“No… no more, please… we have nothing left,” she whispered, her voice cracking, each word sounding like it cost her more than she could afford.
Rocco raised a hand, not to threaten, but to stop her from moving, his voice low and steady, “I’m not here to take anything.”
She didn’t believe him, not yet, because people like him never came without a reason, and reasons were rarely kind.
Emma looked between them, confused, but she trusted Rocco in a way only children could, built on instinct rather than logic.
“He bought my bicycle,” Emma said softly, as if that explained everything, as if kindness could be that simple.
Rocco crouched down slightly, bringing himself closer to their level, his eyes scanning the room again, noticing the emptiness more clearly now.
No table, no chairs, no signs of a normal life, just survival, reduced to its most basic and painful form.
