IZABELLA
I dropped my napkin on my plate, my appetite gone as anxiety twisted in my stomach.
What was that sound? And where was Ignazio?
I turned toward the entrance, searching for any sign of him, when movement caught my eye from a different direction entirely.
A little girl stood a few feet away, clutching something in her small hands. She couldn't have been more than six or seven, with blonde curls and wide brown eyes that kept darting between me and the floor. Behind her, her parents stood watching—her mother's hand resting lightly on the girl's back, encouraging.
The little girl took a hesitant step forward, then another, until she was right beside my table.
"Hi," I said softly, giving her what I hoped was a warm smile.
She didn't respond with words, just held out her hand. In
