"Goodnight, Lupo."
"Goodnight, Isabella."
I pick up the tea and walk past her, careful not to brush against her in the narrow space. Out the door, across the dark yard, back to the barn alone where a man like me belongs.
But I can still smell the lavender sprigs from her kitchen. Can still feel the weight of her gaze on my scars.
And I know, with absolute certainty, that I'm in big fucking trouble.
Not because of whoever's looking for me. Not because of whatever violent past I'm running from.
But because when my memory returns, it's going to ruin everything.
Chapter 10: Isabella
We need food.
I've been putting off this trip to the market for three days, rationing what we have, making do. But the flour is gone, the rice is down to the bottom of the bag, and Elena asked for an apple this morning and I had to tell her we don't have any left.
So, I'm going. Even though leaving the farm makes my skin crawl, even though every trip to the village feels like I'm exposing myself, leaving a trail that leads straight back to Elena.
"Come on, baby," I tell her as I gather my shopping bags. "We're going to the market."
"Can Lupo come?"
"No. He has work to do here."
"But I want to show him the market!"
"Another time. Maybe." Probably not, I think to myself. It would be dangerous to us both.
I find him working on the porch railing, replacing a rotted section. He looks up when he hears us, and something in his expression softens when he sees Elena.
"We're going to the village," I tell him. "I'll be back in a couple hours."
He stands, wiping sawdust from his hands. "Do you need help? I could—"
"No." The word comes out too sharp. "You should stay here. Out of sight."
He nods, understanding. He's been careful about that, staying close to the barn and the house, never venturing near the road, like he instinctively knows he needs to stay hidden.
Like he's done it before.
"Be careful," he says.
I nod and load Elena into the truck, my father's old pickup that barely runs but gets us where we need to go. She chatters the whole drive, pointing out cows and trees and clouds, her world still small and safe.
I wish I could keep it that way forever.
The village is small, barely more than a main street with a few shops and a church. The market is held twice a week in the square, local farmers selling produce, a few vendors with cheese and meat, the basics.
I park and take Elena's hand firmly. "Stay close to me. Don't wander."
"I know, Mama."
We make our way through the stalls. I buy what I can afford, a small bag of flour, some rice, potatoes, onions. The vendor I usually buy from, Signora Russo, gives me a sympathetic smile as she weighs out the potatoes.
"How are you managing, dear?" she asks quietly. "Since your father..."
