Lucia was still clinging to my neck, her breathing shallow and fast.

“Elena,” Dominic said, his voice softer now.

I looked up at him.

He looked older than he had five years ago.

There were deep lines around his eyes, and his jaw was set so tight I could see the muscle twitching under his skin.

“They’re gone,” he said, stepping closer. “They can’t touch her.”

I pulled back slightly to look at Lucia’s face.

Her cheeks were flushed, and her blue eyes were wide, staring at Dominic with a mixture of curiosity and fear.

“Is he the man from the picture?” Lucia whispered to me.

My throat felt dry, like sand.

“Yes, baby,” I said, my voice cracking. “That’s Dominic.”

Dominic flinched at the sound of his own name.

He knelt down beside us, his expensive grey trousers soaking up the dirty water near the door.

He did not try to touch her.

He just kept his hands open on his knees, his palms up.

“I’m sorry, Lucia,” he said, his voice barely audible. “I am so sorry.”

The front door opened again, and Marco walked in.