Chapter 3 - The Price of Survival
The rain was still hammering against the wind-shield of the Fresh Harvest Organics van as Anna pulled up to the curb of the St. Jude Community Center. It was 6:15 p.m. The parking lot was empty except for the old sedan belonging to Sister Beatrice, the director of the after-school program.
Anna threw the door open, sprinting through the puddles into the warm, yellow-lit basement of the church.
Sitting at a small plastic table in the corner, coloring a picture of a solar system with a green crayon, was Lily. She was seven years old, with her mother’s thick blonde curls and a bright, resilient smile that could clear away the darkest of Anna's days.
"Mommy!" Lily shouted, dropping her crayon and throwing herself into Anna's arms. "You’re late! Sister Bea let me have an extra juice box, though."
"I know, baby, I’m so sorry," Anna whispered, burying her face in her daughter’s sweet, vanilla-scented hair, her hands shaking slightly as she held her. "The van had a little trouble in the rain."
Sister Beatrice walked over from her desk, her kind, wrinkled face lined with a gentle concern. "Everything alright, Anna? You look like you've seen a ghost. Or been chased by one."
"Just a long route, Sister," Anna lied smoothly, forcing a bright smile onto her face. "Thank you for staying with her."
"Always, dear. But try to get some rest. You're working yourself into the ground."
An hour later, Anna was in the tiny, cramped kitchen of her fourth-floor walk-up apartment in East Boston. The radiator clanked and groaned against the autumn chill, and the window overlooked a brick alleyway filled with clotheslines and rain gutters. She was stirring a pot of simple penny-pasta with tomato sauce when a sudden, heavy knock echoed off the front door.
Anna froze.
The neighborhood wasn't safe, but this knock didn't sound like the erratic thumping of the local teenagers or the landlord collecting late rent. It was three slow, deliberate, and extraordinarily powerful strikes that rattled the old wooden frame.
"Lily, go to your room and lock the door," Anna whispered, her voice dropping into a tense, maternal hiss.
"But Mommy—"
"Now, Lily."
Once her daughter’s door clicked shut, Anna reached for the heavy cast-iron skillet on the stove, holding it tightly against her thigh as she approached the door. She looked through the rusted peep-hole.
Standing in the dim, flickering light of the hallway corridor was a tall, impeccably dressed man in a charcoal overcoat. Behind him stood two massive individuals with shaved heads and tailored suits.
It was Dante Russo’s lead enforcer. The man who had held the door open at the estate.
Anna unlocked the chain, pulling the door open just a few inches, keeping the iron skillet hidden behind the wood. "What do you want? I told you everything your son needs. The poison is gone."
The man in the charcoal coat didn't try to force his way in. He slowly took off his leather gloves, bowing his head with an immense, old-world respect. "Dr. Carter—"
"I’m not a doctor," Anna interrupted sharply.
"The Boss calls you Doctor," the man said smoothly. "My name is Silas. Mr. Russo has requested your presence at the waterfront office. Tonight."
"I can't leave my daughter," Anna said, her grip tightening on the skillet. "And I don't work for your boss. I deliver vegetables."
Silas reached into his coat pocket, and for a second, Anna prepared to swing the iron pan. But he didn't pull out a gun. He pulled out a thick, heavy cream-colored envelope and handed it through the gap in the door.
"Mr. Russo anticipated your refusal," Silas said. "Inside you will find the deed to this apartment building. As of five minutes ago, you no longer have a landlord, Miss Carter. The building belongs to you. And there is a certified check for fifty thousand dollars to cover your daughter's tuition at the private academy on the hill."
Anna stared at the envelope, her breath catching in her throat. Fifty thousand dollars. The deed to the building. It was more money than she would see in ten years of back-breaking labor. It was security. It was a life where Lily didn't have to wear second-hand shoes or eat pasta five nights a week.
May you like
"What does he want from me?" Anna whispered, her voice trembling.
"He wants to know who poisoned his son," Silas said, his eyes turning as cold as the Atlantic in winter. "And he believes you are the only person in this city who can read the soil well enough to find them."
