Chapter 4 – The Weight of Tomorrow

Elena woke before sunrise, her chest tight and her mind buzzing with everything that had happened last night.

The envelope was still under her pillow. She had checked twice during the night, afraid it might disappear, afraid this would all turn out to be a bad dream she couldn’t wake from.

When she finally sat up, the sky was still dark, the house quiet except for the faint hum of the fridge in the kitchen.

She got dressed slowly, pulling on her plainest clothes — dark jeans, a simple blouse — and brushed her hair back into a low ponytail. She didn’t know why she felt like she had to look neat, but something told her appearances mattered in this world she was about to step into.

Her mother was already awake, sitting at the table with a mug of tea, her eyes distant.

“You don’t have to go alone,” her mother said softly when Elena entered.

“I do,” Elena replied gently, sliding the envelope into her bag. “This is about me. About us.”

Her mother’s lips pressed into a thin line, but she didn’t argue.

“Just… be careful, mija.”

Elena nodded, kissed her mother’s forehead, and left before Marco woke up.

---

The city streets were damp from the night’s rain, and a thin mist clung to the ground as Elena walked to the bus stop.

She felt every step like a countdown.

When she got off the bus, the neighborhood was different from hers — richer, quieter, the kind of place where cars were expensive and lawns were trimmed to perfection.

The address led her to another house — larger this time, with a gated entrance. The gate was open, but two men stood nearby, watching her approach.

One of them stepped forward as she reached the gate.

“Elena?”

She nodded, her fingers clutching the strap of her bag.

He gestured for her to follow him, and she did, her heart hammering against her ribs.

The house was even more intimidating up close. Its tall windows gleamed in the morning light, and the door opened silently as they approached, as if someone had been waiting for her.

Inside, the air was cooler, scented faintly of leather and something spicy — not unpleasant, but foreign.

She was led through a hallway lined with paintings of stern-looking men and women, their dark eyes following her as she passed.

Finally, they reached a room that looked like a sitting parlor — plush chairs, a coffee table with neat stacks of books, and a large window overlooking a courtyard.

“Wait here,” the man said, and left.

Elena stood for a moment, then perched on the edge of one of the chairs, her bag still on her lap.

The house was too quiet.

Every tick of the clock on the mantelpiece seemed to echo.

Her eyes drifted to the window, where a figure moved in the courtyard outside — tall, broad-shouldered, dressed in black. She couldn’t see his face, but something about the way he carried himself made her pulse quicken.

He was speaking to someone, gesturing toward one of the cars parked near the fountain.

She didn’t know why, but she couldn’t look away.

Then he turned slightly, and though she still couldn’t see his face clearly, the sunlight caught on his hair — dark, glossy — and on the curve of his jaw.

Her breath caught.

Something about him felt… different.

Important.

But before she could study him further, the door opened, and she tore her gaze away.

The man from last night stepped in.

“Elena,” he said smoothly. “You came.”

“Yes.”

He gestured to the envelope. “May I?”

She handed it over, her fingers brushing against his for the briefest moment.

He broke the seal and read the contents, his expression unreadable.

Finally, he folded the letter and looked up.

“Good,” he said. “You followed instructions. That matters here.”

Elena blinked. “What happens now?”

He studied her for a moment, then set the letter aside.

“You wait.”

“For what?”

He smiled faintly. “For a decision.”

Her stomach knotted. “A decision about…?”

“Your debt. Your shop. Your future.”

He said it so casually, as if her whole life wasn’t hanging in the balance.

Elena gripped her bag tighter. “Who makes that decision?”

The man’s smile widened slightly, almost amused.

“You’ll find out soon enough.”

---

Minutes stretched into an hour.

No one came to speak to her, but now and then she caught glimpses of movement outside — men coming and going, a low conversation near the front door, the sound of a car engine starting somewhere in the distance.

And once, she saw him again — the man from the courtyard.

This time he walked closer to the house, speaking to someone she couldn’t see. His voice carried faintly through the open window — deep, calm, with a subtle authority that made her shiver.

She couldn’t make out the words, but the tone was enough to tell her this was not just another one of the men she’d seen last night.

Who was he?

Her curiosity gnawed at her until the door opened again.

“You can go,” the man said simply.

Elena blinked. “That’s it?”

“For today.”

She stood slowly, her knees stiff from sitting so long, and nodded.

“When will I know?” she asked quietly.

The man smiled faintly, but his eyes were unreadable.

“When he decides.”

“He?” Elena asked, her pulse quickening.

But the man only gestured toward the door. “Go home, Elena. Keep the shop open. You’ll be called when it’s time.”

---

The walk back felt longer than before.

Every sound made her flinch — the screech of brakes, a dog barking, even the wind rattling the leaves.

By the time she got home, her clothes were damp with sweat despite the cool air.

Her mother met her at the door, her face anxious.

“Well?”

“They didn’t say much,” Elena admitted, dropping her bag onto the table. “Just that they’ll decide… later.”

Her mother frowned, worry creasing her brow. “Who will decide?”

Elena thought of the man in the courtyard, the way his voice had sent shivers down her spine.

“I don’t know,” she said softly. “But I think… I saw him.”

Her mother’s head snapped up. “Him?”

“The one who decides,” Elena murmured.

Her mother’s face went pale.

“Elena,” she said carefully, “whatever you do… don’t anger him. Don’t defy him. These men—” She broke off, glancing toward Marco’s room. “They don’t forgive mistakes.”

Elena swallowed hard and nodded.

She spent the rest of the day in the shop, but her thoughts weren’t on the customers. They kept drifting back to the house, to the man she’d glimpsed, to the weight of the decision hanging over her head.

And for the first time, she wondered if this was just about money anymore — or if she was being pulled into something much bigger, something she might not be able to escape.

---

That night, as she lay in bed, Marco asleep in the next bed over, she stared at the ceiling and whispered into the dark:

“Who are you?”

And though there was no answer, she could still hear his voice in her memory, low and commanding, as if the question itself belonged to him.