Rain had just begun to fall when the dark SUV rolled to a stop outside a worn-down corner market.
Viktor Romano stepped out, planning to make a quick phone call before heading back to his office. The street was quiet except for the soft patter of rain hitting the pavement.
He had barely taken out his phone when a small voice called behind him.
“Sir… excuse me… would you buy my bike?”
Viktor turned.
Standing a few feet away was a little girl clutching a faded pink bicycle. The chain was rusty and one of the handles was wrapped with tape. Her clothes were thin, her shoes worn through at the soles, and raindrops clung to her dark hair.
She looked no older than seven.
Viktor frowned slightly.
“What are you doing out here alone?” he asked.
The girl pushed the bicycle toward him with both hands.
“Please,” she said quietly. “My mom hasn’t eaten in days. I can’t sell anything from the house, so I’m selling my bike.”
The words landed heavily.
People usually crossed the street to avoid Viktor Romano. His reputation traveled faster than he did.
But this girl clearly had no idea who he was—or she was simply too desperate to care.
“How long since your mother last ate?” Viktor asked.
The girl looked down at the pavement.
“A few days… I think,” she whispered. “Ever since the men came.”
Viktor’s eyes narrowed.
“What men?”
She glanced around nervously as if someone might be listening.
“The ones who said Mommy owed money. They took everything. Our couch, the TV, all our clothes… they even took my baby brother’s crib.”
Viktor felt his jaw tighten.
He had heard stories about crooked loan sharks and street collectors before.
But when the girl lifted her sleeve and he noticed faint bruises on her arm, something colder settled in his chest.
“They said Mommy shouldn’t tell anyone,” she added softly. “But I recognized one of them.”
Viktor crouched down so he was eye-level with her.
“Tell me who it was.”
The girl hesitated before speaking.
“It was a man from your group,” she said quietly. “Mommy said the mafia took everything from us.”
For a moment Viktor didn’t move.
Not out of guilt—but because someone had dared to use his name while hurting a starving family.
He stood slowly as rain soaked into his coat.
“Where is your mother right now?”
“At home,” the girl replied. “She’s too weak to get up.”
Viktor opened the SUV door.
“Get in,” he said.
Because whoever had done this—whoever had hidden behind his reputation to rob a mother and her children—was about to learn exactly why Viktor Romano’s name terrified the city.
The House
The drive through the rain was quiet.
The girl’s name was Lily Harper. She was seven years old and had been trying to sell anything she could find for the past week just to buy bread.
“Turn here,” Lily said softly, pointing toward a narrow street where several streetlights were broken.
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