The pharmacist hesitated.

“This is for a child?”

Marco stared at him.

“Yes.”

The pharmacist nodded and handed over the bag.

Ten minutes later, Marco found himself parked across the street from the address on Jenny's receipt.

The building was old.

Paint peeled from the railings.

The stairwell windows were cracked.

A red notice was taped to the front door.

Marco narrowed his eyes.

An eviction notice.

His jaw tightened.

He watched Jenny hurry up the stairs carrying a small pharmacy bag.

She disappeared inside Apartment 2B.

A few minutes later, shouting echoed from the hallway.

Marco stepped out of his car.

The apartment door was open.

A large man in a gray jacket stood inside.

Property manager.

Eviction officer.

Whatever he was, his voice was loud enough for the entire building to hear.

"You have until tomorrow morning."

Jenny stood between him and a small boy sitting on a couch.

The child couldn't have been older than six.

His breathing sounded rough.

Every inhale seemed like a battle.

"Please," Jenny whispered.

"I just need another week."

"You've had three months."

"My son is sick."

"Not my problem."

The boy started coughing.

Violently.

Marco felt something inside him snap.

He stepped through the doorway.

The room immediately went silent.

The property manager looked annoyed.

"Who are you?"

Marco's dark eyes never left him.

"The owner."

The man's face drained of color.

Because everyone in Columbus who dealt with real estate knew the name Marco Vitelli.

And everyone knew better than to cross him.

"You own this building?" Jenny asked quietly.

Marco nodded.

The manager swallowed.

"Mr. Vitelli, I was only following—"

"Get out."

"Sir?"

"Now."

The man left so quickly he nearly tripped over the stairs.

Jenny looked stunned.

Marco placed the paper bag on the kitchen table.

"What is this?" she asked.

"Inhalers."

Her eyes widened.

Then filled with tears.

"I can't pay you back."

"I didn't ask."

For the first time since he had met her, Jenny cried.

Not loudly.

Not dramatically.

Just the silent tears of someone who had been carrying too much for too long.

And seeing them hurt Marco more than he expected.