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She stops eating and wipes her mouth with the back of her hand. “My brothers take care of me. They bring food.”
“Which they find where?” I ask gently.
“They slip into people’s houses or take vegetables from their gardens.”
My God. Those poor children. “If they’re stealing, they’ll get into trouble. It’s not right.” Reaching over the table, I cup her hand. “You do understand that, don’t you? It’s not your job to take care of yourself. It’s the job of the adults who are responsible for you.”
She pulls away. “I’m not going back to Grandpa.”
“Sweetheart, I’m only saying we have to speak to Mr. Russo and make an arrangement.”
“No,” she says, clenching her small hands on the table. “Beatrice doesn’t like that man.”
“I won’t let anything happen to you or Beatrice. But you can’t carry on living alone.”
Her voice climbs in volume. “I’m not alone. I have Beatrice. I have my brothers.”
Getting up, I come around the table and brush a hand over her stubbly hair in a soothing gesture. “Why is Beatrice so afraid of the men?” I continue in a soft tone. “Did something happen to her?” My chest constricts as I ask the question on the forefront of my mind. “Did they hurt her?”
“No.” She scowls. “She just doesn’t like them.”
I heave a sigh. “It’s getting dark now, but can you take me to your brothers tomorrow? I’d like to meet them too.”
“They’re not always at the cave. Sometimes, they leave food and come back after a few days.”
“Can you show me the cave then?”
She purses her lips.
“Sophie?”
“Beatrice is full. She doesn’t want to eat anymore. Can I brush her hair?”
“How about you?” I ask, trying hard not to show my worry. “Have you eaten enough?”
She bobs her head.
I smile. “Shall we braid Beatrice’s hair? Maybe we can find her pajamas to wear. What do you think?”
“Okay,” she says, hopping off the chair.
A car pulls up outside. It’s not Heidi’s car. I learned to distinguish between the sounds of the engines.
Sophie stills. Her eyes widen. She looks like a frightened rabbit as she grabs Beatrice to her chest. She glances at the backdoor. Even before she presses up on her toes like a sprinter about to take off for a race, I know she’s going to flee.
“No, wait.” I raise my hands and put myself in her path, cutting off her escape route. “It’s all right. It’s only my husband. He won’t hurt you.”
Angelo is many things, but he won’t lay his hands on a child. I know it with a deep-seated certainty. He tried to give the children a home. It’s the only reason this house exists. That says a lot about his intentions where the kids are concerned.
Before Sophie can act, the front door opens with a squeak and closes with a click. I turn toward the doorway, bracing myself to face my husband while Sophie all but blends into my shadow.
Steps fall on the floor, advancing to the kitchen. My husband comes into view, filling the doorframe with his tall, broad body. His dark hair falls messily around his face, making him look way too hot. For a change, he’s wearing jeans and a leather jacket over a rollneck sweater. The ensemble is casual, yet on him, it looks fancy. Expensive. The clothes mold to his strong frame. Or rather, he fills them out well. He wears them with the ease of a man who’s certain of himself and his destiny.
He pauses on the threshold, watching me with an intense but unreadable expression before entering the room.
Sophie clutches my T-shirt and peeks out from behind my back. My husband cuts his gaze in the direction of the movement, and then he freezes. His black eyes flare. His lips part, but no sound escapes. No one speaks as he stares at the child who fists her tiny hands so tightly in my T-shirt that she’s stretching it over my stomach. Beatrice’s stick arms press into my hip. It takes a long moment before Angelo finally tears his gaze away from the small person hiding behind me and lifts his eyes to mine.
His voice is gruff. “What is the kid doing here?”
