A big thank you to Mominator124, Badpixie06, Aphaea21, Astrophysicschic, Teen543, Phantomgirl24, peanutpup, lindaweng, WolfShadow1, thedawncomes, SloaneDestler, EvaLark, phanrose, Pensez-a-Erik, smrb, MaFerviolon, and Child of Dreams for the lovely reviews! I appreciate it, everyone!
At Mominator124's suggestion, I added a bit of foreshadowing of the religious zealot who took credit for Javert's death in the beginning of chapter 41 :) Thank you for that! Always happy to take suggestions for how to improve my stories and writing in general!
Note: This Giovanni is VERY different from the original Kay Giovanni. Just a warning :)
Enjoy!
Erik
Chapter 45
The Fox
My mind raced with ways to overcome my current predicament as I was walked through the midnight Venetian streets. On one side were stone buildings, tall, blocking out the moonlight. On the other side were the white shimmers of the canals. I couldn't see Vincenzo as he walked behind me, his grip like iron on my wrists. I could, however, see Carmelo. As he held the knife to my throat, he held in his boyish face a sort of victorious glee. His eyes were round and shining, and his mouth was spread wide in a smile. His every step was sure, like he'd just caught an animal in a trap and was now taking it home to feast.
"Please," I whispered, staring at him, even as I knew he couldn't understand me. "Please, let me go. I won't steal from you again."
Carmelo's eyebrow cocked, and he glanced at Vincenzo behind me. "Cosa sta dicendo?" He didn't lower the knife.
"Come faccio a saperlo?" was Vincenzo's low reply.
Carmelo shrugged and continued walking.
I swallowed. I think, even if they could understand me, they wouldn't be keen to let me free anyway. I had no idea, truly, where they were taking me.
My captors were apparently quite adept at avoiding passersby, at avoiding police in general. The entire walk, the boys would suddenly pull me into an alleyway. We'd watch, a few seconds later, as a man in uniform, or a young couple, or a lone man would pass by. More time would pass, and then we would continue on our way.
At last, we arrived at...I wasn't sure, at first glance. From the golden light coming through the windows, I could see tables, people sitting at them. A beer glass next to a flowerpot on one of the inside windowsills. It had a second and third floor, and some of those windows were lit, too. On the first floor, a woman walked from table to table, dropping off plates and glasses.
An inn, I realized. Carmelo deftly moved the knife to his teeth, used his now-free hand to open the door, and gripped the knife once more, holding it to my throat - all in the span of, perhaps, three seconds. Faster than I could even think to get away.
Chatter in a language I didn't speak emerged. On either side of us was a dining room, and before us were two staircases - one that went up and one that went down. I thought for a moment that we might move into one of the dining rooms, but then I was pushed forward, toward the staircase that went down.
"Attento a non cadere," whispered Vincenzo into my ear, and Carmelo sniggered. I didn't know what that meant, but I watched my feet as we went down, Carmelo walking backwards now, staring at me with interest.
"E molto brutto," he said.
"Zitto," said Vincenzo simply.
Carmelo gaped. "E vero, si?"
"Si, ma zitto."
At the bottom of the stairs, we entered into what appeared to be a cellar. In the middle of the cellar was a round table, and at it were three people. On the right was a large man, skin like walnut wood, and hair black, intensely curled, and pulled back into a thick mass with a red ribbon; he played a game of cards by himself. On the left was a girl who looked to be about my age, slightly upturned brown eyes, and long brown hair; she read a book. The man in the middle, though, was who my gaze lingered on. Darker than the girl next to him, but not quite so dark as the man, he looked back at us without a single expression.
But it wasn't his expression that surprised me; it was the deep, ugly scar that stretched from the outer corner of his right eye and slashed diagonally across his cheek to the right corner of his mouth. In front of him was what looked like veal and green vegetables. My mouth salivated at the sight without my permission, and I swallowed.
He put down the fork and knife he was holding, looking right back at me. I didn't look at the man or the girl, but I saw, in the corner of my eye, that he signed the cross. The girl stood straight up with a gasp of horror, dropping her book to the table.
The man in the middle finally looked away from me, toward Vincenzo, then Carmelo. He glanced at the girl, then at the man, and finally brought his eyes back to me.
"Tu chi sei?" he asked softly.
Carmelo began to respond, but the man took his knife and slammed it, blade down, into the table. It stood straight up. I felt my knees begin to shake - the image of Javert kicking me flashed into my mind.
His expression remained neutral. His voice remained gentle. He looked at Carmelo, who had now decided he no longer wanted to speak. "Te l'ho chiesto, figlio?"
"No, padre."
"Grazie." He looked at me. "Tu chi sei?"
My mouth was dry. There was that phrase again. "I don't understand." My voice shook.
His eyebrows raised. "Do you understand me now?" Accented, but clear.
I nearly stopped breathing. "Yes."
"Good." His expression still didn't change. "What is your name?"
"Erik."
"And why have Vincenzo and my son brought you here to me?"
"I tried to steal from them." No point in lying about it now. He'd likely just ask them what happened, anyway.
Suddenly, he smiled, widely. It looked identical, actually, to Carmelo's smile. "I assume you were nearly successful, or they wouldn't have troubled to bring you all the way to my little lair."
I didn't respond for a while, and then, "Yes, sir." I paused. "I will not steal from them again. I was merely..." I glanced shortly at his plate of food. My stomach protested, and I looked back up. "I was hungry."
"Where is your mother?"
"Dead." Marie was my mother, and she was dead. My fault.
"And your father?"
"Also dead." According to Madeleine, that was my fault, too.
"I see." The man narrowed his eyes. "And your face? Who did that?"
"God." He was dead as well.
He stared at me for a while, brown eyes calculating me. Then: "My name is Giovanni Billisi. I'd ask you how you are, but I can take a wild guess just by looking at your dirty clothes and lack of meat on your bones. I can surmise, too, that you don't very much like having a knife to your throat or your hands forced behind you."
"No, sir," I whispered.
"Very well." He shooed me with his hand. "You may go." He turned to look at Carmelo and Vincenzo. "Ragazzi, lasciatelo andare."
Carmelo and Vincenzo looked between them, surprised.
Giovanni raised his head a bit. "Siete sordi, ragazzi?"
Reluctantly, Vincenzo let go of my wrists. Carmelo lowered the knife. Not quite believing my luck, I merely stared at Giovanni.
"Well?" he said, smiling slightly. "The door to the inn is up the stairs. I can't imagine you've forgotten the way already."
Numb, I turned, about to go back up, when: "Oh, mio Dio, I nearly forgot." My gaze whipped back to Giovanni, who was getting up. The girl next to him swiftly went to one of the stone walls and retrieved a cane. I noticed with deep surprise that she wore pants rather than a skirt. She brought it to him. "Grazie," he said, and she nodded. Limping, but sure-footed, he went to Carmelo, reached into the bag, and retrieved a handful of coins. He held them out for me.
I gaped at him.
"What?" he asked. "You said you were hungry."
Hand shaking, I took the money from him. I started up the stairs.
"Wait another minute."
I whirled.
"I wasn't finished." He rested both hands on the cane. "Before you go, would you care for a bath? And dinner, perhaps? Maybe even a night in one of my many fine beds?"
My mouth felt like cotton was stuffed inside of it. "What...why?"
"Because, dear boy, you smell. Quite badly. And you just said you are hungry." He cocked his head. "Care for a stay at the Fox Den Inn?"
