The brass bell above the door chimed, breaking the quiet.

I braced myself, expecting a threat.

Instead, Dominic stepped inside.

He wore a long black wool coat, his shoulders damp from the morning mist.

He stopped just past the threshold, looking around the small, cramped space.

“Elena,” he said.

His voice was softer than I had ever heard it.

“You shouldn’t be here, Dominic,” I said, keeping my hand on the edge of the counter.

“I had to see her,” he replied, his eyes moving past me toward the back of the shop.

Lucia had stopped coloring.

She watched him with wide, curious eyes, her crayon poised over the paper.

“She doesn’t know who you are,” I whispered, my heart aching. “Don’t scare her.”

“I won’t,” he promised.

He walked slowly toward the children’s section, his heavy boots making no sound on the worn rug.

He knelt down beside her small wooden chair, bringing himself to her eye level.

“Hello,” he said.

Lucia blinked, looking from him to me, then back to him.

“Hello,” she said in her small, clear voice.