A little girl sold her bicycle so her mom could eat, and then a mafia boss discovered who had stolen everything from them.

Rocco’s jaw clenched. “What men?”

Her small shoulders hunched. “The ones who said Mommy owed money. They took everything. Furniture. Clothes. Even my baby brother’s crib.”

He glanced at her thin arm, pale with bruises forming in dark purples. Someone had crossed a line—a line Rocco had never allowed to be crossed.

“They said Mommy shouldn’t tell anyone,” she added. “But I recognized one of them.”

Rocco leaned closer, voice firm. “Tell me who.”