His voice was low, controlled, but there was no mistaking the seriousness behind it.
“Find out who’s been collecting under my name,” he said, “and bring them to me.”
There was a pause on the other end, then a quiet acknowledgment.
Rocco ended the call and stood there for a moment longer, letting the rain soak through his coat.
He could still walk away.
He could still treat this as a small mistake in a much larger system.
But when he stepped back inside and saw Emma sitting beside her mother, holding her hand, he knew he wouldn’t.
Hours passed slowly.
Food was brought in, simple but enough, and Emma watched carefully as her mother ate, like it was the most important thing in the world.
Rocco stayed.
Not because he had to.
But because leaving felt wrong.
The house felt different now, not fixed, not whole, but less empty, like something had shifted even if nothing had physically changed.
