The food, as it turned out, was soporific. To Fred’s horror, Enzo collapsed and lay motionless. Fred's panic surged as the hawker straightened, his movements unnervingly deliberate. With a slow, mocking gesture, the hawker reached up and peeled away his mask. Fred’s breath caught. Beneath the worn disguise, Ruggero’s familiar, wicked grin emerged. Only now did Fred realize—it had all been part of Ruggero’s sinister plot.

At that moment, Ruggero started to launch an attack on Fred. Caught off guard, Fred felt a cold shiver run down his spine. His heart pounded in his chest, and his legs felt like they were made of lead.

Fred was overcome by fear, feeling his strength draining away. His vision blurred, and he stumbled backward. In that desperate instant, a flicker of memory pierced the fog of fear. He recalled the story of David, who faced Goliath with courage and determination. A spark of defiance ignited within him, prompting him to resist his fear. Taking a deep breath, he steeled himself against Ruggero's onslaught and felt his strength returning.

A fierce struggle ensued between Fred and Ruggero . The latter's attacks were powerful, but Fred fought back with determination.

Just as it seemed that Fred might be overwhelmed, a familiar voice called out. Fred turned to see his butler, his face etched with concern. Without hesitation, the butler joined the fray. His arrival gave Fred enough time to escape.

Later, when Fred went back to the same spot to search for Enzo, he found it missing. The next day, a letter arrived from Ruggero . Fred opened the envelope and read the letter carefully: "Your father’s book. In exchange, you’ll have your dog back, unharmed. No tricks. No delays."

Fred’s grip tightened around the letter. Though he didn’t fully understand Ruggero’s motives, he sensed the danger. He took a deep breath and penned his response: "No way. I won’t give up the book..."

And so began a tense exchange of letters. Fred refused to yield, countering each of Ruggero’s demands with defiance. Ruggero responded with threats and veiled warnings. But Fred stood firm. Finally, after several letters with no result, Ruggero appeared to give in and agreed to return Enzo. When Fred arrived to collect him, Ruggero greeted him with a sly smile.

"You fought hard for him, hug it as much as you wish now," After handing over the dog, Ruggero remarked with a sinister smile.

Fred stiffened, registering the sinister undertone in his voice. What was Ruggero truly playing at? Was this truly over, or had Ruggero set a trap he had yet to see?

Soon, Fred discovered Enzo became different--- his movements were sluggish, his breathing uneven. Something was wrong.

Later that evening, Ciara arrived to check on Enzo. She knelt beside him, running her fingers through his thick coat, her voice soft with concern. "He’s burning up," she murmured, wiping her forehead.

Unknowingly, she had touched her face.

The next morning, Ciara woke with a dull ache in her limbs, a faint dizziness clouding her senses. She brushed it off at first—until the fever set in.

Then the black envelope arrived.

"You should have given me the book when I asked. Enzo has already passed his affliction on. If you want the antidote, you know the price."

Suddenly, everything clicked—the sluggishness, the fever, Ciara’s symptoms.

Ruggero had poisoned Enzo. Not just poisoned—he had infected him with something engineered to spread. Fred was wondering: had Ruggero planned this from the very beginning?

Fred hesitated. His father had always insisted that Don Quixote must never leave their hands. But as he watched Ciara struggle to stand, he realized there was no choice.

That evening, he sent his reply.

"We meet in the town square tomorrow. I will bring the books."

Fred arrived at the town square, gripping Don Quixote tightly under his arm. His heart pounded with tension.

Ruggero stood waiting near the fountain, the same smug expression on his face. He held a small vial between his fingers, tilting it slightly so the liquid shimmered under the streetlights.

Fred wasted no time. “Ciara is getting worse,” he said through clenched teeth.

“You have what I need. Let’s settle this.” Ruggero smirked. “The books first.”

With a silent, pained breath, Fred handed over Don Quixote. The weight of the exchange settled deep in his chest—his father’s legacy, now in the hands of a villain. Ruggero inspected the book briefly before slipping it into his satchel.

“Good,” Ruggero muttered. Then, with deliberate slowness, he placed the vial into Fred’s outstretched palm.

Fred turned on his heel and sprinted home. Ciara barely had the strength to lift her head when Fred arrived. He knelt beside her, carefully administering the antidote. Within hours, the fever broke, her breathing steadied, and colour returned to her face. Relief washed over Fred. Ciara recovered, but Enzo had grown weaker. His body trembled, his eyes dull. The virus had progressed too far. Despite everything, the antidote couldn’t undo the damage. By morning, Enzo was gone.

It was a heavy blow for Fred, and he felt a sense of guilt for not being able to save Enzo. Fred vowed to seek revenge. He started to prepare himself for the battle ahead, but then he recalled his late father's advice against seeking revenge. Also, he realized that confronting Ruggero might lead to more harm, not just for himself but for others as well. He knew his young brother and sister needed him to take care of them. In the end, despite his anger, he decided against revenge, realizing the potential for greater harm and the need to protect his younger siblings.

Fred felt sad and guilty for losing the books and his dog. He saw himself as a total failure. After all these troubles and sadness, Fred decided to move to Firenze, where his uncle Roberto lived.

It was Fred's first night in Florence. The clouds hung heavy in the sky, and Fred, feeling the weight of the dreary evening, went to bed early.

During his sleep, Fred's father appeared to him in a dream, his face beaming with joy. His eyes sparkled with pride, and his smile was as wide as the Florentine sky.

"Fred, my son," his father said, his voice brimming with joy, "You have done remarkably well in guarding your treasures."

Fred felt intrigued and asked, "But how? I lost the book and my dog, Father. How can you say that I did well?"

His father replied: "You didn't think carefully about the contents of my letter ..."

His father continued, "Fred, you had missed an important portion of my last letter because it was burnt. The treasures I referred to were not the Don Quixote, which you would have deduced from the letter if you had thought carefully about the contents of the letter. When have such physical treasures as the 'Don Quixote' ever contributed to your happiness?"

"So what were the treasures you referred to, Father?"

His father told him, "They are wisdom and self-control. Protect them with all your might."

A new and better life in Florence awaited Fred.

(The end)