POV Elijah
The clock on the dash read 3:47 PM. I was an two hours forty-seven minutes late.
The meeting ran long—Volkov negotiations, territory disputes, the usual symphony of threats and numbers.
By the time I stepped out, the sky was bruised purple with dusk, and my phone had three missed calls from Lia. No messages. That meant Juliet was safe, just impatient.
Lia stood at the park gate, arms crossed, not waving. Her mouth in a tight line.
Then I saw Juliet.
She wasn't on the bench. She was on the ground beside it, sitting in a pile of wood chips, methodically pulling them apart and throwing them. Not playing. Making a statement.
Her dress—the pale yellow one Maria had ironed this morning—was now a canvas of disaster. Grass stains on the knees, something sticky and purple down the front, dirt smeared across the collar like war paint. One sock was missing.
She heard the car and looked up. Her face did a thing I knew too well—it crumpled, then hardened, then crumpled again. She was fighting tears, losing, and furious about it.
"You." She said in that tiny, accusing voice that always managed to sound exactly like our mother.
"I'm here, mil sol." I got out, crouching to her level.
"You're wate." A wood chip hit my shoe.
"I know. I'm sorry."
"Lia said you would come after my nap! I napped! I napped twice!" Her voice was rising, cracking with injustice. "The sun went away! Everyone left! Even the duckies went to bed!"
I knelt. "I had to work."
"I HATE WORK!" she screamed, and it wasn't a toddler tantrum. It was a high pitched, raw thing that echoed in the empty park. "WORK TOOK YOU! IT TOOK YOU AND DIDN'T GIVE YOU BACK!"
Her small fists beat against my knees. Not hard. Just desperate.
"I'm sorry ,bunny," I said wiping away a matted curl on her forehead.
"My tummy's empty." she said , her voice thick with tears. "It's so empty, it's talking. Listen."
She grabbed my hand and pressed it to her stomach. It growled, long and loud. "See? It's angry."
"I hear it. Let's go home. Maria made—"
"I want cheese puffs."
"You had sweets all afternoon. Lia told me."
She stuck out her bottom lip. "I'm hungry! I will eat you!"
Typical Juliet.
I picked her up. She was sweaty and smelled like sunscreen and the faint, sour tang of too much sugar.
Her hair was a nest. Something crusty was stuck to her cheek. When I tried to wipe it, she jerked away.
"I do it!"
She scrubbed at her face with a grubby fist, making it worse.
The car seat was a battle. She was too big to fight, too small to win. She wanted to buckle herself.
Her fingers fumbled, slick with leftover ice pop. The buckle wouldn't click. She smacked it. Then smacked it again, her breath coming in frustrated huffs.
"Let me help."
"NO! I CAN DO IT!" Tears of sheer toddler rage welled up.
The third time the buckle slipped, she threw her head back and wailed, a raw, tired sound that had nothing to do with the seat.
It was the wail of a day that had been too long, too loud, and ended with a late pickup.
I gently took her hands, clicked the buckle, and braced for the meltdown.
It didn't come. The fight left her all at once. She slumped, thumb going to her mouth, eyes glassy with exhaustion. "I want my blanket," she whispered, a delayed, mournful thought.
"We're going home to your blanket."
The drive was quiet for three blocks. Then a small, uneasy voice from the back.
"lijah?"
"Yes, mil sol?"
"My tummy feels... wobbly."
"Too many sweets. Just breathe."
"It's not listening." Her voice climbed, tinged with panic. "It's— it's coming up!"
I was scanning for a place to pull over when the first gag came. It was a wet, terrible sound.
I swerved into a gas station parking lot, killed the engine, and was at her door in seconds. I barely got her unbuckled before the sugar volcano erupted.
It was mostly liquid—purple and orange and a strange fluorescent green. It splattered on the asphalt and my shoes.
She cried hard, more from shock and embarrassment than pain, great big heaving sobs that shook her whole tiny frame.
"I'm sorry! I'm sorry I froved up on your shoes!"
"Shhh, it's okay. The shoes needed cleaning anyway." I wiped her face with the hem of my shirt. Her skin was clammy.
The tantrum was gone, replaced by a shaky, pathetic exhaustion. She went limp in my arms, her head heavy on my shoulder.
I didn't bother with the car seat this time.
I put her in the front, her seatbelt fastened, and she immediately curled toward me, her thumb in her mouth—a habit she'd mostly given up except when she was utterly drained.
Her eyes were closed before I even put the car in drive.
That's when a woman appeared.
Not from the shadows. From the crowd.
Frayed coat, hollow eyes, trembling hands. The perfect picture of desperation.
"Please, sir... food for my babies..."
I reached for my wallet. Not out of kindness. Out of a need to remove the obstacle. To get Juliet home.
But as I extended the cash, her demeanor shifted. The tremble vanished. Her eyes sharpened.
My men moved instantly, blocking her path. But she didn't back down. She lunged — not for the money, but toward Juliet, her hand outstretched as if to grab her.
"My baby! That's my baby! You took her!"
Her scream was high, sharp, meant to carry. It startled Juliet awake.
She clawed at the air, her coat falling open to reveal clean, new jeans beneath. No holes. No stains.
Setup.
And her script was just beginning.
"Give her back! Please, she's all I have!"
My blood turned to ice. A frame.
"Get her away from me," I snarled at Viktor, shielding Juliet, who was now crying in confusion against my chest.
But it was too late. The woman was screaming, pointing, tears streaming down her face. "He stole her! Someone call the police! He has my daughter!"
A crowd began to form, phones lifted, recording. My men closed ranks, but the damage was done. The scene was set: a powerful man in a suit, a sobbing woman in rags, a child crying in his arms.
"Yo, I'm calling the cops!" someone shouted.
"I saw him grab her!"
The woman fell to her knees, wailing. "Her name is Lila! She's only three! Give her back!"
Juliet clung to me, shaking and scared. "Ijah... that lady is loud."
"I know, bunny. Look at me. Only at me."
But it was too late. Sirens cut through the dusk. Two squad cars pulled up, lights flashing.
The officers stepped out, hands on their belts, eyes on me.
The woman pointed a trembling finger, tears streaming down her face. "He has my Lila! He took her from me!"
Viktor moved to intervene, but I stopped him with a look. Any aggression now would be gasoline on the fire.
One of the officers, a young cop with a nervous grip on his gun, stepped too close. "Sir, put the child down and step away."
My men tensed. This was a trigger-pull away from a massacre.
I looked down at Juliet, her face pale, her fingers clinging to my jacket. I thought of the private arterial tunnel, empty and dark and safe. The route I used daily. The route I didn't take today.
I had broken routine.
Regret was a cold, sharp stone in my throat.
l looked directly at the officer, letting him see the calm, dead certainty in my eyes. The promise of what would happen if this went wrong.
"But before you do," I added, my gaze slicing toward the weeping woman, now being helped up by a bystander, "ask her what my sister's birthmark looks like. Ask her which hospital she was born in. Ask her what song she hums when she's sleepy."
The woman's act faltered. Her eyes went blank with panic. She hadn't been given those details.
The cops hesitated. The crowd's murmur shifted.
Seizing the fracture, I nodded to Viktor. He moved, not toward the cops, but toward the man in the cheap suit at the back. The handler.
The man tried to slip away, but Viktor's hand clamped on his shoulder like a vise.
It was enough. The scene was crumbling.
I didn't wait for apologies. I walked straight to the SUV, Juliet in my arms, my men clearing a path. The officers didn't stop us.
The woman was already being questioned, her story unraveling with every sob.
As the door closed, sealing us in silence, I heard one final shout from the sidewalk.
"This isn't over, Fernandez!"
I looked out the tinted window, meeting the eyes of the handler now in Viktor's grip.
No, I thought, the cold fury settling in my bones. It's not.
Beside me, Juliet sniffled. "Ijah? Are you in trouble?"
I wiped a smear of blue ice pop from her cheek. "No, mi sol." I started the engine, my eyes on the road ahead, the path I should have taken. "But someone else is about to be."
A beat of silence ,before :
"I am hungry!" she grumbled , another tantrum forming ,"Give me stawbewwies!"
"When we get home," l said ,utterly exhausted and drained from the day's events.
AFTERMATH ......
Getting Juliet from the car to the house was an eight-minute long operation.
"I wanna WALK!" she shrieked, going stiff as a board when I tried to carry her from the car seat.
"Your legs are asleep, Jules. I'll carry you."
"NO! MY LEGS ARE AWAKE!" She kicked, her sneaker connecting with my thigh. "Put! Me! DOWN!"
I set her on the driveway. She took two wobbly steps, then her face crumpled. She lifted her arms, tears instantly overflowing. "Carry me."
I bit back a sigh and picked her up. She laid her head on my shoulder for three seconds, then pushed back. "I want Lia."
"Lia's gone home."
"I want MARIA."
"Maria's inside."
"I want A SNACK."
"After your bath."
"I WANT IT NOOOOOOW!" The howl was deafening, fueled by sugar crash and exhaustion.
She started to sob in earnest, huge, gasping cries that shook her whole body. "You're... mean! And my tummy... hurts! And my foot... has a... a feeling!"
Riven met us at the door, shotgun gone, his expression shifting from alert to familiar resignation. "Ah. The post-park meltdown."
Juliet turned her wrath on him. "I'm NOT MELTING!" she screamed, then buried her face back in my neck, her cries muffled but intense.
I carried her upstairs, her weight shifting angrily in my arms. "I don't... LIKE... this shirt! It's SCRATCHY!"
"It's the same shirt you wore this morning."
"Well NOW it's SCRATCHY!"
In the nursery, Maria had the bath ready. The sight of the water triggered a new wave of protests.
"No BATH! I had a bath YESTERDAY!"
"You're covered in vomit, mi sol."
"I LIKE IT!"
It took negotiation, bribery, and one very desperate promise of two bedtime stories to get her into the tub. She sat in the water, scowling, arms crossed, lower lip trembling.
"You're... you're washing my hair TOO HARD."
"I'm barely touching it."
"WELL IT FEELS TOO HARD."
She cried when the shampoo got near her eyes, even though I was careful. She cried when I poured the rinse cup. She cried because the washcloth was "too bumpy."
Finally, clean and bundled in a towel, she sat on the floor, utterly spent, her energy reserves completely bankrupt. She allowed Maria to dress her in pajamas, her movements sluggish, her eyes half-closed.
I hoisted her up. She didn't fight it.
She just went still, a warm, damp weight, her head finding the hollow of my shoulder. Her thumb crept into her mouth. Her breathing began to even out.
LEO 'S ENTRANCE
Leo walked in, a faint steam rising from his black coffee. He didn't ask about Juliet. He'd already know—from the car logs, the park footage, the distant sirens Viktor was dissecting.
"The woman in the sedan," he said, his voice a low monotone of facts. "Her phone was recovered from the... debris. Prior link suggests she was a low-level staffer in the City Planning Office. Reporting structure leads... up to the Congressman's office."
Of course. It always did.
A buzz against my thigh. I pulled the phone from my pocket, not moving Juliet from where she slept against my shoulder.
Santos: Tomorrow night. Ready.
A grim, almost silent laugh caught in my chest. Ready. She thought she was stealing a diamond. She had no idea she was about to become my wrecking ball.
I looked up at Leo, who was watching me over the rim of his mug, his eyes sharp behind his glasses.
"Secure me an invite to the gala," I said, my voice barely a whisper, so as not to stir the sleeping baby in my arms.
He gave a single, slow nod. No questions. He was already turning, coffee in hand, to make it happen.
"Leo."
He paused in the doorway, the light from the hall casting his tired silhouette in sharp relief.
He had been running scans, tracing links, burying digital bodies since the moment Viktor called.
"Get some rest," I said, the order softer than I intended. "You look you haven't slept in three days,"
He looked at me for a long moment, then at the small, sleeping form curled against my chest. Something in his tense shoulders eased, just a fraction.
"Yeah," he said quietly. "You too."
Then he was gone, the door clicking shut behind him, leaving me in the dim nursery.
I leaned back in the chair, the worn wood creaking softly. The nursery was silent except for Juliet's steady breathing. Outside, my city glittered—a beautiful, poisonous web.
Time to get even, Congressman, I thought, the words cold and final in the quiet dark.