Haunted Howls

by moonfeather58

The badger holds a secret. The serpent suffers shame over the Yule holidays when everything comes to a head. Cast out of the serpent's family and cast out of the badger's family, they find themselves within the colonies where a relative takes in both boys and they find themselves having to navigate a new guardian, a new school, and keep on their toes from those who would harm.

3. Chapter 3 Echoes of the Past

June 17–18, 1983 – On the Road to Naples

The late afternoon sun cast a golden glow over the rugged Sicilian coast as Sarbello maneuvered his truck along the winding, coastal road. The rhythmic hum of the engine and the gentle sway of the truck as it cut through the curves of the narrow road should have been comforting, but something wasn't right. Polpetta, usually calm during their drives, had become agitated, pacing from one end of the cabin to the other. His soft whines and low growls were unsettling, a clear sign that something was off.

"Cosa c'è che non va, Polpetta?" Sarbello murmured, glancing at the dog in the rearview mirror.

Polpetta's ears were flattened against his head as he stared intently out the window, his body tense. Sarbello's hand gripped the wheel a little tighter as he scanned the road ahead. They'd left Messina earlier that day, and while the journey should have been straightforward, an inexplicable unease settled in his chest. The dog's behavior, the sudden tightening of the air around them—it was like a warning.

They'd passed a few small coastal towns and were now heading deeper into the countryside as they neared the junction for Naples. The air was thick with the scent of saltwater and the promise of evening thunderstorms. Despite the serene beauty of the landscape, Sarbello couldn't shake the feeling that they were being watched.

"Che diavolo…" he muttered under his breath, turning his eyes back to the road, but his thoughts were elsewhere. They had been on the road for several days now, and nothing unusual had happened, aside from the fact that Polpetta seemed a little more restless than usual. Sarbello tried to ignore it, but it was hard to ignore the feeling in the pit of his stomach—something was off.

Polpetta's growl broke the silence again, this time sharper and more insistent.

"Polpetta!" Sarbello said firmly. "What is it? What's wrong?"

The dog's body stiffened, and his eyes locked onto something just ahead on the road. Sarbello followed Polpetta's gaze, narrowing his eyes, but he couldn't make out what had caught the dog's attention. The sun was beginning to set, casting long shadows across the road, but the air felt oddly heavy—laden with something Sarbello couldn't name.

Suddenly, a movement caught his eye. Figures on the side of the road, emerging from the long shadows of the trees and brush. They were walking toward the truck. They hadn't been there a moment ago. Sarbello's heart skipped a beat.

Two men.

They were dressed in dark, nondescript clothing, their steps deliberate and quick as they closed the distance. But what made Sarbello's blood run cold wasn't just their approach—it was the eerie stillness in the air, as if the world itself had gone quiet. Even Polpetta, whose growling had become more intense, had stopped, fixated on them.

"Cosa vogliono?" Sarbello whispered to himself, gripping the steering wheel harder. The truck's tires rumbled as he slowed to a stop, instinctively pulling over to the edge of the road. There was nowhere to run, no way to escape without drawing attention.

Polpetta let out another low, warning growl, but it was much fiercer now. The dog's fur bristled along his back, and Sarbello could feel the energy in the air shift. It was as though the land itself had been waiting for these men to arrive. He felt a creeping dread, something ancient and unsettling.

The figures were almost upon them now, and Sarbello felt a wave of coldness wash over him. One of the men spoke, his voice quiet but firm, carrying the weight of authority.

"You're not from around here, are you?" the first figure asked, his eyes narrowing as he scanned the truck and then settled on Polpetta.

Sarbello's grip tightened on the wheel. His instincts told him to remain calm, but there was something in the air that he couldn't quite place—something wrong about these men. They weren't simply passing through. They were looking for something—or someone.

The second man, taller and with a strange intensity in his gaze, took a step closer to the truck, his eyes darting over Polpetta with an almost predatory interest.

"Is that your dog?" he asked, his tone betraying a certain sharpness. The way he asked made Sarbello's skin prickle.

"Yes." Sarbello's voice was steady, but his mind was racing. He didn't like the way they were looking at Polpetta—like he wasn't just a dog.

"You don't know what you're in the middle of." The first man's tone had changed, growing more serious. "Where did you find him?"

Sarbello stiffened, confusion clouding his thoughts. There was something unnerving about their words, as though they knew far more about Polpetta than they should. He looked down at the dog, whose eyes never left the strangers, who seemed to recognize something about them.

"What do you want with him?" Sarbello asked, trying to keep his voice calm, but the tension in his chest was rising. Polpetta's growl deepened, and for the first time, Sarbello saw the dog's protective stance. Polpetta wasn't just a pet—he was a guardian, and he was ready to defend.

"We don't want any trouble." The second man smiled coldly, but the smile didn't reach his eyes. "We just need him."

Sarbello's heart thudded in his chest. He didn't know who these men were, but it was clear now they weren't looking for a friendly conversation.

"Who are you?" Sarbello demanded, his fingers inching toward the keys, ready to start the engine and drive away if needed. He needed answers, and fast.

The first man stepped back slightly, as if calculating his next move, then spoke, his voice dropping to a low, dangerous tone.

"That's none of your business." He paused, his gaze flicking to the map on the passenger seat of the truck, the one Sarbello had picked up in Messina. The one with the cryptic symbols. "We just want what's ours."

Sarbello's pulse quickened. They were after something. But what?

The men took one last look at Polpetta, their eyes lingering on the dog as if they were seeing something Sarbello couldn't. Then, without another word, they turned and started to walk away, vanishing into the fading light.

But as they walked, the air around Sarbello seemed to shift again. There was a deep, unsettling silence, and for a long moment, he didn't dare move.

Polpetta barked sharply, as if to break the silence, and Sarbello snapped back to reality. He reached for the keys, his hands shaking. They were gone, but Sarbello knew one thing for sure—they would be back.

As Sarbello started the truck again, Polpetta's gaze never wavered from the darkening road. The map, the figures, the sense that something was hunting them—it was all tied together. But how? Sarbello didn't have the answers, but the pieces of a puzzle were beginning to take shape in his mind. The journey was far from over, and the questions had only just begun.

---

June 18, 1983 – Naples

The city loomed before them as the truck wound its way through the narrow streets of Naples, the once-sunny sky now overcast with the promise of rain. The air was thick with the scent of saltwater and street food, a combination both foreign and familiar. Sarbello had always been drawn to cities like this—places with layers, where every corner held a secret and every alleyway whispered of histories long past.

"Benvenuti a Napoli," Sarbello muttered, glancing at Polpetta as he drove into the heart of the city. "Welcome to Naples."

Polpetta's ears flicked back, his eyes wide, as though the city's chaos unsettled him. Sarbello didn't blame him. Naples had a pulse of its own, a rhythm of noise and movement that was both overwhelming and magnetic. The streets bustled with life—vendors calling out their wares, tourists wandering aimlessly, locals hurrying about their business.

Sarbello knew he couldn't stay in the city for long. Naples was a place of opportunity, but also danger. There were too many people here, too many ways to get lost in the crowd. And even though he didn't know exactly what he was looking for, he had a feeling the answers were somewhere in this city.

He parked the truck in a quiet spot near the outskirts of the old town, far enough from the chaos to catch his breath but close enough to see the shifting crowds. The sound of distant church bells filled the air, mingling with the clatter of bicycles and the hum of a nearby café.

"Polpetta, rimani qui, va bene?" Sarbello said, his voice soft but firm. "Stay here, okay?"

The dog gave a short bark in response, his head swiveling to watch Sarbello as he grabbed a bag from the back of the truck and slung it over his shoulder. Sarbello looked down at him, his heart heavy. They had been through so much already, and he couldn't help but feel that the worst was yet to come.

He took a deep breath and locked the truck. With his hand on the strap of the bag, he started walking down the cobbled streets, the sound of his boots echoing faintly in the quiet morning. There was a tension in the air that even the bustling city couldn't mask. Sarbello had never been here before, but the city felt… familiar. As though he had been here in another lifetime.

He walked for what felt like hours, ducking in and out of narrow alleyways, glancing at the ancient buildings that lined the streets. The history of the place hung in the air, old walls scarred by time and the weather, their once-grand architecture now worn down by years of use and neglect. Sarbello's thoughts wandered as he passed through the heart of the city, his instincts still on high alert.

Finally, he reached a small, secluded square. A fountain sat in the center, its water splashing softly in the otherwise quiet space. Sarbello stopped for a moment, his eyes scanning the area. Something about this square felt significant. Maybe it was the old stone benches, their surfaces worn smooth from years of use. Maybe it was the way the light filtered through the trees, casting long shadows across the ground.

He sat on one of the benches, taking a moment to gather his thoughts. Polpetta was back at the truck, safe for the moment, but Sarbello knew he couldn't keep running forever. They needed answers. And this city, this labyrinth of history and mystery, was where they were going to find them.

A voice behind him broke the silence, its tone smooth and calm.

"Looking for something, or just enjoying the view?"

Sarbello turned quickly, his hand instinctively reaching for the strap of his bag. Standing a few feet away was a man, older than Sarbello by a few years, wearing a dark leather jacket and sunglasses. He had the look of someone who had seen a lot in his time, but not much that surprised him anymore.

"Just passing through," Sarbello replied, giving a nonchalant shrug. He didn't want to seem too obvious, but he didn't trust the stranger either.

"Ah, I see." The man took a step closer, his eyes narrowing slightly. "Well, if you're looking for something, maybe I can help. I know this city pretty well."

Sarbello's instincts flared. There was something about the man's offer that didn't sit right. He kept his hand on his bag, his fingers curling around the strap.

"Who are you?" Sarbello asked, his voice guarded.

The man smiled, a small, knowing grin. "Someone who knows when people are looking for answers. And someone who knows that there are always more questions to be asked."

Sarbello raised an eyebrow, his suspicion growing. He had a feeling this wasn't just a random encounter. The man was too familiar with the city—and with the feeling of being hunted, it seemed.

"I'm not looking for trouble," Sarbello said, standing up from the bench. "Thanks, but no thanks."

The man didn't move, his smile widening. "You're already in trouble, my friend. Whether you realize it or not."

Before Sarbello could respond, the man turned on his heel and walked away, disappearing around the corner of the square. Sarbello stood still for a moment, watching him go, feeling an odd chill settle in his bones.

What the hell was that about?

The encounter had left him with more questions than answers. Sarbello couldn't shake the feeling that someone—or something—was following him, but who? And why now, in this city full of strangers?

Taking a deep breath, Sarbello turned back toward the truck. Polpetta was still sitting in the back, watching him intently. Sarbello's gaze lingered on the dog for a moment before he made his way back to the truck. As he climbed into the driver's seat and started the engine, a sense of urgency gripped him. Whatever was happening, whatever they were running from, it wasn't going to stop in Naples. It wasn't going to stop anywhere. The real game was only beginning.

Sarbello drove through the heart of Naples, the streets now starting to come alive with the early evening bustle. The once-chilly air had warmed up, the thick scent of the sea mingling with the rich aromas of street food. As he navigated the crowded streets, his mind was far from the distractions of the city. He couldn't shake the unsettling encounter with the stranger in the square. What had that man known? How had he sensed that something was off? And most importantly, who had sent him?

The truck's tires hummed against the cobblestones as Sarbello took another turn, heading toward the outskirts of the city. He needed to regroup. The alleyways of Naples, although full of life, weren't the place to hide if someone was after them. He had no intention of being caught off guard again.

"Polpetta," Sarbello murmured, casting a glance toward the dog sitting calmly in the passenger seat. Polpetta's eyes flicked up to meet his, and Sarbello could almost hear the silent understanding between them. The dog seemed unfazed, but Sarbello knew that was only on the surface. He could feel Polpetta's heightened awareness—his ears twitching at every sound, his gaze darting to every shadow.

Sarbello turned onto a quieter street, leaving the main roads behind. He parked the truck in a secluded spot near an old, crumbling building—one of the many that dotted the city's outskirts. The wind was picking up, swirling dust through the narrow streets, and the first droplets of rain began to fall.

He turned off the engine, his thoughts still buzzing with questions. The encounter with the man had triggered something in him—something he couldn't ignore. Was someone tracking them? Was Polpetta the key to whatever was happening?

"Rimani qui," Sarbello told Polpetta as he got out of the truck, locking the door behind him. "Stay here."

Polpetta gave a quiet whine but didn't move. Sarbello could feel the dog's protective presence even as he stepped away. His instincts were sharp, but Sarbello wasn't about to take any chances.

He found himself drawn back toward the square where the man had spoken to him, the mystery of the encounter gnawing at him. He retraced his steps, walking briskly through the winding streets, a sense of urgency propelling him forward. The square was eerily quiet now, the fountain's water splashing softly in the growing dusk. Sarbello glanced around, feeling the weight of the city's history pressing down on him. There was something more to this place, something hidden beneath its layers of time.

As he neared the fountain, a glint of something metallic caught his eye. It was the same spot where he'd sat earlier, near the stone benches. Something was different now, something that hadn't been there before.

He stepped closer, crouching down, and found the source of the glint: a small, worn pendant. Sarbello picked it up carefully, turning it over in his hand. It was made of dark metal, intricately carved with symbols that seemed familiar yet alien. The pendant's design was almost… otherworldly.

His pulse quickened as he examined it. It looked ancient, possibly from a time long before he was born. There was something about it, something he couldn't quite place.

He stood up, slipping the pendant into his pocket. His thoughts were racing now. What was this? How had it ended up here? And why did it feel so significant?

A low growl broke the silence. Sarbello's heart skipped a beat as he turned to find Polpetta standing at the edge of the square, eyes locked onto the street beyond. The dog's hackles were raised, his body tense, as though warning Sarbello of something—or someone—coming their way.

Sarbello's stomach twisted. They weren't alone anymore.

Without thinking, he turned on his heel and started heading back toward the truck. He could feel the weight of the pendant in his pocket, the strange energy it seemed to carry. Whoever was after them wasn't far behind. He could almost hear the footsteps now, quick and deliberate, but they were getting closer. There was no time to lose.

Polpetta followed closely behind, his body low to the ground, every muscle coiled in preparation. The sound of the approaching footsteps grew louder.

As Sarbello reached the truck, he could hear someone calling out behind him. A voice, low and clipped. "You're not going anywhere."

Sarbello didn't hesitate. He threw open the truck door, gesturing for Polpetta to jump in. The dog leaped into the seat beside him without question. Sarbello slammed the door shut and started the engine, his foot heavy on the accelerator as he sped away from the square, his eyes darting to the rearview mirror. The figure had stopped just short of the truck, watching them go. But the sense of being followed didn't fade.

The road stretched out before him, empty and winding, the rain beginning to fall in heavy sheets. He had to lose them. Whoever they were, whatever they wanted—it wasn't just about Polpetta anymore. It was about something bigger.

Sarbello's grip tightened on the wheel as he pushed the truck forward, his thoughts spinning in a chaotic whirlwind. But amid the confusion, one thing was clear—he was no longer just a man on the run. He and Polpetta were part of something far larger than either of them had realized. And the answers—no matter how dangerous—were waiting for them.

The engine roared as Sarbello pressed the accelerator, the truck speeding through the narrow streets of Naples, rain pelting down harder now. His eyes flicked to the rearview mirror—his pursuers were still in the distance, but quickly losing ground. Whoever they were, they weren't going to catch him that easily.

Sarbello's heart pounded, the tension inside the truck palpable. Polpetta was unusually still, his small body tense, his ears pinned back, but his eyes were sharp and watchful. The dog resembled a five-month-old wolf pup—small, lean, and still a little malnourished—but there was something ferocious in his gaze, a readiness to fight despite his size. Sarbello stole a glance at him, feeling the unspoken connection between them. They were in this together, whatever it was.

He took another sharp turn, heading toward the outskirts of Naples. The city was full of labyrinthine alleys, winding roads that could easily lose anyone unfamiliar with the area. It was time to shake off their pursuers.

The truck rumbled as it bounced over uneven cobblestones, heading toward a less populated area, the rain blurring everything around them. Sarbello's grip on the wheel tightened, every instinct telling him to drive faster, to get out of this mess.

But the man was still following.

Sarbello's mind raced, looking for a solution. If he kept running, he'd eventually hit a dead end. They were too close now. He needed to make a stand. He glanced at the rearview mirror again—this time, he could see the figure getting closer, moving with purpose, but it wasn't just one person anymore. The man had company.

Damn.

"Polpetta, stay low," Sarbello muttered as he reached for the gear shift, his heart rate spiking. He had one shot at this.

He swerved the truck, taking an abrupt turn into a narrow street that twisted uphill toward a small, abandoned industrial area. The rain lashed against the windshield, but it didn't stop him. The truck growled as it climbed, the engine working hard against the incline. The sound of footsteps pounding behind him seemed distant now, but they were still there, somewhere in the storm.

Sarbello spotted a dead-end alley up ahead. With a sharp intake of breath, he floored the accelerator, driving the truck full throttle toward the narrow gap between two crumbling buildings. He could only hope this worked. If it didn't, they'd be trapped.

As he entered the alley, he slammed the truck into reverse, the tires screeching against the wet road as he tried to make the most of the narrow space. He could hear the other vehicle screeching closer, but it was too late. Sarbello knew the layout of this area—he wasn't as lost as the pursuers likely thought.

He slammed the truck into park and quickly cut the engine, his chest heaving. He sat for a moment, listening. The storm outside raged on, the only sound now the pounding of the rain. Then, in the distance, he heard the unmistakable crunch of tires, someone coming down the alley.

Sarbello's mind raced. He glanced over at Polpetta, who was now crouched low on the floor of the truck's bed, his small body tense but ready. The dog understood. Sarbello knew they had only one option now.

With a deep breath, Sarbello grabbed the small, dark pendant from his pocket and held it up to the rearview mirror. The symbols etched into it caught the dim light of the truck, and for a moment, Sarbello thought he saw something flicker in the shadows. He didn't know what it was—some ancient magic, perhaps—but it felt right. Whatever this pendant meant, it was the key.

A voice suddenly shouted from behind them.

"We know you're in there! Don't make this harder than it needs to be!"

Sarbello's pulse quickened. There was no time to think. He needed to act.

"Polpetta," Sarbello whispered, his voice low but urgent. He opened the truck door and slipped out, making sure to stay low. The rain poured down, but the wetness was the least of his worries. The sound of footsteps came closer, voices now clearer as they got closer to the dead end.

Sarbello held his breath, crouching behind the truck, hoping the rain and the alleyway would obscure his movements. Polpetta was right there with him, his small form barely visible in the dim light. Despite his size, Polpetta moved quietly and swiftly, his instincts sharp, just like the fierce wolf pup he resembled.

When the figures came into view, they were half-hidden by the rain, their faces obscured by the darkness. Sarbello recognized one of them—the man from earlier, the one who had cornered him in the square.

"Where are you, Sarbello?" the man called out, his voice calm but insistent. "It's no use hiding. We know what you have. We know what you're carrying."

The words sent a shiver down Sarbello's spine. They weren't just after him. They wanted something. And he knew that something had to do with the pendant.

"I don't know what you're talking about," Sarbello called out, his voice steady despite the fear gnawing at him. He tightened his grip on the pendant in his pocket.

The man smirked, his eyes glinting in the low light. "You're lying. And lying's never a good idea."

Before Sarbello could react, there was a sudden, fierce growl from behind him. Polpetta, small but agile, launched forward with unexpected speed, his teeth bared, snapping in the direction of the approaching figures. Despite his malnourished frame, the dog's movements were swift and full of raw, untamed power. The men hesitated for a brief second, their eyes widening in surprise at the intensity of the charge from the small dog.

"Get back!" one of them shouted, but it was too late. Polpetta was already in motion, his little body moving like a blur. His growl echoed in the alley as he snapped and lunged again.

The men stumbled back, taken off guard. That was all Sarbello needed. In that moment of confusion, he dashed down the alley, making for a side street that led to another exit. Polpetta, after a quick, menacing growl, broke off his attack and darted after him, his small paws slapping the wet ground as he sprinted beside Sarbello.

The truck, the men, and the chase were all left behind as they took sharp turns down the dark streets. Sarbello's heart raced, but his resolve remained firm. They had lost them. For now.

After several more twists and turns, they found themselves in a quieter, more remote area. Sarbello slowed, glancing around at the quiet streets. No sign of the men. They had successfully shaken them off.

"That was too close," Sarbello muttered, brushing wet strands of hair from his face. He glanced down at Polpetta, who was panting lightly but no longer on edge. His small body had relaxed, ears perked up but no longer alert.

Sarbello reached into his pocket, pulling out the pendant again. The symbols shimmered faintly in the rain-drenched night.

"Let's get back to the truck," Sarbello said, his voice steady. "We need to get moving."

With that, he turned, Polpetta trotting alongside him, still small but resolute. The chase was over, at least for now. But Sarbello knew this was far from the end. Whatever had been chasing them, they would be back, and the answers they needed—about the pendant, about Polpetta—were still waiting to be uncovered.

The chase had come to a halt. Sarbello slowed to a walk, his breath coming in ragged bursts as he looked around, making sure they were clear. Polpetta trotted at his side, still alert but no longer tense. The men, whoever they were, had disappeared into the rain-soaked night. The adrenaline had faded, but the lingering questions weighed heavily on Sarbello's mind. What did they want? And why had they been chasing him so relentlessly?

Sarbello stopped in a quiet alley just off the main road. The only sound now was the constant patter of rain against the pavement, washing away any trace of the night's pursuit.

"That was too close," Sarbello muttered, wiping his face with his sleeve. "Too damn close."

Polpetta gave a soft whine, his ears flicking back as he stood beside his master, looking up at him with those large, wolf-like eyes. The rain had soaked the little dog's fur, but he seemed more alert than ever, as if the chase had awoken something primal in him. Sarbello crouched down to give him a scratch behind the ears.

"We're safe for now," Sarbello said quietly. "But I don't think that's the end of it. We need answers."

He pulled the pendant from his pocket once again, the dark metal gleaming under the dim light of the streetlamp. The symbols carved into its surface were intricate, but Sarbello had no idea what they meant. Something deep inside him, something ancient and familiar, seemed to resonate with it—but it wasn't enough to decipher its power.

With a sigh, Sarbello straightened and looked down at Polpetta. The little dog's intense gaze held a kind of quiet understanding, as though he too knew there was more to their situation than a random chase through the streets.

"Alright, Polpetta," Sarbello muttered, slipping the pendant back into his pocket. "We've got some digging to do, and it's gonna take more than running to figure this out."

They started walking again, heading back toward the truck. Sarbello's thoughts churned as he walked through the rain-slicked streets of Naples. He couldn't shake the feeling that this was bigger than just him and Polpetta. Whoever those men were, they knew something about the pendant—something he didn't.

---

July 19, 1983-Naples:

The morning after the chase, Sarbello woke up to the steady sound of rain hitting the truck's roof. The storm had lingered overnight, casting a gray, heavy atmosphere over the world outside. He stretched, feeling the dull ache in his muscles from the tense night. Glancing over at the passenger seat, Polpetta was curled up in a tight ball, the little dog's chest rising and falling gently. He was so still, so quiet this morning—it was as though the storm had taken something out of him too.

Sarbello sighed, rubbing his eyes. It had been a restless night. The weight of the chase, the pendant in his pocket, the strange energy of it all... it all felt too heavy. He couldn't shake the feeling that the mystery of the pendant—and Polpetta's place in it—was just the tip of the iceberg. Something bigger was lurking just beyond his reach, but for now, he couldn't quite grasp it.

The familiar hum of the truck engine soothed his restless thoughts as he pulled away from the quiet roadside. Today's delivery was simple—a cargo of imported goods from the port to a small family-run business on the outskirts of Naples. A few crates of olive oil, spices, and some other local goods. The routine, at least, was a welcome distraction.

By the time Sarbello reached the small shop on the outskirts of town, the rain had slowed to a drizzle. He parked the truck in front of the business, a narrow, old building nestled between two much larger warehouses. The shop was owned by an elderly couple, Rosa and Antonio, who'd been regular customers for years.

As he got out of the truck, Polpetta was already darting between the crates, his small form a blur of motion. Sarbello watched him for a moment, a slight smile on his face before he turned to greet Antonio.

"Antonio, ciao!" he called as he walked toward the man.

"Ciao, Sarbello!" Antonio greeted him warmly, his wrinkled face lighting up with a smile. "You're early today."

Sarbello gave a soft chuckle. "I've got a long road ahead, Antonio. Figured I'd get this delivery done early."

Rosa appeared at the door, wiping her hands on her apron, a warm but tired smile on her face. "Everything in good shape, Sarbello?"

"Everything's good," he replied, checking the manifest. He opened the truck and began unloading the crates with practiced ease.

Polpetta was still sniffing around the alley, his ears flicking at every little sound. It wasn't typical for him to be so alert at this time of day. Sarbello's eyes narrowed slightly as he observed his companion. There was something different about the little dog today—almost as if he were waiting for something.

Rosa glanced at him, her sharp eyes catching the distraction. "You look distracted, Sarbello. Everything okay?"

Sarbello paused, about to offer a casual response, but the words caught in his throat. He didn't want to involve anyone in the mystery of the pendant—not these good people. They didn't deserve to be dragged into this mess. He forced a smile. "Just tired. Long night."

Rosa seemed to accept that, her smile softening. "Well, we're glad to have you here. We can always use the help."

The rest of the delivery went smoothly. Sarbello finished unloading the truck and signed the paperwork. Antonio gave him a hearty handshake. "Take care on the road, Sarbello. And don't be a stranger."

"Of course, Antonio," Sarbello replied, getting back into the truck. Polpetta followed him up into the cab, his small body climbing nimbly into his usual spot. Sarbello started the engine, the sound of it filling the quiet street as he pulled away.

As the city of Naples slipped behind them, Sarbello couldn't help but glance at the pendant tucked in his pocket, still pulsing faintly with an energy he couldn't explain. Whatever was going on—whatever this was—it felt like it was only just beginning.

Later that day, they reached the sleepy village by the sea. The rain had stopped, but the heavy, damp air still clung to everything. Sarbello parked in the town square, the sea breeze tinged with salt and earth. Polpetta leapt out eagerly, his little legs carrying him toward the grassy expanse near the harbor.

The village felt timeless, like a place where the seasons didn't change and nothing ever truly happened. Sarbello wandered toward a small café, needing a break before continuing the drive. Inside, the café was cozy, the air rich with the scent of freshly brewed espresso. The woman behind the counter, a middle-aged figure with a quiet smile, greeted him with a soft "Buon pomeriggio."

"Just a coffee, grazie," Sarbello said, his voice low, the lingering unease in his chest still not shaken.

He sat by the window, staring out at the street as he absently traced the symbols on the pendant with his fingers. There was something about it, some hidden meaning he just couldn't see yet. He could feel the weight of it in his pocket, as though it was trying to pull him toward something.

A moment later, the woman returned with his coffee, but she also placed something else on the table—a small, folded piece of paper. Sarbello hesitated, glancing at it, but the woman's soft voice broke the silence.

"Is everything alright, mister?" she asked, her tone sincere. "You seem troubled."

Sarbello unfolded the paper carefully, his eyes scanning the faded photograph. It was an image of a man—blurry, but with a face that stirred a strange sense of familiarity. He was standing in front of a small shop, the sign above it ornate, intricate, and almost identical to the symbols etched on Sarbello's pendant.

The woman leaned forward, noticing his reaction. "Do you recognize him?"

Sarbello's pulse quickened as he looked up at her. "Who is he?"

"Marco DeLuca," she said, her voice tinged with sadness. "He used to live here. His family ran the shop. It's been abandoned for years now. But... he disappeared under strange circumstances."

Sarbello's heart skipped a beat. The man in the photo. The pendant. The chase. It was all connected.

"Where is this shop?" Sarbello asked, his voice low.

The woman pointed toward the end of the street, where an alley led toward the sea. "It's just around the corner. But you should know—people say it's haunted. Or cursed, maybe."

Sarbello's resolve hardened. This was it. The shop was the key. He had to see it for himself.

"Thank you," Sarbello said quietly, his mind racing.

Outside, Polpetta trotted at his side as they walked toward the alley. The old shop came into view, its door slightly ajar, the faded sign above it barely legible. Sarbello's breath hitched as they stepped inside. The air was thick with dust, the place frozen in time.

He moved to the back of the shop, his eyes scanning the shelves lined with forgotten relics. There, in the corner, he found a large chest—old and worn, as though it had been waiting for him. He opened it slowly, his heart pounding. Inside, he found photographs, papers, and—at the very bottom—another pendant. This one was nearly identical to the one he carried.

The room seemed to close in around him as he held the two pendants in his hands. Marco DeLuca. This was the man who had once owned the pendant, the man whose disappearance now seemed intertwined with Sarbello's own journey.

The answers were beginning to form, but they raised more questions than they answered. Sarbello looked down at Polpetta, who was sitting quietly at his side, his eyes gleaming with something ancient and knowing.

"Let's go, buddy," Sarbello said softly, slipping the pendants into his pocket. "The journey's not over."

The shop was silent, save for the creaking of the floorboards and the occasional rustle of Polpetta as he moved around. Sarbello stood over the chest, the twin pendants in his hand. He could feel the weight of them both, as if they were no longer just objects, but keys to something far larger than he'd ever anticipated. His heart raced as he glanced back at the photograph, Marco DeLuca's face lingering in his thoughts.

This was it. The mystery that had begun with the pendant in Naples and the chase through the streets had finally led him here, to this small, forgotten village by the sea. The questions still swirled in his mind, but one truth had become clear: Marco DeLuca hadn't disappeared. He had been a part of something far darker. The pendant was only the first piece.

Sarbello turned the twin pendant in his fingers, its symbols reflecting in the low light of the shop. It was as if the answer was just beyond his reach, hiding in plain sight.

Polpetta padded over and sat at Sarbello's feet, looking up at him with those large, knowing eyes. Sarbello knelt down to rub the dog's head. His presence was a reminder of everything at stake. Polpetta had been part of this from the beginning—whether by fate or design. Sarbello couldn't be sure, but he knew that as much as the pendant had drawn him into this tangled web, Polpetta was the missing piece, the silent witness to whatever had unfolded before him.

The shop's door creaked again, but this time it was different. Sarbello's attention snapped to the sound as a figure appeared in the doorway, bathed in the light of the late afternoon sun.

It was the elderly woman from the café. Maria.

She stepped inside without a word, her sharp gaze scanning the room. Polpetta perked up at the sight of her, tail wagging cautiously. Sarbello felt an inexplicable sense of relief mixed with apprehension. She knew more than she had let on.

"Marco DeLuca," Sarbello said, his voice hoarse, but determined. "What happened to him?"

Maria gave a small, grim smile. "I told you this place held secrets," she said softly, stepping further into the room. "Marco wasn't just another man with a shop. He was a part of something far older, something tied to this village, to this land. His family—like many others here—was part of a bloodline that guarded something much more dangerous than any relic."

Sarbello's grip tightened on the pendant. "The pendant," he whispered. "What does it unlock?"

Maria's eyes softened, as though she was about to share something deeply personal. "The pendants," she corrected him, "are not just keys to one thing. They are keys to the past—bound to an ancient pact made by Marco's ancestors with forces that should have been left untouched." She sighed, her face clouded with old memories. "Marco's family was tasked with protecting the magic, but something went wrong. Marco... he was supposed to guard it, not use it. But he got too curious."

Sarbello frowned. "Curious about what?"

Maria looked over her shoulder at the weathered photograph on the wall, the picture of Marco standing proudly in front of his shop. "The power of the pendant is not in its ability to grant wishes or wealth. It unlocks a doorway—a doorway to an ancient realm of magic that, if opened, would bring chaos. Marco tried to unlock it once. He thought he could control it." She paused, her voice a whisper. "But he failed. The last time the pendant was used in such a way, someone... someone vanished. And Marco's family was forced into hiding, to protect what remained of the magic."

Sarbello stepped closer to her, the air between them heavy with unspoken truth. "And the other pendant?"

Maria looked at it carefully, her fingers brushing lightly over the surface of the object. "This one," she said softly, "was meant to be kept apart. For centuries, both pendants were separated to prevent one person from wielding too much power. But when Marco tried to reunite them, he did something irreversible. The moment he touched the second pendant, something was triggered. The force behind it grew stronger, faster... and it called those who sought its power."

Sarbello felt a chill. "The men who chased us..."

"Yes," Maria nodded. "They are part of an underground society who have been looking for these pendants for generations. They believe they can harness the magic inside them—control it to remake the world according to their desires. But Marco, in his desperation, didn't realize that the pendant's power would control him instead."

Sarbello swallowed hard, absorbing the weight of her words. "What happened to Marco?"

Maria hesitated, then took a deep breath. "The pendant consumed him. He vanished, just like the others before him. But the pendant, it remained. And now it has found you, Sarbello."

The truth settled in his chest, heavy and unyielding. Marco's disappearance, the chase, the haunting feeling that something larger was at play—Sarbello now understood. The pendant was far more than a trinket. It was a trap, a dangerous force that could turn its wielder into something they weren't meant to be. The men who had chased him, the mysteries that had unfolded, were all tied to this ancient power. And now, he was caught in its web.

Sarbello took a deep breath. "What do I do with it? How do I stop this?"

Maria gave him a rueful smile. "You don't stop it. You can only choose how to use it. The magic of the pendants isn't about control—it's about balance. It's about keeping the darkness from swallowing everything around you."

Polpetta, who had been quietly watching, barked softly and trotted to Sarbello's side, nudging him with his snout. Sarbello bent down to pet him. "You've been trying to tell me all along, haven't you?" he murmured, understanding at last. "It's not just the pendant. It's us. Together."

Maria looked at them both, nodding slowly. "Yes. You and the dog. You are the key to keeping the balance, Sarbello. As long as you are both bound to the pendant, it will not control you. But beware—those who seek it will stop at nothing to claim it."

Sarbello stood up, the two pendants now resting in his palm. He looked at Maria, who had revealed the truth, and felt the weight of everything that was to come.

"You've already taken the first step, Sarbello. But now you must decide: will you keep running, or will you stand your ground?"

Sarbello glanced down at Polpetta, his little companion who had been by his side through everything. He felt the energy of the pendant pulse in his hand—faint, but undeniable.

"We'll stand," he said, a new resolve settling in his chest. "We'll fight for it. For the balance."

With that, Sarbello turned to leave the shop, Polpetta at his side. The road ahead was uncertain, but the mystery of the pendant—and the power it held—was no longer something to run from. It was something to confront. Together.

---

June 20, 1983-Hogwarts:

Dumbledore was seated at his desk in his office at Hogwarts, reviewing a pile of correspondence from various sources. Despite the usual busyness of his responsibilities, his thoughts kept drifting back to Harry Potter. The boy had not written to him in months, but that wasn't unusual for Harry, given the Dursleys' indifference and the lack of any real connection with the magical world. What troubled Dumbledore was the growing sense of unease he had been feeling—a sense that something wasn't right.

The soft knock on his door broke his train of thought.

"Enter," Dumbledore called, his voice warm but with an edge of concern.

Arabella Figg stepped into the room. She was an unassuming woman, but the stress in her face was unmistakable. Her normally disheveled hair looked even more frazzled than usual.

"Arabella," Dumbledore said, his tone shifting to one of immediate concern. "What's the matter?"

Arabella hesitated before speaking, her voice quiet. "Professor Dumbledore, I—there's something wrong. I went by the Dursleys' house this morning to check on Harry, and there was no sign of them. No note, no indication they've gone anywhere. I haven't seen them in days. I thought it was strange, so I went to check their house..."

Dumbledore felt his stomach tighten as he listened to her. Arabella's concern was always genuine, but this was different.

"Are you certain?" he asked carefully, though his mind was already racing. "Did you try contacting them?"

"I tried," Arabella replied, her voice trembling slightly. "I knocked, I called, but no one answered. I even went around the back to see if maybe they were just out. Nothing. No sign of Harry or the Dursleys. I—I don't know what's going on, but it feels like something's off."

Dumbledore's mind raced through several possibilities at once. Petunia Dursley had always been an unreliable caretaker for Harry, but they had always stayed within the protection of the wards at Number 4 Privet Drive. He had not been overly concerned, assuming the Dursleys would continue to hold onto their begrudging responsibility.

"I will send someone to investigate the area immediately," Dumbledore said, his voice firm. "There's a chance that something has gone awry, but I must admit I had not thought to check up on Harry as thoroughly as I should have. Petunia was supposed to be keeping him safe."

Arabella's face clouded with worry. "Should I tell the authorities? Shouldn't someone be looking into this? What if something's happened to them?"

"No," Dumbledore replied quickly, though gently. "Not yet. We can't alert the Muggle authorities just yet. This is a matter for the magical community. If the Dursleys have simply left on their own, then there's no need to cause alarm. But if something has happened to them—if they've been taken or something worse has occurred—we'll need to handle it in our own way."

Arabella nodded, though she still looked troubled. "What if they're in danger?"

"I'll find out," Dumbledore reassured her. "I'm sure it's nothing more than a simple misunderstanding. But I'll have someone check on the house immediately. If something is wrong, we'll act quickly."

Arabella nodded again, still uneasy but trusting Dumbledore's calmness.

"Thank you, Professor," she said softly. "Let me know if there's anything I can do to help."

"You've already done more than enough," Dumbledore said with a warm smile. "But I will keep you informed, Arabella. You've been a steady guardian for Harry, even when no one else was looking out for him."

Arabella gave him a brief, grateful smile before turning to leave. Dumbledore watched her go, his mind already shifting back to the matter at hand.

Once the door closed behind her, Dumbledore turned his attention to the next course of action. He would have to look into this more deeply. There were too many questions now about the Dursleys' sudden disappearance—and Harry's possible involvement. If anything had happened to them, if they had taken Harry with them against his will, Dumbledore feared the worst. But he would need to be cautious. The boy's safety was always paramount. He couldn't afford to be reckless.

As he paced around his office, Dumbledore's thoughts turned to the magical protections surrounding Harry. Had the wards been disturbed? If something had happened to Harry, it was possible that the protections had been weakened—or worse, deliberately broken.

He cast a silencing charm on his desk and wrote a brief note to Severus Snape, requesting that he look into the Dursleys' house as a matter of urgency. In the meantime, Dumbledore would check the ancient wards surrounding the house on Privet Drive to see if they had been tampered with.

---

June 22, 1983:

Severus Snape sat in the dimly lit office of his private quarters at Hogwarts, the only sound the quiet crackling of the fire in the hearth. His long fingers drummed rhythmically against the polished surface of his desk as he stared at the parchment before him.

The letter had arrived that morning, delivered by an owl that was far too nervous for Snape's liking. As he read the brief, curt message from Dumbledore, a cold knot of unease formed in his stomach.

Harry Potter has gone missing. The wards around the Dursleys' home are still intact, but the boy is nowhere to be found. It is highly irregular. Please investigate.

Snape had read it over twice, the words sinking into him with an unsettling clarity. Harry Potter, missing? And Dumbledore had only just received the news? Snape sneered, but it wasn't from disdain for the boy; it was from frustration. Why was Dumbledore so utterly complacent?

Of course, there were no immediate signs of foul play. The wards around Privet Drive had always been strong, maintained by the blood protection that ensured Harry's safety while he stayed there. Yet something about this felt wrong. It was impossible to ignore the gnawing suspicion in Snape's chest.

Without another moment of hesitation, Snape rose from his desk, his robes sweeping around him as he walked toward the fireplace. His thoughts turned to one particular detail—an unsettling event he couldn't shake from his mind. He had sensed something unusual about the magical air surrounding the Dursley residence just before the summer term had ended.

It was faint, barely noticeable, but to Snape, nothing ever escaped his attention.

Snape cast a quick glance back at the desk, his eyes narrowing. The letter was an obvious signal, but it also felt like another one of Dumbledore's many, carefully laid traps. Was Dumbledore testing him? Or had he truly let Harry slip through his fingers so easily?

"Fool," Snape muttered under his breath.

He swept his hand over the fire, uttering a sharp incantation. The flames rose in a flash, and within moments, the familiar face of the headmaster appeared, framed by the orange glow of the hearth.

"Severus," Dumbledore greeted warmly, his eyes twinkling, though the concern in his voice was evident. "I trust you've received my message."

"I have," Snape said tersely, his eyes flashing. "Potter's missing. You expect me to investigate? What, exactly, happened to your vigilance, Albus? Did you not bother to check on the boy yourself?"

Dumbledore's face softened, a touch of sadness creeping into his expression. "I was under the impression that the Dursleys would provide the proper care, Severus. The wards were intact, and I had no reason to believe anything was amiss."

Snape's lips curled into a sharp, mocking smile. "Of course you did. How very like you to trust the Muggles to handle the boy. And yet, now we're left with another mess for me to clean up."

"Severus," Dumbledore said gently, his voice calm but firm, "I need you to investigate the matter. You have the expertise in locating… things. And I believe you will be the one most capable of finding him. The wards may be intact, but the boy is gone. And I suspect there's more to this than meets the eye."

Snape said nothing for a moment, the silence between them thickening as he weighed the situation in his mind. He had never trusted the Dursleys, of course, but he hadn't expected them to do anything that reckless either. Harry had been their responsibility for years, even if they treated him with disdain and neglect. But now, to have him vanish, with no apparent explanation…

It was unsettling, and Snape was starting to feel that familiar, uncomfortable pressure in his chest. His thoughts drifted back to the sensation he had felt earlier that year—the faint ripple in the magical air around Privet Drive. Something had happened, something that didn't quite sit right.

"I'll take care of it," Snape said finally, his voice clipped and filled with a quiet intensity. "But I warn you, Albus, if this is another one of your schemes, I will not tolerate it."

Dumbledore smiled, a small, knowing smile. "I have every faith in you, Severus. Please keep me informed of your progress. And… do be careful. There is something more going on here than we realize."

The connection between them flickered and then went out, the flames in the fireplace settling back into their usual pattern.

Snape was left standing alone in the dim light of his office, the weight of the task settling heavily on his shoulders. He turned sharply on his heel and grabbed his cloak from where it hung on a nearby hook. His mind was already racing, calculating the best approach.

One thing was certain—if Harry Potter had disappeared from the Dursleys' home, something had gone wrong. Something dangerous was at play. And Snape intended to find out what it was, no matter the cost.

Snape's footsteps were steady and deliberate as he made his way toward Number 4, Privet Drive. The street was eerily quiet, save for the occasional rustle of leaves in the cool evening breeze. He had been to this house many times over the years, but today something felt different. The house seemed... empty. There were no signs of life, no movement in the windows, no sounds of voices or television playing.

He stood for a moment on the doorstep, his sharp eyes scanning the surrounding area before he knocked on the door.

After a long pause, the door creaked open, revealing a woman in her late thirties, with a tired expression. She was dressed simply in a sweater and skirt, her hair pulled back in a tight ponytail. There was something hesitant in her stance, as though she wasn't entirely sure what to expect.

"Can I help you?" she asked cautiously, her voice lacking the warmth Snape had come to associate with any familiarity.

"I'm looking for the Dursleys," Snape said coldly, his eyes narrowing. "Are they home?"

The woman shook her head, her eyes darting briefly to the side before meeting his gaze. "The Dursleys? No, they haven't been here for months."

Snape's interest piqued at once. "Months?" He tilted his head, his suspicions growing. "When exactly did they leave?"

The woman paused for a moment, as though trying to recall. "Around three months ago, I think. They just... left. There was no one here when we arrived. The house has been vacant since then."

Snape studied her closely. There was an odd disconnection in her tone, as if she was still processing what had happened. He could tell she wasn't lying, but there was something unnerving about the entire situation.

"Who are you?" Snape demanded, his voice suddenly sharper.

"I'm... I'm just a relative," the woman replied uneasily. "I'm moving in. My family and I are taking over the house now."

"You're taking over the house?" Snape echoed, an eyebrow raised. "And you're not aware of where the Dursleys went?"

The woman shook her head again, her expression becoming more apologetic. "No, I have no idea. We were told the house was available, so we just moved in. We didn't know anyone had lived here before. It's all been a bit... strange, really."

Snape's lips curled slightly in distaste. This woman knew nothing. She was simply a pawn in whatever mysterious situation was unfolding here.

"Have you seen a young boy here?" Snape pressed, his voice low, though his intensity was unmistakable.

The woman blinked, clearly confused. "A boy? No. No boy. Just my family and me. I'm sorry, I don't know what you're talking about."

A sinking feeling formed in Snape's stomach. No boy. No sign of Harry Potter, or anyone even acknowledging his presence. The Dursleys' absence seemed to have been entirely unremarked upon by this family. This was a new family, not even aware of Harry's existence—or if they were, they weren't sharing that knowledge.

"Thank you," Snape said curtly, his mind already racing. "I'll be on my way."

Without waiting for a response, Snape turned and strode away from the house, his mind churning with questions. The house had been vacant for months, and there was no sign of Harry. He had expected some kind of disruption, some indication that the boy had been left behind or had vanished with his relatives—but no. The house was empty, and the new tenants seemed completely unaware of any previous occupants.

As he walked away, Snape couldn't shake the sense of foreboding. Something was terribly wrong. The Dursleys were gone, and Harry was nowhere to be found. The situation was growing more complicated by the minute, and Snape knew one thing for sure: he couldn't let this go.

Severus Snape entered Dumbledore's office with his usual brisk pace. He shut the door quietly behind him and approached the desk. Dumbledore looked up from the papers scattered in front of him, his blue eyes twinkling behind half-moon glasses, but his expression grew more serious when he saw Snape.

"Ah, Severus. Have you learned anything about the Dursleys?" Dumbledore asked, his tone tinged with both curiosity and concern.

Snape straightened, his arms crossing over his chest. "The Dursley house is empty," he reported, his voice smooth but carrying an edge of impatience. "A new family moved in about a month ago. The house had been vacant for several months before that."

Dumbledore's eyebrows furrowed slightly. "Vacant for several months? That is indeed troubling." He leaned forward, his fingers steepled in front of him. "And no one has seen Harry?"

"No sign of the boy," Snape replied. "The neighbors had no idea who lived there before, only that the house was unoccupied for some time. This new family seems to have moved in without much fanfare."

"How odd," Dumbledore mused, tapping his fingers lightly on his desk. "Do you know anything more about this new family?"

"Nothing substantial," Snape replied. "They moved in quietly. I didn't speak to them directly, but from what I gathered, they seem to be ordinary Muggles. There's nothing to suggest that they have any knowledge of... our world."

Dumbledore appeared deep in thought, staring at the fire crackling in the hearth. After a moment, he looked up again, meeting Snape's eyes. "The Dursleys... They were Harry's only family, Severus. If they've left without explanation, then where is he?"

Snape tilted his head slightly. "I don't know, Headmaster. The house was vacant for months, and now someone else occupies it. I don't have any answers as to where Harry is, but the situation is highly irregular."

Dumbledore's face grew more solemn. "It's critical that we find Harry. We must ensure he is safe, wherever he may be."

"Indeed," Snape said, his tone more resolute. "I will see what more I can learn."

Dumbledore nodded, but his gaze remained distant, his thoughts clearly moving quickly. "Keep me updated. If there's anything that seems unusual, Severus, don't hesitate to inform me."

"Of course, Headmaster," Snape responded curtly, before turning to leave the room.

As the door closed behind him, Dumbledore remained at his desk, staring into the flames, deep in thought. The pieces were slowly falling into place, but there were many unanswered questions.

---

June 20, 1983-Seaside Village in Italian Countryside:

The quiet hum of the truck's engine filled the air as Sarbello made his way down the winding streets of the seaside village. Polpetta sat in the passenger seat, alert as always, his sharp eyes darting between the surroundings and the road ahead. Sarbello's mind, however, was on the photograph he had found just days ago—the one that had brought him to this village, to this moment. It had been a blurry image, the man's face somewhat indistinct, but it had stirred something deep inside Sarbello. It wasn't just the man in the photograph—it was the symbols, the ornate designs above the shop that matched the ones on the pendant now hanging in his pocket.

Marco De Luca. The name had haunted Sarbello ever since he'd learned about it from the woman in the café. She'd told him Marco had disappeared years ago, vanishing without a trace under mysterious circumstances. His family's shop had been abandoned shortly after that, and the locals spoke in hushed tones of curses and hauntings surrounding the place.

But Sarbello knew something else. Marco De Luca wasn't just a missing man. His disappearance, the pendant, and the symbols—they were all connected, drawing Sarbello deeper into a mystery he couldn't escape.

As the truck rumbled toward the end of the street, Polpetta suddenly perked up. Sarbello could feel the tension in the air; it was as if the wolf could sense the danger that lingered ahead. The village seemed calm, but Sarbello could feel the weight of what had brought him here—the urgency of answers.

The shop was tucked away in an alley that led to the sea. Its wooden sign was weathered, barely legible, but the symbols etched into it were unmistakable. The same symbols that adorned the pendant. Sarbello's heart raced as he parked the truck and stepped out into the humid air. Polpetta, ever watchful, padded along at his side as they approached the door of the shop.

The air inside was thick with dust, and the faint smell of saltwater and mildew clung to the walls. The shelves were filled with strange trinkets and antiques, but Sarbello's focus was drawn to a portrait on the back wall—a photograph of Marco De Luca. He was standing in front of the very shop where Sarbello now stood. His eyes were familiar, and Sarbello couldn't shake the feeling that they had met before, in some distant past life.

He reached into his pocket, pulling out the pendant. The weight of it felt heavier now, almost as if it was alive with purpose. As his fingers traced the symbols, he could feel something stirring within the shop, a presence that made the hairs on the back of his neck stand up.

Before he could move, the creak of the door echoed behind him, and Sarbello spun around.

A man stepped into the shop. Tall, with a sharp, calculating gaze, his presence felt commanding and dangerous. Giovanni Volpe. Sarbello's heart skipped a beat. Giovanni's reputation preceded him, and he knew exactly who this man was. He was the one who had been following them, the one who had been involved in the mystery surrounding the pendant.

Giovanni's eyes fixed on Sarbello as if he knew exactly what he was after. "I see you've found it," Giovanni said, his voice smooth but laced with something darker. "The pendant. The key."

Sarbello's grip tightened around the pendant. "What do you want with it?"

Giovanni took a step closer, his gaze never leaving Sarbello's. "It's not just a trinket, you know. It's a key to something much older. And I'm afraid you've already been marked by it."

Sarbello's pulse quickened. "Marked? What are you talking about?"

Giovanni smiled, though it didn't reach his eyes. "You're not the first to seek it. Marco De Luca did, too. And look where it got him. You don't understand what you're playing with, do you?"

As Giovanni spoke, a dark memory seemed to cloud the air around them. Sarbello could see it in Giovanni's eyes—the story of Marco De Luca, a man caught up in something he couldn't control. A family legacy, steeped in magic and curses, bound to the pendant. Marco had been obsessed with the symbols and the pendant. He believed it was the key to unlocking a great power, one that could change the course of history. But in his search, he had made a mistake. He had underestimated what the pendant truly was.

"Marco was a fool," Giovanni continued, his voice softening with disdain. "He thought he could control it, use it for his own gain. But the pendant doesn't work like that. It chooses its guardian. And once it does, there's no turning back."

Sarbello felt the weight of Giovanni's words. He could feel the pull of the pendant in his pocket, as if it was beckoning him to understand more. "What happened to him?" Sarbello asked, his voice barely above a whisper.

Giovanni's expression darkened, his eyes flickering with something resembling regret. "Marco disappeared, just like that. One day he was here, chasing his obsession, and the next... gone. We tried to find him, but it was as if he had never existed. The shop was abandoned. The curse had claimed him."

The words sank deep into Sarbello's mind. Marco's obsession with the pendant had led to his disappearance. But it wasn't just Marco who had suffered. The curse seemed to follow those who came into contact with the pendant, weaving its dark influence on their lives.

Sarbello's hand tightened around the pendant as Giovanni's words echoed in his mind. The curse. The obsession. The legacy. It was all part of a story that had been unfolding for years, a story that was now drawing Sarbello deeper into its web.

"You're wrong," Sarbello said, his voice steady despite the adrenaline coursing through his veins. "I didn't come here to take the pendant or control it. It found me. And I won't let it destroy me."

Giovanni's eyes narrowed, and his hand moved to his jacket, where Sarbello knew a weapon was hidden. But before Giovanni could make a move, Polpetta lunged forward, faster than any human could react. The wolf knocked Giovanni off balance, sending him sprawling to the ground. His gun slid across the floor, out of reach.

Giovanni scrambled to his feet, but Polpetta was already there, holding him down with an effortless strength. Sarbello stood over them, his breath coming fast, the pendant still clutched tightly in his hand.

"This is over," Sarbello said, his voice cold and final. "You don't control the pendant. It's not yours to claim."

Giovanni's glare was sharp, but there was nothing left for him to do. He had been beaten—not just physically, but in every sense. The chase was over.

Minutes later, the authorities arrived. Giovanni was taken away, his hands cuffed behind his back. Sarbello stood by, the weight of the pendant still heavy in his palm. The mystery that had followed him from Naples to Sicily, and now here to this village, was finally over.

Polpetta padded over to Sarbello, his body language calm but alert. Sarbello ran a hand over his fur, feeling a bond stronger than ever. The chase was done. The past, the ghosts of Marco De Luca, Giovanni Volpe, and the curse tied to the pendant, were all in the past.

As Sarbello climbed back into the truck and started the engine, he glanced back at the shop. It was over. The darkness was behind them now.

The road to Florence stretched ahead, and for the first time in days, Sarbello felt a sense of peace. The chase had ended. And with it, the past was finally left behind.

---

June 20th – June 25th, 1983: On the Road to Florence

The days leading up to June 25th were a blur of winding roads and sleepless nights as Sarbello drove south toward Florence. The truck engine hummed steadily, but his mind never fully settled. Something about Polpetta's behavior had been unsettling, especially in the past few days.

The dog—Polpetta, who had become his quiet companion on the road—was restless. The low whines, the pacing, the nervous energy that seemed to emanate from him… it was unlike anything Sarbello had seen in an animal before. Polpetta was growing more distant, his eyes too wide, his movements twitchy and erratic.

Sarbello had attributed it to the long journey and the unfamiliar environment, but as they passed through small villages and towns, Polpetta's anxiety only increased. At times, he'd look out the window, his gaze intense, searching for something Sarbello couldn't see. He wasn't sure what to make of it, but he couldn't shake the feeling that something wasn't right.

"Hey, easy there, Polpetta," Sarbello murmured one evening as the truck rolled through the countryside. He glanced down at the dog sitting beside him in the passenger seat, his fur slightly matted and his eyes still darting around restlessly. Polpetta didn't respond, but Sarbello's heart still twisted with concern.

Polpetta had been with him for months now, ever since that strange day in the seaside village, but something had shifted. It was more than just the occasional anxious episode. It was as though the dog was struggling with something deep inside himself, something Sarbello couldn't understand.

---

June 25th, 1983: The Full Moon

The full moon rose on June 25th, casting a silvery light across the rolling hills surrounding the small inn where Sarbello had stopped for the night, just outside Florence. Sarbello sat at the small table, his fingers tracing the edge of a coffee cup that had long gone cold, his eyes wandering across a map of Florence.

But his thoughts kept drifting back to Polpetta, who had become increasingly agitated as the moon had climbed higher in the sky. Polpetta was now pacing the room, his nails clicking against the wooden floor with every step. His eyes were wide, unblinking, as if he were watching something that wasn't there. Sarbello couldn't figure it out—he had never seen Polpetta act this way before.

"Polpetta?" Sarbello called softly, his voice tentative. The dog stopped pacing for a moment, but didn't respond. He simply turned his head toward the door, his gaze distant.

Sarbello stood, his heart racing as Polpetta began to whine again—low, almost plaintive, as though in some sort of distress. Sarbello's brow furrowed. What was wrong with him?

He tried to approach, but Polpetta backed away, his body stiff and trembling. It wasn't like the dog to be this jumpy, this skittish. The air felt thick with an unexplainable tension, and Sarbello couldn't shake the feeling that something was about to happen.

"Hey, it's okay," Sarbello said, trying to soothe him, but Polpetta growled—a sound low and raw, something Sarbello had never heard from him before. The growl was followed by a sharp bark, and then, without warning, Polpetta darted toward the door.

Sarbello barely had time to react. Polpetta, in a state of frantic energy, pushed the door open with a force Sarbello hadn't expected, bolting out into the cool night air. Sarbello hesitated, then rushed after him, calling his name, but Polpetta was already sprinting into the darkness.

The night was filled with the sound of Polpetta's frantic paws, his claws clicking loudly on the cobblestone streets of the village as he ran. Sarbello followed, his breath quickening, his mind racing. He didn't know what was happening, but something in Polpetta's behavior felt dangerous, out of control.

"Polpetta, wait!" Sarbello shouted, but the dog didn't stop. He ran faster, disappearing into the shadows between buildings. Sarbello chased him, his heart pounding, but the more he ran, the further Polpetta seemed to get.

Finally, after what felt like an eternity, Sarbello reached the edge of the village. He paused, panting, as he looked around. Polpetta had vanished into the darkness, and Sarbello stood there, his mind spinning with confusion and worry. Why had the dog acted like that? Why hadn't he responded to him?

Sarbello returned to the inn later that night, exhausted and worried. Polpetta finally came back—quiet, subdued, and looking disheveled. His fur was ruffled, his eyes still too wide, but he wasn't as frantic as before. It was as if the night's events had worn him out, and Sarbello could only stare at him, uncertain of what to do.

Polpetta had acted like nothing was wrong when he returned, but Sarbello couldn't shake the nagging feeling that something deep had changed. Something more than the stress of the road, more than whatever had been unsettling the dog. He had never seen Polpetta like this before, and he had no idea what it meant.

He sat down heavily on the edge of the bed, rubbing his face with his hands. The full moon had come and gone, but the tension in the air hadn't disappeared. He looked over at Polpetta, who lay down on the floor, his eyes still darting back and forth, unsettled.

Sarbello sighed. He didn't know what was going on, but whatever it was, it wasn't something he could fix. At least not yet.

---

June 30th, 1983, Florence:

It was only a few days later, on June 30th, that Sarbello found himself meeting Marco De Luca in Florence.

Marco was waiting in a small, dimly lit café near the river, a faint shadow of someone Sarbello didn't recognize—though his presence felt strangely familiar, like an old memory trying to resurface.

"You're the one with the pendant," Marco said, his voice low but intense. Sarbello tensed, his fingers instinctively touching the chain around his neck. He had no idea how Marco knew about it, but it was clear this wasn't just a casual encounter.

Marco's eyes narrowed as he leaned in closer. "I'm here to take it back."

Sarbello's grip on the pendant tightened. The strange journey, the unexplainable moments with Polpetta, the cryptic notes and warnings—it was all tied to this pendant. And Marco seemed to know more about it than Sarbello could even begin to understand.

"Why?" Sarbello asked, his voice hoarse.

"Because it's not just an heirloom," Marco said, his gaze piercing. "It's something much more dangerous than you realize."

The dimly lit room in the quiet café felt suddenly colder, as if the weight of the moment had settled into every corner. Sarbello could feel the pull of the pendant under his shirt, the weight of the history it carried pressing against his chest. Marco De Luca's eyes were fixed on him, unwavering. The tension between them was palpable, thickening the air until it felt suffocating.

Marco leaned forward, his expression a mix of urgency and finality. "It's time, Sarbello. Time to give it back."

Sarbello's breath hitched, his fingers instinctively curling around the pendant that had been a constant, haunting presence since the day he'd found it. He didn't want to let go—he couldn't explain why, but something about the pendant, the photo, and the papers made him feel connected to something greater. But Marco's words rang with a quiet, undeniable truth.

"This—" Sarbello started, looking down at the pendant in his hand, "—this has caused too much. I don't understand it. Why me? Why now?"

Marco's lips tightened into a thin line. He glanced at the photo that Sarbello had kept hidden in his jacket pocket. The image of a woman—Alessandra Volpe—haunted them both. It was the same woman in the picture, the one whose face had been shrouded in mystery and sadness, that had drawn them together, across oceans, across time.

"Because you were meant to," Marco said softly, his voice heavy with resignation. "My sister—Alessandra—was meant to protect it. But she died before she could finish what she had started. The pendant has a life of its own. It chooses its path, and it led you to me."

Sarbello didn't respond. His mind was still spinning, trying to reconcile what he had learned over the past few weeks, the way his life had been forever altered. From the moment he'd found the pendant under the seat of his truck, everything had changed. He had felt the pull of something ancient, something powerful. And yet now, standing before Marco—someone who had lived through it all, someone who knew the history, the danger—he couldn't help but feel a deep, bone-chilling sense of finality.

Marco reached forward, his eyes never leaving Sarbello's, his hand steady as he extended it.

"It's time to end this," Marco said, his voice a whisper now. "You have to let go."

Sarbello stared at his outstretched hand. The man sitting before him wasn't the same stranger he'd met months ago in Sicily. He wasn't just a man seeking the pendant. He was someone who had borne its burden, its history, its curse. And now, he was here to take it back.

With a slow, reluctant motion, Sarbello pulled the pendant from his neck, his fingers brushing against the cold metal. He also retrieved the crinkled photograph and the small bundle of papers that had come with it—papers that had never fully made sense, but had been a part of this puzzle, a piece of something larger than he had ever known.

Marco's hand wrapped around them with care, as if the weight of the pendant and the photo had a gravity all their own.

Sarbello felt a strange sense of relief wash over him, mixed with a hollow ache, as if he had been holding his breath for too long and finally exhaled. The chase was over. The mystery was finished. The past had caught up with him, and now it was slipping away into the hands of someone who understood it better than he ever could.

"Thank you," Marco said softly, his voice almost inaudible. He stood, the pendant, photo, and papers now safely in his grasp.

Sarbello nodded, his throat tight. He wanted to say something, anything, but the words didn't come. He simply watched as Marco turned and left the café, disappearing into the night, the weight of the past now carried away with him.

The door closed behind Marco with a soft chime, and Sarbello sat in silence. The weight on his chest had lifted, but the quiet left something in its wake—a feeling he couldn't quite place. He wasn't sure what to make of the last few weeks, the path that had led him here, or what would come next. But one thing was certain: the pendant was gone. The chase was over. The mystery was closed. Outside, the world of Florence moved on, unaware of the strange journey that had taken place in the shadows. Sarbello leaned back in his chair, exhaling slowly, letting the peace of the moment wash over him. The road ahead was clear, for now. The only thing left to do was to live the rest of his life—and to leave the past, the pendant, and the legacy behind.

As Sarbello stood to leave the café, the moonlight glimmered through the tall windows, casting long shadows across the floor. For the first time in weeks, he felt free from the pull of the pendant, the chase, and the secrets it had carried with it. He wasn't sure what Marco would do with it now or what would become of the tangled web of history and mystery that had wound through his life. But Sarbello didn't need to know. For now, he would walk away from it all—into a future unburdened by the past. With one last glance at the door Marco had passed through, Sarbello stepped into the cool night air, ready for whatever the next chapter would bring.

The night was still, an eerie calm settling over the road as Sarbello parked his truck beside the worn, abandoned stretch of land. The full moon bathed the landscape in a pale, ethereal light, casting long shadows that seemed to move with the breeze. Sarbello had driven for hours, unable to shake the feeling that something was pulling him to this place—an urge he couldn't explain, a connection he didn't want to acknowledge.

Polpetta, curled in the passenger seat, stirred as Sarbello killed the engine. His dog gave a low whine, sensing the change in the air. His orange eyes glowed faintly in the dim light, and for a moment, Sarbello thought he saw a flicker of understanding there—something in Polpetta's gaze that mirrored his own confusion.

"Stay put," Sarbello muttered to him, though the creature only gave a soft grunt and lay down again, resting his head on his paws.

The truck was silent except for the faint hum of the engine cooling down, and Sarbello found himself staring out the windshield into the empty stretch of land. His mind drifted back to the events that had led him here—the pendant, the strange man, and the quiet pull that had been guiding him for weeks.

And then, as if answering the weight of his thoughts, there were footsteps. Soft, purposeful, coming closer. Sarbello's hand instinctively hovered near the knife tucked beneath his jacket, but he didn't feel afraid—only weary. He'd been down this road too many times, been pulled into mysteries that made no sense, and he didn't want any more of it.

From the shadows of a nearby thicket, the figure emerged. Tall, dressed in a long coat that rustled like the evening wind, his face cloaked in darkness. Sarbello couldn't make out his features at first, but there was something about his presence that struck a chord of familiarity—a sense that he had met him before, or perhaps had always known him.

"Didn't expect you here," the figure said, his voice carrying an almost soothing quality, but there was something else—something too calm, too knowing, that made the hairs on the back of Sarbello's neck rise. "But here you are, nonetheless."

Sarbello's jaw clenched. "Who are you?" His voice was steady, though there was a flicker of unease beneath his calm exterior.

The man didn't answer directly. Instead, he stepped closer, his eyes reflecting the moonlight as he looked down at Polpetta, who was now sitting up in the passenger seat, his ears alert, his gaze locked on the stranger.

"Your companion seems to sense it, doesn't he?" The man's gaze flicked back to Sarbello, a faint smile tugging at the corner of his lips. "He's an odd creature, isn't he? Not quite what he seems, though."

Sarbello's heart skipped a beat. He had never felt this strange about Polpetta—only affection, the bond that had formed between them since he had found the creature. But there was something in the stranger's words that made him pause.

Before Sarbello could respond, the figure reached inside his coat and drew out something. A pendant. Not the one he had returned to Marco, but the other missing one—the one that had haunted the story, the one he hadn't realized was connected to him.

The pendant was dark, its surface marked with intricate symbols that seemed to shift in the dim light. It hummed with a quiet energy that sent a shiver down Sarbello's spine. The man held it out, his fingers curling around it as though offering it to Sarbello.

"It's yours now," he said simply. "Or perhaps it always was."

Sarbello hesitated, his fingers curling into fists. The weight of the pendant in the stranger's hand was tangible, its pull undeniable. And yet, a part of him wanted to refuse—to walk away, to leave this entire mess behind.

"I don't want any part of this," Sarbello said, his voice low. "I've had enough of the mysteries, the games... the past."

The stranger's smile didn't falter. "You don't choose, Sarbello. The path chooses you."

A cold breath of wind passed between them. Sarbello swallowed, the urge to walk away still burning inside him, but something in his gut told him that the figure wasn't lying. He was already too far down the road to turn back.

The man's hand extended further, and Sarbello, despite his better judgment, took the pendant. His fingers brushed against the smooth surface, sending a small jolt through his body, as if the pendant was alive—alive with something ancient and powerful.

The stranger nodded, as if expecting this, as if Sarbello had no other choice.

"You'll come to understand in time," he said, his voice slipping into the quiet night. "But for now, don't go seeking answers. Not yet."

He paused, his eyes locking onto Sarbello's with an intensity that made the air feel heavier. "When you're ready to know, everything will fall into place. Just remember—some things are not meant to be uncovered too soon."

Without another word, the figure stepped backward, his presence dissolving into the shadows as if he had never been there. The stillness returned, and for a moment, Sarbello stood frozen, the pendant cool in his palm.

Polpetta, as if sensing the shift in the atmosphere, barked softly, his golden eyes glowing. Sarbello snapped out of his trance and glanced at the creature. Polpetta's gaze was steady, his body relaxed but alert. The wolf-like animal had been a constant companion on this strange journey, but now, with the pendant in his hand, Sarbello felt the weight of something even greater.

He stared at the pendant for a long moment, then stuffed it into his jacket pocket. He didn't want to know the answers, didn't want to delve deeper into this tangled web. But it was too late. The choice had been made for him.

"Let's get out of here, Polpetta," Sarbello murmured, starting the truck. The engine rumbled to life, and the moonlight seemed to fade behind them as they began to drive down the road again. He didn't look back.