Chapter 21
Elora
"No! Give me my baby! Doctor, please save him!"
I jerked upright in bed, gasping for air like I'd just been dragged out of ice water. Cold sweat soaked through my thin nightgown in seconds.
The dream was all from that blizzard night four years ago.
The cold operating table. The monitors screaming their broken rhythm. Dark blood pooling, dripping off the edge of the sheet. The midwife's panicked shouts echoing. Hemorrhaging! Fetal heart rate dropping! No breathing! Get the clamps!
I pressed both hands against the raised C-section scar on my lower abdomen, shaking violently.
"Leo..."
Barefoot, I bolted from my bedroom and slammed through the door next to mine.
In the small wooden bed, three-year-old Leo clutched his blanket corner, chest rising and falling steadily, breathing soft and deep.
Seeing that warm little face—so much like mine—I collapsed to my knees on the carpet. Tears hit the floor. My trembling hand covered his warm little one, feeling that real, undeniable heartbeat. Only then could I breathe again.
So close. I'd almost lost him completely.
That night, I'd dragged this tiny life back from death's door through agony and blood loss, no anesthesia. No word from that man. No protection from his powerful family. Just me and this fragile little creature, putting down roots in the cold, hard ground of South Dakota.
"My little monster..." I pressed my forehead against the edge of Leo's bed, wiping away silent tears. "No one's taking you from me. No one."
I stood, took one last look at my sleeping son, then headed to the bathroom to wash off the sweat.
Changed into a thick forest-green flannel shirt, called the sitter Mary, then drove my beat-up pickup toward Rebirth Fragrance downtown.
Sturgis mornings always carried that raw smell of motor oil. Though the massive summer bike rally was still months off, leather-jacketed bikers still lined the streets.
My shop sat at the end of Main Street. The name was painfully tacky, but in this town soaked in alcohol and violence, calming aromatherapy and therapeutic massage sold surprisingly well.
The brass bell over the door clanged harsh as I pushed inside.
A mountain of a man in studded leather—Dexter, the town's notorious supplier—slammed a grimy cardboard box on my counter.
"Morning, Elora."
"Morning, Dexter." My gaze stayed cold. "This week's wild chamomile and alpine pine?"
"Fresh as it gets." He slapped the box. "But the price changed. Cold weather, my guys are freezing their asses off up there. Five hundred a box was the deal. Now it's a grand. Cash."
I laughed.
"Double? Dexter, you think I just opened yesterday?" I leaned on the counter, staring into his cloudy eyes. "Five hundred's top market price, and your pine needles still have stems in them. Take five hundred and walk, or take your trash and get out."
Dexter's face instantly flushed red. He took a sudden step forward, one hand reaching over the counter and grabbing my shirt collar in a tight fist.
"You filthy bitch. You really don't know when to quit, do you? You think I won't tear this dump of a shop apart and leave you out on the street tonight—"
I yanked open the drawer beneath the counter. A cold metal barrel was pressed against his chin before he even realized what had happened.
"Try it." My voice stayed flat. "Before you smash anything, this shotgun's blowing a hole through your neck. Sturgis cops won't come after me for an extortionist."
Dexter froze. The hand gripping my collar immediately loosened, and cold sweat trickled down his forehead.
"Calm down, Elora. I was just joking." He slowly raised both hands and took a step back.
"Get out."
Dexter stumbled toward the door, practically crawling as he fled like a stray dog with its tail between its legs, disappearing into the snowstorm.
I clicked the safety back on my shotgun, placed it inside the drawer, and casually straightened my wrinkled collar.
"Wow. Impressive. That's the Elora I know."
A familiar voice suddenly came from the doorway.
Maya leaned against the doorframe, wearing a stylish black leather jacket. She held a newly bought pack of cigarettes in her hand, shaking it casually as she smiled brightly.
"Maya?"
I could hardly believe my eyes. I dropped what I was holding and rushed over, wrapping my arms tightly around her.
"Oh my God! What are you doing here?"
"Missed you." Maya hugged me back just as tightly.
"Why didn't you call ahead? I would've gone to the airport to pick you up."
"Please. I drove here myself. Got a car from Suffolk County." Maya shrugged and dropped herself onto a barstool. "Where's the coffee? I'm freezing."
I immediately turned around and started making coffee for her.
The rich aroma quickly filled the shop.
Maya took the mug from me, drank a large sip, and let out a satisfied sigh.
"Elora... that scar on your lower abdomen. Does it still hurt in winter?"
"Sometimes it aches. I'm used to it."
Maya's eyes instantly turned red. She gripped the mug tightly.
"Elora, I'll never forget seeing you lying alone in that hospital bed. You had to count every penny just to afford formula for Leo."
"It's all in the past, Maya." I turned around, pushing the sugar jar toward her. "I have my shop now. I have Leo. I'm doing well."
"Doing well?" Maya's voice dropped. "Do you even know what he's doing now?"
Her expression turned cold.
"That man has gone insane. Lucien Genovese has spent the last four years like a beast that has lost every bit of reason."
A sharp ringing filled my ears.
My breath was suddenly stolen from my lungs.
"He put up a ten-million-dollar reward..."
Maya stared at me.
"Any information that matches your description, no matter where it comes from, he personally takes people there."
Listening to this storm of violence that arrived four years too late, all I felt was a fear that sank deep into my bones.
What was he looking for?
A runaway slave who had dared to challenge his authority?
Or a replacement tool meant to soothe his insomnia and his violent temper?
If he found out Leo existed...
"No..."
My teeth trembled.
My palm pressed tightly against the scar on my abdomen.
"He won't..."
"He won't find Leo."
"If he dares to come here... if he dares touch even one hair on Leo's head, I'll fight him until we both die."
Maya stayed with me until two in the afternoon.
Before leaving, she gave me an encrypted emergency contact number and hurried away.
By evening, a light freezing rain began to fall.
I pulled down the shop's metal shutter, locked it, and prepared to walk to the old pickup truck parked at the corner.
"Elora!"
A voice called out from behind me.
Hayes Miller, the town's single police chief, walked toward me with an overly friendly smile, clearly trying to get closer.
"It's freezing out here. I bought this for you."
He held out a bag.
"Elora, you've been in this town for four years. I know how hard it must be for a woman raising a child alone."
He stepped closer.
"Just say the word. From now on, I'll take care of you and that boy."
"Sheriff Miller."
A gentle voice suddenly interrupted him.
But beneath that warmth was a sharp, bone-chilling coldness.
Julian was standing beneath the streetlight.
I hadn't even noticed when he arrived.
He wore a perfectly tailored expensive coat and held a black umbrella in his hand.
He slowly walked over, stepped in front of me, and handed Hayes a business card.
"Sheriff Miller."
Julian's voice was soft, almost like he was reciting poetry.
"The fourteen thousand dollars in high-interest debt you owe from the underground casino in Sioux Falls was transferred to Moretti's name last week."
He smiled faintly.
"Unless you want to receive bankruptcy papers and an internal investigation notice tomorrow morning, I suggest you disappear right now."
Hayes looked down at the name printed on the card.
Moretti.
The color drained from his face instantly.
Cold sweat appeared on his forehead.
Without another word, he turned around, climbed into his police car, and drove away in embarrassment.
"Sorry, Elora. I came too late."
Julian turned back to me and tilted the umbrella over my head.
His eyes were full of concern.
"Did I scare you?"
"I'm fine."
I shook my head.
"How did you come back early?"
"I missed you and Leo, so I came back ahead of schedule."
Julian smiled warmly.
"Come on. I'll take you home."
Half an hour later, the pickup truck stopped in front of my little house.
The moment I opened the door, a soft little bundle of warmth shot up from the carpet and stumbled toward us like a tiny cannonball.
"Mom! Julian!"
Leo was wearing Spider-Man pajamas. He wrapped his arms around Julian's leg, his eyes shining with excitement.
"Hey, buddy!" Julian laughed loudly. "Did you miss me?"
He bent down, lifted Leo into the air, and spun him around. Leo's laughter filled the room.
Mary came out of the kitchen, greeted us with a smile, then packed up her things and left for the night.
Julian knelt on the carpet and patiently helped Leo build his Lego set. The living room was filled with laughter and warmth.
I stood quietly behind the kitchen counter, watching them.
The scene in front of me was peaceful and gentle. It was what a normal family should look like. Julian was kind, considerate, and emotionally steady. He could give me the safest, most perfect shelter in this cold world.
But every time I looked at him, my heart felt like it was soaking in warm water. There was gratitude. There was tenderness. But there was no spark.I closed my eyes bitterly and drank the warm water in my cup.
Night fell. After playing with Leo until he was exhausted and finally falling asleep, Julian said goodbye and left.
I walked alone into the backyard. Wrapped in a thick coat, I picked up the small axe used for chopping wood. A pile of pine logs sat in the yard. The cold wind carried sharp snowflakes that cut against my face like blades.
I raised the axe. And brought it down.
Wood chips scattered through the air. The impact sent a dull ache through my palm, the skin between my thumb and index finger numb from the vibration.
The pain of giving birth to Leo after fighting for my life.
The hardship of raising a child alone. The overwhelming bounty Lucien had placed on me...
Tears welled up without warning. The freezing wind immediately turned them into cold trails against my cheeks.
I let go of the axe in exhaustion. It sank into the wooden stump.
I crouched down, both hands pressing tightly against the scar on my abdomen.
And beneath the endless snowfall, I sobbed silently.
Four years.
I had traded my life for freedom—for myself and my child. But that bastard named Lucien Genovese remained like a scar that would never heal. Deep in my flesh and blood. Never fading, not even a little.