“Sir… sir, can you buy my bike?”
He turned. A little girl stood there holding a rusted pink bicycle, shivering under the rain. Her shoes were torn, her face pale, and her eyes looked far too tired for someone her age.
Rocco frowned.
“What are you doing out here alone?”
She pushed the bike toward him with both hands.
“Please. Mommy hasn’t eaten in days. I can’t sell the house stuff, so I’m selling my bike.”
Something twisted in Rocco’s chest. Children usually avoided him. Adults feared him. But this girl was desperate enough to approach a man like him.
“How long since she last ate?” he asked quietly.
The girl hesitated before whispering, “Since the men came.”
Rocco’s eyes narrowed.
“What men?”
She looked around nervously, making sure no one was listening.
“The ones who said mommy owed money. They took everything. Furniture, clothes. They even took my baby brother’s crib.”
Rocco’s jaw clenched. He had heard stories like this before—loan sharks, extortionists, street thugs—but when the girl lifted her sleeve and he saw the bruises on her thin arm, his blood ran cold.
“They said mommy shouldn’t tell anyone,” she added softly. “But I recognized one of them.”