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

Vito wasn’t the problem.

Vito was a symptom.

And eliminating a symptom without addressing the system behind it would only create another version of the same situation somewhere else.

A knock at the door broke the silence.

Emma flinched slightly.

Rocco moved immediately.

“Stay here,” he said, his tone shifting again, sharper now, more controlled.

He stepped toward the door, opening it just enough to see who stood outside.

Two men waited in the hallway.

One carried a medical bag.

The other held a box of supplies.

“Boss,” one of them said quietly. “We came as fast as we could.”

Rocco stepped aside.

“Inside,” he ordered.

The doctor moved quickly to Clara’s side, kneeling down and checking her pulse, her breathing, her eyes.

Emma backed away slightly, watching closely, her hands locked together now.

“She’s dehydrated,” the doctor said after a moment. “And severely exhausted. Possibly untreated infection.”

“Can you stabilize her?” Rocco asked.

“Yes,” the doctor replied. “But she needs proper care. This isn’t something we can fix completely here.”

Rocco nodded once.

He already knew that.

“What about the boy?” he asked, glancing at Emma.

Emma looked up immediately.