The rain had just started when the black SUV stopped outside the old convenience store. Rocco Moretti stepped out to make a call, but before he could dial he heard a small voice behind him.
“Sir… sir, can you buy my bike?”
He turned. A little girl stood there holding a rusted pink bicycle, shivering under the rain. Her shoes were torn, her face pale, and her eyes looked far too tired for someone her age.
Rocco frowned.
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