The neighborhood looked as though it had been abandoned for years. Cracked sidewalks. Boarded-up windows. The kind of silence that comes from people too afraid to make a sound.
Rocco pulled up in front of a small house with peeling paint and a front door hanging crooked on its hinges. The windows were dark. There was no electricity.
Even from the car, he could smell the dampness and decay.
“He’s probably asleep,” Emma said as she got off her bike. “Now I’m going to sleep a lot because it hurts less when you’re awake.”
Those words struck Rocco harder than any blow he had ever taken.
He had built an empire on fear and respect, yet this child spoke of pain as if it were simply part of life.
They walked together to the front door. Emma took a key from beneath a loose brick and slowly unlocked it.
The door creaked open, revealing a completely empty house.
No furniture. No pictures on the walls. Just hollow rooms and the echo of footsteps on wooden floors.
—Mom—Emma called softly—. I’ve brought someone to help me.
A weak voice responded from deeper inside the house.
“Emma, darling… come here.”
Rocco followed the girl down the hallway, passing rooms that looked as though they had been torn apart. In the kitchen, cupboard doors hung open, showing nothing but dust and rat droppings.
The refrigerator was unplugged, its door propped open with a wooden spoon.
They found Emma’s mother lying on a pile of old blankets in a corner of what had once been the living room.
When she lifted her head and saw Rocco, fear filled her face.
—Please —she whispered, struggling to sit up—. Please, don’t hurt us. There’s nothing left for us to take.
Rocco slowly knelt, keeping his hands visible.
