"Same time. Same rate." He pauses. "You really lose your papers? Or you running from something?"
"Does it matter?"
He shrugs. "Not to me. Just don't bring trouble to my site."
"I won't."
I pocket the money and start the long walk back. My legs are heavy, and every step feels like it takes all my energy. But I don't care.
I have fifty euros. Enough to help Isabella. Enough to buy food, pay a bill, give her some breathing room.
The sun is setting by the time I see the farm in the distance. The house looks golden in the fading light, smoke rising from the chimney. Isabella must be making dinner.
Home.
That's what it looks like. What it feels like.
But the word Naples keeps echoing.
What if that's my home? What if I have a life there, responsibilities, people depending on me?
What if Isabella and Elena are just a beautiful detour from whoever I really am?
I'm almost to the barn when I see her. She's standing in the yard, watching the road, her arms wrapped around herself. When she sees me, relief floods her face and she starts running.
"Lupo!" She reaches me, and her hands are on my face, checking for injuries. "Are you okay? You've been gone all day. I was so worried."
"I'm fine." I catch her hands, holding them. "I got work. A construction site. They need me back tomorrow."
"Did anyone recognize you?"
"No one. No one asked questions." I pull out the fifty euros and press them into her hand. "It's not much, but, it’s a start."
She stares at the money like I've handed her gold. "Lupo, this is," Her voice breaks. "This is so much."
"It's one day's work. I'll bring more tomorrow. And the day after. As much as they'll let me work. I’m a hard worker."
She throws her arms around me, and I hold her tight despite my exhausted, aching body. She smells like cooking and home.
"Thank you," she whispers against my chest. "Thank you."
"You don't have to thank me."
"Yes, I do." She pulls back, looking up at me. "You didn't have to do this."
I touch her face. "You and Elena, you're everything. I'll do whatever it takes."
She kisses me then, and it's different from the other times. Less desperate, less questioning. This feels like a promise. Like a choice we're both making with clear eyes.
When she pulls away, there are tears on her cheeks.
"Come inside," she says. "I made dinner. You must be starving."
I am. But more than food, I want this, her hand in mine, walking toward that warm house, Elena's excited voice when she sees me, the simple domesticity of sitting at their table.
This is what I want.
Not Naples. Not whatever life I had before. Not power or territory or violence.
