Chapter 30 Isabella
Two days.
It's been two days since Lupo left, and I haven't heard a single word.
I tell myself it makes sense. He's busy. He's dealing with dangerous people, dangerous situations. He's trying to keep us safe.
But a small, bitter part of me whispers that maybe he's just forgotten.
Maybe he walked back into his old life—the power, the money, the respect—and realized he doesn't need a struggling mom and her daughter.
Maybe the simple life he thought he wanted doesn't look so appealing now that he remembers what he had.
Maybe we were just a phase. A temporary escape from his real world.
I push the thoughts away and focus on Elena.
She's been asking for him constantly. Every morning when she wakes up: "Is Daddy home yet?" Every meal: "When is Daddy coming back?" Every night before bed: "Can we call Daddy?"
And I have to smile and stay cheerful and tell her soon, baby, soon, even though I have no idea if that's true.
Even though I'm starting to wonder if he's coming back at all.
Today she's playing in the yard with her rabbit, making up a story about a princess whose knight had to go fight a dragon. The knight keeps promising to come back. The princess keeps waiting.
I watch her from the kitchen window while I count the money in the ceramic jar on the shelf. The one where we keep our emergency fund.
Thirty-eight euros.
That's all we have left. Thirty-eight euros to buy food, to pay for anything Elena needs, to survive until—
Until what? Until Lupo comes back? Until I find work? Until I figure out how to support us on my own again?
For weeks, I got used to having his help. The fifty euros a day he brought home from construction work. It wasn't much, but it was enough. Enough to buy meat sometimes. Enough to fix things when they broke. Enough to stop worrying quite so much about every single coin.
Now it's gone. He's gone.
And I'm back to where I started. Alone. Struggling. Counting euros and wondering how long we can stretch them.
I should have known better. Should have protected myself. Should have remembered that men like him don't stay.
They always leave.
I'm putting the money back in the jar when I hear the sound of a truck coming up the drive. My body tenses automatically—Draco's people? Someone looking for Lupo?
But when I look out the window, I see an older pickup truck, dusty and worn, the kind every farmer around here drives. A man gets out, wearing work clothes and a cap pulled low.
It takes me a moment to recognize him.
Ciro.
My heart jumps. If Ciro is here, that means—
I'm out the door before I can finish the thought, leaving Elena playing in the yard.
Ciro sees me and nods once, his expression carefully neutral. He doesn't look threatening in his farm clothes. Just looks like any laborer who might be looking for work or making a delivery.
"Isabella," he says quietly as I approach. "Is there somewhere we can talk? Somewhere the child can't hear?"
"The barn," I say, my voice tight. "Is he—is Lupo—"
"He's fine. We'll talk inside."
I lead him to the barn, my heart pounding. Elena is still absorbed in her game, not paying attention. Inside the barn, Ciro closes the door behind us and pulls off his cap. He looks tired, older than he did two days ago.
"He's really okay?" I ask immediately. "Lupo?"
"Yes. He's safe. He's at his home in Naples, working on the situation." Ciro reaches into his pocket. "He sent me to bring these to you."
He pulls out a cheap mobile phone—the kind you can buy at any corner store—and a thick envelope.
"The phone is for emergencies only," he says, handing it to me.
"It's not traceable, but you still need to be careful.
Don't use it unless you absolutely have to.
Don't call him just to talk. Only if there's a real emergency—if someone comes here, if you're in danger, if something happens to the child.
A phone call, even from a burner phone, might be traced. "
I take the phone, turning it over in my hands. It feels like a lifeline and a prison at the same time.
"He can't call me? Even once?"
"It's too dangerous. For you and for him." Ciro's voice is gentle but firm. "His enemies don't know about you yet. But if they find out—if they trace calls, if they follow him here—you and Elena become targets. The less contact there is, the safer you are."
I know he's right. But it still hurts.
"How long?" I ask. "How long until he comes back?"
"Hopefully not longer than a month. He's moving fast, trying to handle the Florence situation quickly so he can return."
A month? It feels like forever.
"And after that? After he deals with them?"
"Then you should be safer, but not completely safe here on the farm.
He has enemies and if they find out someone he cares about is unprotected, it will put you at risk.
" Ciro pauses. "He's doing this for you. You understand that, right? He left everything he built here to go back to something he doesn’t remember.
Because it's the only way to protect you and the child. "
"I know." My throat is tight. "I wish there was another way."
"There isn't." He hands me the envelope. "This is for you. Money. Enough to cover expenses while he's gone. He can send as much as you need, but you can’t draw attention to yourself right now."
I open the envelope and my breath catches. There are stacks of euros inside. Hundreds of them.
"I can't—this is too much—"
"It's not too much. It's what you need." Ciro's voice becomes stern.
"But you have to be smart about it. Don't suddenly start buying expensive things.
Don't change your routine at the market.
Buy the same food you always buy, just maybe a bit more of it.
Pay your bills. Fix things that need fixing. But don't draw attention."
"People will notice if I suddenly have money."
"So be subtle. Space out your spending. Act like you got a small inheritance from a distant relative, or like you sold something valuable. Make it believable." He meets my eyes. "The boss was very clear about this. You need to be taken care of while he's gone. But you also need to stay safe."
I nod, still staring at the money. It's more than I've seen in years. More than enough to feed Elena, to buy her new clothes when she grows out of her old ones, to fix the roof before winter, to stop worrying about every single expense.
More than enough to survive until he comes back.
If he comes back.
"He will," Ciro says, like he's reading my mind. "Come back. I know it doesn't feel like it right now. I know the silence is hard. But he's doing everything he can to make this fast. To get back to you."
"Does he—" I stop, not sure I want to know the answer. "Does he talk about us? About Elena and me?"
Ciro's expression softens. "Yes. Constantly.
It's all he talks about, actually. Making sure you're safe, making sure you have what you need, getting back here as fast as possible.
" He pauses. "In all the years I've known him, I've never seen him like this.
He was always focused on the organization, on power, on control.
But now? Now all he cares about is two people in a farmhouse. You changed him."
"Or maybe the head injury changed him."
"Maybe. Or maybe you just showed him what matters." Ciro puts his cap back on. "I should go. I can't stay long without someone potentially noticing."
"Will you come back? To check on us?"
"Only if necessary. But it's safer if I don't. Less contact means less risk." He moves toward the door, then stops. "He wanted me to tell you something. He made me memorize it because he couldn't write it down."
"What?"
Ciro looks uncomfortable, like he's not used to delivering personal messages.
"Tell her I think about them every morning when I wake up and every night before I sleep.
Tell her Elena's laugh is the only thing keeping me sane.
Tell her—'" He pauses, struggling with the words.
"Tell her I'm coming back. No matter what it takes. "
My eyes burn with tears. "That's it?"
"Yes." Ciro opens the door, checking to make sure Elena is still playing and not paying attention.
"Remember—phone is for emergencies only.
Money needs to last. Keep your routine the same.
And if anything feels wrong—if anyone comes asking questions, if you see anything suspicious—you call immediately. "
"I will."
He nods once, then walks out to his truck. I watch from the barn doorway as he drives away, the old pickup kicking up dust.
When he's gone, I look down at the phone in one hand and the envelope in the other. I hide the money in the barn, wrapped in old cloth and tucked behind the same tools where Lupo hid the gun. I tuck the phone in my pocket, feeling its weight.
Emergency use only.
I understand the logic. Understand that contact is dangerous, that every call is a risk, that the silence is what keeps us safe. But understanding doesn't make it easier.
I walk back out to the yard where Elena is still playing. She looks up when she sees me, her face brightening.
"Mama! Was that man looking for work?"
"Yes, baby. But we don't have any work for him right now."
"Oh." She goes back to her game, moving her rabbit through an imaginary forest. "When Daddy comes home, maybe he can hire him. Daddy's good at fixing things."
"Maybe, sweetheart."
"Mama?" She looks up at me, her expression suddenly serious. "Daddy is coming home, right? He promised."
"Yes, baby. He promised."
"When?"
"Soon."
"But how soon? Like tomorrow soon? Or next week soon?"
"A few weeks, probably."
Her face falls. "That's so long."
"I know. But it'll go fast. You'll see. We have lots of things to do around here before he comes back."
She nods, but she doesn't look convinced. "I miss him."
"I miss him too."
She climbs into my lap, still clutching her rabbit, and I hold her close. My three-and-a-half-year-old daughter who's already learning about loss. About people leaving. About promises that might not be kept.
I should never have let her get attached. Should never have let her call him Daddy. Should have protected her heart better.
Should have protected my own heart better.
But I didn't. And now we're both sitting here missing a man who might not come back. A man who's in Naples right now, surrounded by violence and danger.
I feel the phone in my pocket, a small hard weight against my hip. What counts as an emergency? Elena getting sick? Someone coming to the farm asking questions? Me not being able to handle the loneliness and fear?
No. That last one doesn't count. I have to be stronger than that.
I have to survive these two weeks without falling apart. Have to keep Elena happy and fed and unaware of how terrified I am. Have to keep our routine the same, spend the money carefully, not draw attention.
Have to wait.
That's all I can do now. Wait and hope and pray that the man I—that the man we've both fallen in love with—survives long enough to come back to us.
"Mama?" Elena's voice is small. "Can you tell me a story? About Daddy and the dragon?"
"Of course, baby."
I tell her a story. About a brave knight who went to fight a dragon. About a princess and her daughter who waited in a castle for him to return. About how he promised to come back, no matter how hard the battle was.
I tell her a story with a happy ending.
And I pray with everything I have that it comes true.
That night, after Elena is asleep, I sit on the porch with the burner phone in my hands. I turn it on, just to see if there's anything—a message, a missed call, anything.
But the screen is blank. Just a cheap phone with one number programmed in. His number.
I turn it off and slip it back in my pocket.
One month.
I can survive that.
We both can.
I just hope he can too.