Picking up the shoes, Mrs. Hayman advanced in the direction they led. She walked briskly until she reached a dead end. There was no way Jessica would have crossed that road; her daughter was terrified of passing cars and speeding buses. Mrs. Hayman had noticed this behavior ever since she started taking Jessica to the mall and on grocery runs. The fear had originated from a movie Jessica had seen where a man was hit by a car. Mrs. Hayman now felt guilty for the childlike mind she had cultivated in her 24-year-old daughter.
"Where could you be?" she muttered again, her eyes scanning her surroundings. She observed couples walking hand in hand, a group of teenagers chatting on the street corner, and a drunk man leaning against a streetlight. Putting herself in Jessica's shoes, Mrs. Hayman realized her daughter would never have willingly entered such a scene. She must have crossed the road.
Without wasting time, Mrs. Hayman waited for an opportune moment and crossed the busy street. On the other side, she was bewildered by the number of roads leading in different directions. As she looked around, she noticed another road on the opposite side. "A tunnel," Mrs. Hayman said to herself, realization dawning. She remembered Jessica's fascination with her nails and her obsession with seeing a train.
Immediately, Mrs. Hayman crossed back to the other side and made her way towards the underground tunnel. It took her a few minutes to reach the stairs leading downward.
"Jessica," she called out, taking slow, steady steps into the dark alley. The ringing of her phone startled her. Sighing, she reached into her pocket and pulled out her device.
"Mr. Gonzalez, I—" She didn't finish her sentence before Mr. Gonzalez's next words caused her to immediately turn around and start heading back to the hotel.
"I think we found her. You're going to need to see this."
...............
"She was placed in the east wing as you requested. We haven't fed her, and no one has gone to see her yet. The men are all waiting for your orders," Stefan answered.
"Run her face through all our systems. We need to figure out who she is before we eliminate an important part of the mafia society," Enzo commanded.
"Do you really think she could be part of royalty?" Stefan asked curiously.
"She could be anything. I'm not taking chances. That girl acted with such confidence and without a care in the world. She literally walked towards my gun without hesitation or doubt. I didn't smell fear on her. She wasn't afraid of death and acted as if the weapon in my hand didn't threaten her. She has to be highly trained. We must be missing something. We need to figure out who that girl is."
"I really don't think that girl was dangerous. She walked with innocence, as though she understood nothing about what was happening," Stefan said. He shifted forward, rummaging through the pile of papers in his hand, ensuring all the shipment details were in order. His brother, the Mafia King in charge of New York City and its environs, had ordered him to double-check all transactions in case someone had tampered with their products.
"Are you going soft? Are you suggesting we let her go based on a hunch? She can never be innocent, not when she walked in front of a gun like that." To Enzo, the only reason he was keeping the girl alive was that he saw her as a potential asset. He wanted to try and win her to his side. Ever since his head bodyguard, Isabella, died, Enzo had clung to the hope of finding another woman with such fighting spirit and independence. He believed women should only be respected if they stood on the front lines of battle or showed their skills in combat. This was how he had been raised; Enzo was taught by his father to respect and value those who brought profit and benefit to him, those who pledged loyalty and protected him with their lives.