Chapter 10 Isabella
We need food.
I've been putting off this trip to the market for three days, rationing what we have, making do. But the flour is gone, the rice is down to the bottom of the bag, and Elena asked for an apple this morning and I had to tell her we don't have any left.
So, I'm going. Even though leaving the farm makes my skin crawl, even though every trip to the village feels like I'm exposing myself, leaving a trail that leads straight back to Elena.
"Come on, baby," I tell her as I gather my shopping bags. "We're going to the market."
"Can Lupo come?"
"No. He has work to do here."
"But I want to show him the market!"
"Another time. Maybe." Probably not, I think to myself. It would be dangerous to us both.
I find him working on the porch railing, replacing a rotted section. He looks up when he hears us, and something in his expression softens when he sees Elena.
"We're going to the village," I tell him. "I'll be back in a couple hours."
He stands, wiping sawdust from his hands. "Do you need help? I could—"
"No." The word comes out too sharp. "You should stay here. Out of sight."
He nods, understanding. He's been careful about that, staying close to the barn and the house, never venturing near the road, like he instinctively knows he needs to stay hidden.
Like he's done it before.
"Be careful," he says.
I nod and load Elena into the truck, my father's old pickup that barely runs but gets us where we need to go. She chatters the whole drive, pointing out cows and trees and clouds, her world still small and safe.
I wish I could keep it that way forever.
The village is small, barely more than a main street with a few shops and a church. The market is held twice a week in the square, local farmers selling produce, a few vendors with cheese and meat, the basics.
I park and take Elena's hand firmly. "Stay close to me. Don't wander."
"I know, Mama."
We make our way through the stalls. I buy what I can afford, a small bag of flour, some rice, potatoes, onions. The vendor I usually buy from, Signora Russo, gives me a sympathetic smile as she weighs out the potatoes.
"How are you managing, dear?" she asks quietly. "Since your father..."
"We're fine. Thank you."
She adds an extra potato to the bag, waving off my protest. "For the little one."
I'm reaching for my wallet when I see them.
Two men. Standing near the cheese vendor's stall, but not buying anything. Just watching. Asking questions.
They're wrong. Everything about them is wrong. Their clothes are too expensive, too clean. City clothes. Their shoes aren't meant for dirt roads and farm work. And the way they stand, alert, scanning.
My heart starts pounding.
One of them is talking to the cheese vendor, gesturing. I can't hear what he's saying, but I see the vendor shake his head. The man pulls something from his pocket, a photograph maybe, and shows it to him.
The vendor looks at it and shakes his head again.
Who are they looking for?
Draco. It has to be Draco's people. He's found me. After eighteen months, he's finally tracked me down.
Or—
They could be looking for Lupo.
I don't know which possibility terrifies me more.
"Mama, I want to see the baby chickens," Elena says, tugging on my hand. She's pointing to a stall across the square where a farmer is selling baby chicks.
"Not today, baby."
"But Mama—"
"Elena, no." I'm trying to keep my voice calm, but I can feel panic rising in my chest. The men are moving to the next vendor, getting closer.
We need to leave. Now.
"But I want to see them!" Elena's voice rises, that stubborn tone that means she's about to throw a tantrum.
"Elena, we're leaving." I grab her hand tighter and start pulling her toward the truck.
"No! I want to stay!" She plants her feet, and God help me, she's strong for a three-year-old.
"Elena, we are leaving right now." I scoop her up, and she immediately starts crying, loud and dramatic.
Every head in the market turns to look at us.
Including the two men.
Our eyes meet for just a second, me and the taller one, and I see him take a step toward us.
I run.
Not literally running, that would draw more attention. But I'm walking as fast as I can with a screaming toddler in my arms, heading straight for the truck. My heart is hammering so hard I can barely breathe.
"Mama, you're hurting me!"
"I'm sorry, baby. I'm sorry." I fumble with the truck door, nearly drop her getting her into the seat, my hands shaking so badly I can barely buckle her in.
I risk a glance back at the market. The men are still there, but they're not following. Just watching.
Or maybe I imagined it. Maybe they weren't looking at me at all.
But I can't take that chance.
I start the truck. It coughs twice before catching, and I pull out of the parking area too fast, kicking up dust. Elena is still crying in the passenger seat, confused and scared by my panic.
"It's okay, sweetheart. It's okay. Mama just needs to get home."
"Why did we leave? I wanted to see the chickens!"
"I'm sorry. We'll come back another time." A lie. I'm never going back there. Of course, we’ll starve if I don’t.
The drive home feels endless. Every car I see in my rearview mirror might be them. Every turn in the road might reveal them waiting.
But we make it. The farm appears, dusty and isolated and safe. I've never been so grateful to see it.
Lupo is in the yard when we pull up. He takes one look at my face and sets down his tools.
"What happened?"
"Not now." I unbuckle Elena, who's finally stopped crying but is still sniffling. "Come on, baby. Let's get you inside."
I get Elena settled with her blocks and a cup of juice, then I stand at the kitchen sink and try to stop my hands from shaking.
Lupo appears in the doorway. "Isabella, what’s wrong? You’re trembling."
"I'm fine."
"You're not fine. You're terrified." He steps closer. "What happened at the market?"
I close my eyes. When I open them, he's still there, waiting. Patient.
"There were men," I say quietly. "Two of them. Asking questions. I don't know what they were asking, but they were showing a photo to the vendors. They didn't belong there."
"Did they see you?"
"I think so."
He's very still. "Did they follow you?"
"No." I turn to face him. "But I don't know who they were looking for."
Understanding dawns in his eyes. "You think they might be looking for me."
"Maybe. Or they could be looking for me. For Elena." I take a breath. "I haven't been completely honest with you."
"Neither have I."
"I know. But I—" I stop, trying to find the words. "I need to tell you why I couldn't take you to a hospital. Why I can't call the police. Why I'm here at this farm in the middle of Tuscany."
He nods once. "Okay."
"Not now. Tonight. After Elena's asleep." I look at him, this man whose name I don't even know is real, who's been living in my barn and fixing my fence and who I'm starting to trust more than I should. "I need to tell you everything. And then you can decide if you want to stay or go."
"I'm not going anywhere," he says quietly.
"You might change your mind after you hear what I have to say."
"I won't."
I want to believe him. But I've been wrong about men before.
"Tonight," I repeat. "After Elena's asleep."
He nods and leaves, going back to his work in the yard. But I see him glance toward the road, see the way his posture has changed, more alert, more watchful.
Like he's expecting trouble.
Like he knows how to handle it when it comes.
That night, after I've put Elena to bed, after I've checked the doors twice and the windows three times, I find Lupo in the kitchen. He's made coffee; he's learned where everything is, has made himself quietly at home in small ways that should bother me but don't.
He pours me a cup without asking, and we sit across from each other at the small table.
"His name is Draco," I begin. "Draco Vitale. And he's the reason I'm here."
Then I tell him everything.
About meeting Draco when I was twenty-four. How charming he was at first. How it took me months to realize what he really was. That his "import business" was a front, that he was connected to organized crime in Rome, that the expensive gifts and nice dinners came from money made through violence.
How the charm turned to control, then to cruelty.
About getting pregnant and thinking maybe a baby would change him. How stupid I was.
About the night he broke my arm and I finally understood he was going to kill me eventually. That if I stayed, Elena would grow up watching her mother die or, worse, she'd become a tool he'd use to control me forever.
About my father coming to get me, bringing me here, helping me disappear.
About the eighteen months I've spent looking over my shoulder, waiting for Draco to find us.
"That’s why when I found you," I finish, "I couldn't call anyone. Any official record, any hospital visit, any police report, it all leads back here, to me, to Elena. And if Draco finds us..." I don't finish the sentence. I don't need to.
Lupo is quiet for a long moment. His hands curled into fists on the table.
"Does he know where you are?" he asks finally.
"I pray not. I've been careful. But those men today, they could be his people. He has resources. Connections."
"What does he look like?"
The question surprises me. "Why?"
"Because if he comes here, I want to know who I'm looking at."
The cold certainty in his voice makes me shiver. "Lupo—"
"What does he look like, Isabella?"
"Tall. Dark hair, starting to gray. Expensive suits. He's, handsome if you don't look too close. Late forties." I take a breath. "But he might not come himself. He'll send people. That's how men like him operate."
"Men like him." Lupo's expression is grim. "You mean men like me."
"I don't know what you are."
"Yes, you do." He meets my eyes. "You've known since you saw my scars. Maybe since you found me. I'm from that world. I'm connected to something like what your Draco is connected to."
"Maybe."
"There’s no maybe. It’s definitely. It’s the only explanation for the scars on my body." He stands, pacing to the window, looking out at the dark yard. "And those men today could be looking for me. Which means I've brought danger to your door."
"You didn't bring it. I let it in."
He turns back to me. "Why did you do it?"
"What?"
"Why did you help me? You knew what I probably was. You knew the risk. Why didn't you just leave me in the olive grove?"
I think about that morning. About finding him broken and bleeding. About making the choice that's led to this moment.
"Because I know what it's like to need help and have nowhere to go," I say quietly.
"And because..." I stop, not sure I want to say the rest. "Because when I look at you, I don't see someone who deserves to die alone in a field.
" I meet his eyes. "Whatever you were, whatever you did, I think you deserve a chance to be something different. "
The silence stretches between us, heavy with everything we're not saying.
"I'm going to keep you safe," he says finally. "You and Elena. Whatever comes, whether it's looking for you or for me, I'm going to keep you safe."
"You don't owe me that."
"Yes, I do." He comes back to the table, and the intensity in his gaze makes my breath catch.
"You saved my life, Isabella. You gave me shelter when you had every reason to turn me away.
You're feeding me when you barely have enough for yourself.
You trusted me with your daughter, with your secrets, with everything.
" He pauses. "I'm going to protect you. It's the only thing I'm certain I know how to do. I will do this."
And looking at him, at the hard set of his jaw, the dangerous promise in his eyes, I believe him.
I also understand, for the first time, exactly how dangerous he really is.
And God help me, right now, that doesn't scare me.
It makes me feel safe.