No sofa, no table, not even a lamp. Just a thin mattress on the floor and a folded blanket beside it, as if someone had tried to salvage a modicum of dignity.

Emma entered silently, careful not to make any noise, as if the house itself might collapse if she moved too quickly.crsaid

“Mom?” he called softly.

Her voice echoed in the empty room, weak and fragile. Outside, the rain beat against the cracked window like impatient fingers.

Rocco stood near the door for a moment, taking it all in.
He had seen ruined houses before, but this was different.

This was not the result of a gang war or a failed business.

This is what happened when greed infiltrated where it should never have gone.

Emma approached the mattress.

A woman lay there, barely covered by the blanket. Her skin looked pale and dry, her lips chapped, her breathing shallow, as if each breath required a great effort.

“Mom,” Emma whispered again, kneeling beside her.

The woman moved slightly, her eyelids trembling, before slowly opening them.

For a moment she seemed confused, as if she had forgotten where she was.

Then she noticed Rocco standing behind her daughter.

Fear was instantly reflected on his face.

—Emma… —his voice was hoarse, barely louder than the rain—. What is he doing here?

Emma turned around quickly.

“He bought me the bike,” she said hurriedly. “And he brought me home because you were too tired to go out.”

The woman tried to sit up, but her body wouldn’t give out. Her arms trembled before she fell back onto the mattress.

Rocco stepped forward.

“Don’t move,” he said softly. “You’ll only make it worse.”

The woman looked at him cautiously.

“You’ve already taken everything,” he whispered. “What more do you want?”

Rocco felt a tightness in his chest. “Do you think I sent them?” he asked.

She didn’t answer, but the silence was enough.

Emma looked at them both, confused.

“They said they worked for you,” the girl added quietly. “They said if Mom didn’t pay, things would get worse.”

Rocco slowly knelt beside the mattress.

“Look at me,” he said to the woman.

She did it reluctantly.

“My name carries weight in this city,” he continued calmly. “But I don’t send men to steal food from starving families.”

I hope you like it.

The woman’s eyes scrutinized his face, trying to discern whether those words were true or a threat.

“What’s your name?” he asked.

—Clara —she replied after a moment.

—How much did they tell you you owed?

Clara swallowed slowly.

—Three thousand.

Rocco frowned.

-Because?

“A medical bill,” she said. “My son was sick last winter. I borrowed money from a man on the street. He said the interest would be low.”