Page 45 of Lupo

I do. That is the terrifying part. I trust this man whose name I don't know, whose past is a mystery, whose future is uncertain.

I trust him completely.

"Tomorrow," he says. "I'll go tomorrow. There's a construction site in the next town over. I saw the sign last time we drove past. They might need day laborers. No questions asked, cash under the table."

"How will you get there? Do you want me to drive you?"

"No, that’s too dangerous. I'll walk. It's not far."

"It’s ten kilometers."

"I can handle it." He smiles slightly. "I think I'm used to worse."

Probably true. Whatever life he came from, it wasn't soft.

"Be careful," I tell him.

"Always."

He kisses me respectfully at the door, and I let myself have this moment. Let myself believe that somehow, against all odds, this might work out.

When he pulls away, he touches my cheek. "Get some sleep. Tomorrow will be better."

He leaves, and I'm alone in my kitchen with twelve euros and thirty-seven cents and a heart that is too full of hope for someone in my situation.

I should be practical. Should be preparing for the worst. Should be protecting Elena from the inevitable moment when everything falls apart.

But instead, I'm believing in a man who doesn't know his own name. And maybe that makes me the biggest fool in Tuscany. Or maybe, just maybe, it makes me someone who still knows how to hope.

I check on Elena. She's fast asleep, rabbit clutched tight, completely unaware that the man in the barn is about to risk everything for us.

I go to bed but can't sleep. Instead, I lie awake and think about tomorrow. About Lupo trying to find work, risking exposure.

About the very real possibility that he will not come back.

That someone will recognize him. That his past will catch up with him. That I'll lose him before I ever really had him.

But we are out of options.

Chapter 15: Lupo

I leave before dawn.

Isabella doesn't know I'm going this early. I told her I'd leave after breakfast, but I couldn't sleep anyway. Couldn't stop thinking about the twelve euros in that jar. About Elena asking for an apple and Isabella saying they didn't have any.

About the fact that I'm the reason they're going hungry.

The walk to the next town is longer than I expected. Ten kilometers, Isabella said, but it feels like more. My ribs still ache with each step, and the gash on my temple throbs in rhythm with my heartbeat. But I push through it.

I've endured worse. I know that, even if I can't remember specifics.

The sun is just breaking over the hills when I reach the outskirts of the town. It's bigger than the village where Isabella shops, more buildings, more people, more anonymity. That's what I'm counting on.

The construction site is easy to find. A new building going up on the edge of town, scaffolding already in place, the skeleton of something that will eventually be apartments or offices. I can hear voices, the sound of tools, the beep of machinery backing up.

I stand at the edge of the site for a moment, watching. Men in hard hats and work boots moving with purpose. The smell of fresh concrete and sawdust. Something about it feels familiar. Right.

Like I've stood in places like this before.