Chapter 2 - The Woman in the White Linen Dress
“Vincent, darling! I thought I’d find the two of you here,” Elena called out, her voice like silver bells chiming on a summer porch. Her smile was radiant, effortless, the exact face that had charmed city council members and charity galas alike.
The boy beside me flinched as if struck by a physical blow. He tore himself from my grip and bolted into the thick brush of the park before I could stop him.
“Hey! Stop!” I barked, but the boy was already gone, vanishing like a phantom into the urban woods.
“Goodness, who was that filthy little creature?” Elena asked, coming to a halt beside our bench. She held up a designer insulated thermos. “I brought Lila her favorite homemade chamomile and peach iced blend. The sun is so harsh today; she must be terribly dehydrated.”
I looked at the thermos in her manicured hand. Her nails were painted a flawless blush pink. Her fingers didn't tremble. Not a single tell.
“Daddy? Is that Elena?” Lila asked, reaching her small hands blindly into the empty air.
“Yes, my angel,” Elena cooed instantly, dropping to her knees on the grass and wrapping Lila in a tender hug. “I’m here. Mommy made your special drink. The one that helps settle your tummy.”
My stomach churned violently. The special drink.
For the last four months, Lila had complained of mild stomach cramps every evening, and Elena had insisted on brewing her a personalized herbal remedy every single afternoon. ‘It’s an old family recipe from my grandmother’s estate in Savannah,’ Elena had told me with gentle eyes when Lila first fell ill. ‘It calms the nervous system.’
“She doesn't need it right now,” I said, my voice deliberately flat, stripped of all emotion.
Elena looked up at me, blinking her large hazel eyes in theatrical surprise. “Vincent? Is something wrong? You look pale.”
“Lila says her stomach is fine today. We’re heading back to the house.”
“Oh, but darling, Dr. Sterling said she must keep her fluids up. Optic nerve inflammation is exacerbated by dehydration, remember?” She unscrewed the cap of the thermos. A sweet, floral aroma drifted into the humid air.
I caught her wrist.
I didn't squeeze hard enough to bruise, but I applied enough controlled pressure that her smile froze.
“I said, she doesn't want it, Elena.”
A flicker of something dark and sharp flashed across Elena’s eyes—a microscopic slip of her mask that lasted less than a tenth of a second before vanishing behind a look of hurt confusion.
“Vincent... you’re hurting my wrist.”
I released her instantly. “Let’s go. Marco is waiting with the car by the gate.”
I picked Lila up, cradling her lightweight frame against my chest. Her small arms wrapped around my neck, her soft hair resting against my collarbone. As I carried my daughter toward the armored black Escalade idling at the park exit, my mind raced through every interaction, every meal, every glass of water Elena had handed my daughter over the past six months.
My second-in-command, Marco—a man who had stood beside me through two decades of street wars—held the car door open. He took one look at my face and immediately knew something was wrong.
“Boss?” Marco muttered under his breath as I strapped Lila into her booster seat.
“Get in the car,” I replied under my breath. “Don't say a word until we are inside the perimeter.”
Elena slipped into the back seat beside Lila, effortlessly smoothing out her linen dress. She reached over and tenderly brushed a strand of hair from Lila’s forehead. “My poor baby. Don't worry, when we get home, I’ll have the chef make your favorite butternut squash soup.”
I sat in the front passenger seat, staring into the rearview mirror. My eyes met Elena’s reflection.
May you like
She smiled warmly at me.
Underneath the seat, my hand rested against the grip of my custom .45 caliber pistol. If that boy was telling the truth, a bullet would be far too merciful for what this woman deserved. But I needed proof. I needed the antidote. And above all, I needed to make sure Lila survived the storm that was about to break.
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