Prosper glared fiercely at Scipio. "Thief Lord. More like Thief Liar."
Scipio looked from Prosper to Riccio, from Mosca to Bo, to Hornet, who's tears cut lines down her dirty face.
"Please, Bo!" He pleaded.
But not even Bo would speak for his former idol. Finally, Mosca stepped up to Scipio. Scipio's eyes widened. Would Mosca, of all people, stand up for him? Instead, Mosca started to sob.
"Why would you lie to us?!" He cried. "We TRUSTED you! We thought you'd understand us because you-you-we're like...us!"
At this, Hornet stepped up to Mosca, wrapping a spindly arm around his shoulder. Pulling Mosca back, Hornet stepped up now. There was a sharp sound, like a whip being cracked, and Scipio realized that Hornet had slapped him. A cool trickle ran down his face, and the others realized, with a pang of guilt, that one of Hornet's long fingernails has split his cheek. Covering his face, Scipio ran out of the Stella Theater, where he broke down and cried hard.
He got home late, and, as expected, his father, Dottor Massimo, was waiting for him, furious. As Scipio opened the large door, his father grabbed him by his longish black hair and pulled him to the stairs, throwing him roughly down onto them. Scipio cried out as his side struck something sharp; it was one of his father's letter openers. Scipio could feel blood running down inside of his black long coat, but payed no attention to it as his father started to shout.
"You ungrateful snake! I treat you kind, I let you have an education, and then you go and STEAL FROM THIS HOUSE!"
At this, Dottor held one hand up. Clutched tightly in it was sugar tongs, the same ones that Scipio had filched from his own house not a week ago. Scipio knew his father knew it was him, saw that there was no way he could lie his way out of his mess, his lies. Suddenly, however, the Dottor seized Scipio by his black coat, and hauled him out the door of his large home.
"Stay away from here, thief!" the Dottor cried, slamming the door and locking it behind him.
Scipio sat on the front steps, bewildered and scared and sick of himself. Them, slowly, he got up, and started running, away from his problems, away from everything.
He would throw himself into the canal.
He ran halfway to the Stella, and then turned down an alley which led directly to the back streets of Venice, the back doors of shops, the abandoned apartments left to rot...a perfect place to end his thirteen-year, miserable life. He put a hand to his side, feeling blood still rushing out of him, and stood at the very end of the canal, high-heeled boots almost off of the pier. A sudden wave of lightheadedness suddenly swept over him, Probably from the blood loss, he told himself, but it would all be over soon, so soon...
Just as Scipio was about to jump, he heard an urgent voice, and heard feet rushing towards him. But he couldn't see, exactly; his vision seemed to be tinged with red.
"Hey! Stop!" Scipio could hear a voice far, so far away, and briefly make out a girl's dirty face, looking worriedly at him. But only briefly; Scipio's legs crumpled under him, and he fell backwards onto the pavement, the girl catching him before his head hit the cobblestone.