Emma lowered her head.
“But the number kept increasing,” Clara continued in a weak voice. “It doubled every week. Then the men started coming.”
Rocco didn’t need any further explanation.
I knew exactly what kind of operation he was referring to.
Predators hiding behind important names.
Predators who pretended to belong to powerful families so that the victims would never dare to defend themselves.
“Did they hurt you?” he asked in a low voice. Clara hesitated.
Emma looked down at her hands.
“They pushed Mom when she tried to stop them from taking my brother’s crib,” the girl said softly.
Rocco clenched his jaw.
—How many men?
—Three —Clara replied.
—Did you recognize any of them?
He nodded weakly.
“One of them is called Vito,” he said. “He works at the shipyard. I’ve heard he runs errands for someone powerful.”
Rocco already knew the answer.
Vito was not part of their organization.
But he had been using the surname Moretti.
This meant that any cruelty against this family had been committed under Rocco’s influence.
And in Rocco’s world, reputation was everything.
He got up slowly and walked towards the broken window, looking at the rain.
Emma watched him closely.
“Are you crazy?” he asked.
Rocco did not respond immediately.
Because the truth was complex.
Part of him was furious.
But another part of me felt something much heavier than anger.
Responsibility.
His name had become so powerful that criminals could use it as a weapon.
And innocent people were paying the consequences.
He turned to Emma.
—Where is your brother now?
The girl’s eyes filled with tears that she tried to hold back.
“She got sick again,” he whispered.
Rocco’s chest sank.
“Where is he?” he repeated gently.
“At the hospital,” he said. “But they won’t treat him until Mom pays the bill.”
Clara closed her eyes in embarrassment.
“I told Emma not to bother anyone,” he murmured. “But she still sold everything.”
Rocco looked at the empty room again.
The missing furniture.
The cold walls.
The mattress on the floor.
A seven-year-old girl fighting to keep her family alive.
In his entire career, he had seen fewer hardened criminals cry than this little girl.
Emma looked at him suddenly.
“Did I do something wrong?” he asked.
Rocco blinked, surprised.
-What do you mean?
“I told you it was someone from your gang,” she said slowly. “Mom told me not to tell strangers that. But you asked.”
Rocco understood what she feared.
I thought that telling the truth might bring him punishment.
As the adults around him had taught him.
He crouched down in front of her.
“No,” he said firmly. “You did the right thing.”
Emma studied his face carefully, trying to decide whether to believe him.
“Sometimes the truth angers people,” he said quietly.
Rocco nodded.
—Yes —he admitted.
Are you angry?
Rocco looked at Clara, who lay weakly on the mattress.
Then he looked at the empty house.
And then he looked at Emma again.
“I’m angry with the right people,” he said.
For a moment, the room was silent, interrupted only by the rain.
