s front door slam above them.
Then she ran to the window.
A gray sedan pulled away from the curb.
No license plate on the back.
Elena looked at Sofia.
She had made her decision.
She could not stay here.
She packed diapers, formula, the medicine, two shirts, and the pendant into an old canvas bag.
Then she stopped.
The pendant.
She had removed it from Sofia during the night because she was afraid the chain would catch around her neck.
Now Elena held the lion and dagger beneath the kitchen light.
There was something engraved on the back.
She had not noticed it before.
Three letters.
LMF.
Underneath them was a date.
05-14.
And beneath the date was a single word.
Lucia.
Elena frowned.
Sofia’s mother?
Before she could think further, her phone vibrated.
Unknown number.
She ignored it.
It rang again.
Then again.
Finally, a voicemail notification appeared.
Elena pressed play.
No voice.
Only breathing.
Then a click.
The call ended.
Elena’s blood went cold.
She took Sofia into her arms.
“We’re leaving.”
Twenty minutes later, Elena stepped onto Roosevelt Avenue carrying the baby beneath her coat.
She did not notice the black SUV parked half a block away.
Inside, a man watched her through tinted glass.
He lifted his phone.
“Found her.”
A voice answered immediately.
“The child?”
“Yes.”
“And the woman?”
The man looked through the windshield as Elena disappeared into the morning crowd.
“She’s still alive.”
There was a pause.
Then the voice said something that changed his expression.
“Keep it that way.”
He frowned.
“For how long?”
May you like
The answer came quietly.
“Until we know what she saw.”
