I tell myself it makes sense. He's busy. He's dealing with dangerous people, dangerous situations. He's trying to keep us safe.
But a small, bitter part of me whispers that maybe he's just forgotten. Maybe he walked back into his old life—the power, the money, the respect—and realized he doesn't need a struggling mom and her daughter. Maybe the simple life he thought he wanted doesn't look so appealing now that he remembers what he had.
Maybe we were just a phase. A temporary escape from his real world.
I push the thoughts away and focus on Elena.
She's been asking for him constantly. Every morning when she wakes up: "Is Daddy home yet?" Every meal: "When is Daddy coming back?" Every night before bed: "Can we call Daddy?"
And I have to smile and stay cheerful and tell her soon, baby, soon, even though I have no idea if that's true.
Even though I'm starting to wonder if he's coming back at all.
Today she's playing in the yard with her rabbit, making up a story about a princess whose knight had to go fight a dragon. The knight keeps promising to come back. The princess keeps waiting.
I watch her from the kitchen window while I count the money in the ceramic jar on the shelf. The one where we keep our emergency fund.
Thirty-eight euros.
That's all we have left. Thirty-eight euros to buy food, to pay for anything Elena needs, to survive until—
Until what? Until Lupo comes back? Until I find work? Until I figure out how to support us on my own again?
For weeks, I got used to having his help. The fifty euros a day he brought home from construction work. It wasn't much, but it was enough. Enough to buy meat sometimes. Enough to fix things when they broke. Enough to stop worrying quite so much about every single coin.
Now it's gone. He's gone.
And I'm back to where I started. Alone. Struggling. Counting euros and wondering how long we can stretch them.
I should have known better. Should have protected myself. Should have remembered that men like him don't stay.
They always leave.
I'm putting the money back in the jar when I hear the sound of a truck coming up the drive. My body tenses automatically—Draco's people? Someone looking for Lupo?
But when I look out the window, I see an older pickup truck, dusty and worn, the kind every farmer around here drives. A man gets out, wearing work clothes and a cap pulled low.
It takes me a moment to recognize him.
Ciro.
My heart jumps. If Ciro is here, that means—
I'm out the door before I can finish the thought, leaving Elena playing in the yard.
Ciro sees me and nods once, his expression carefully neutral. He doesn't look threatening in his farm clothes. Just looks like any laborer who might be looking for work or making a delivery.
"Isabella," he says quietly as I approach. "Is there somewhere we can talk? Somewhere the child can't hear?"
"The barn," I say, my voice tight. "Is he—is Lupo—"
"He's fine. We'll talk inside."
I lead him to the barn, my heart pounding. Elena is still absorbed in her game, not paying attention. Inside the barn, Ciro closes the door behind us and pulls off his cap. He looks tired, older than he did two days ago.
"He's really okay?" I ask immediately. "Lupo?"
"Yes. He's safe. He's at his home in Naples, working on the situation." Ciro reaches into his pocket. "He sent me to bring these to you."
