The neighborhood looked abandoned by hope years ago. Cracked sidewalks. Boarded windows. The kind of silence that only comes from people too afraid to make noise.
Rocco parked outside a small house with peeling paint and a front door that hung crooked on its hinges. The windows were dark. No electricity.
Even from the car he could smell dampness and decay.
“She’s probably sleeping,” Emma said, climbing out with her bike. “She sleeps a lot now because it hurts less when you’re not awake.”
Those words hit Rocco harder than any punch he had ever taken.
He had built an empire on fear and respect, yet this child spoke about pain as if it were a normal part of life.
They walked to the front door together. Emma pulled a key from beneath a loose brick and slowly unlocked it.
The door creaked open, revealing a house stripped bare.
No furniture. No pictures on the walls. Just empty rooms and the echo of footsteps on hardwood floors.
“Mommy,” Emma called softly. “I brought someone to help.”
A weak voice answered from somewhere deeper in the house.
“Emma, baby… come here.”