Fear flashed across her face and she ran toward the house.
“No,” Rocco said firmly, stepping from his car. “Emma, it’s all right. He’s here to give back what he stole.”
Emma stopped but remained close to the door as the men unloaded furniture.
Her couch.
Her mother’s dresser.
Her small bed with pink butterfly sheets.
Sarah appeared in the doorway looking stronger than the night before thanks to the food and medical care Rocco had arranged.
When she saw Vincent, anger replaced fear.
“You,” she said.
“You took my daughter’s crib while she was crying. You looked at a 7-year-old child and decided her tears didn’t matter.”
Vincent couldn’t meet her eyes.
“Ma’am, I’m here to return everything and pay for what I did.”
“Pay?” Sarah stepped closer. “You think money fixes what you did to my daughter?”
Emma crept closer, encouraged by the fear she now saw in Vincent’s eyes.
“You hurt my arm,” she said quietly. “When I tried to keep my
