I want to believe him. But I've been wrong about men before.
"Tonight," I repeat. "After Elena's asleep."
He nods and leaves, going back to his work in the yard. But I see him glance toward the road, see the way his posture has changed, more alert, more watchful.
Like he's expecting trouble.
Like he knows how to handle it when it comes.
That night, after I've put Elena to bed, after I've checked the doors twice and the windows three times, I find Lupo in thekitchen. He's made coffee; he's learned where everything is, has made himself quietly at home in small ways that should bother me but don't.
He pours me a cup without asking, and we sit across from each other at the small table.
"His name is Draco," I begin. "Draco Vitale. And he's the reason I'm here."
Then I tell him everything.
About meeting Draco when I was twenty-four. How charming he was at first. How it took me months to realize what he really was. That his "import business" was a front, that he was connected to organized crime in Rome, that the expensive gifts and nice dinners came from money made through violence.
How the charm turned to control, then to cruelty.
About getting pregnant and thinking maybe a baby would change him. How stupid I was.
About the night he broke my arm and I finally understood he was going to kill me eventually. That if I stayed, Elena would grow up watching her mother die or, worse, she'd become a tool he'd use to control me forever.
About my father coming to get me, bringing me here, helping me disappear.
About the eighteen months I've spent looking over my shoulder, waiting for Draco to find us.
"That’s why when I found you," I finish, "I couldn't call anyone. Any official record, any hospital visit, any police report, it all leads back here, to me, to Elena. And if Draco finds us..." I don't finish the sentence. I don't need to.
Lupo is quiet for a long moment. His hands curled into fists on the table.
"Does he know where you are?" he asks finally.
"I pray not. I've been careful. But those men today, they could be his people. He has resources. Connections."
"What does he look like?"
The question surprises me. "Why?"
"Because if he comes here, I want to know who I'm looking at."
The cold certainty in his voice makes me shiver. "Lupo—"
"What does he look like, Isabella?"
"Tall. Dark hair, starting to gray. Expensive suits. He's, handsome if you don't look too close. Late forties." I take a breath. "But he might not come himself. He'll send people. That's how men like him operate."
"Men like him." Lupo's expression is grim. "You mean men like me."
"I don't know what you are."
"Yes, you do." He meets my eyes. "You've known since you saw my scars. Maybe since you found me. I'm from that world. I'm connected to something like what your Draco is connected to."
"Maybe."
"There’s no maybe. It’s definitely. It’s the only explanation for the scars on my body." He stands, pacing to the window, looking out at the dark yard. "And those men today could be looking for me. Which means I've brought danger to your door."
