Thank you to Mominator124, EvaLark, peanutpup, lindaweng, Batty Dings, phanrose, SloaneDestler, Child of Dreams, TheTenthMuseSappho, Badpixie06, and Pip and CO for the lovely reviews!

By the way, make sure that you did read chapter 53 (an Erik chapter). I accidentally reuploaded the chapter with a repeat of chapter 52, meaning some of you may not have read 53. I had to go into my google drive saves and find the chapter and re-upload it. Thanks everyone!

Also, I have reuploaded "Music Notes" - I now have time to write both :) If you want to check it out, I would be honored! I have some exciting ideas for that one.

Enjoy!


Erik

Chapter 55

The Wolf

"Well, just because your fingers are ungodly long-"

I scoffed. "It's not my fingers, you dolt. It's the fact that you need to use your pinky finger, not your middle finger."

Carmelo shook his head. He was at the piano in the cellar, stiff-bodied, looking in frustration down at the keys while I stood by next to the instrument. "How am I supposed to remember all of this? It is impossible!-"

"It's not impossible," I said. "It merely takes practice."

"But to use all of your fingers..."

"Oh, yes," came a female voice from the staircase, "it sounds very productive down here."

Luciana. I stood a bit straighter, wiping invisible dust from my clothes, at her appearance. She walked down the stairs, grinning.

Carmelo rolled his eyes. "This is a private lesson."

I raised a brow behind my mask. "Since when?"

He frowned. "I don't want my sister watching and listening."

"Why not?" she asked. "Are you a terrible musician?"

"No."

She looked at me. My heart skipped a beat. "Is he a terrible musician?"

I paused, and then held up my thumb and forefinger very close together, leaving just a tiny bit of space between them. She laughed. At the sound, immense pleasure went through me.

Me. I'd made her laugh.

Carmelo growled at Luciana. "Can you please go?"

"No." She made herself comfortable at the table. "I don't think I will." She picked up an apple from the fruit bowl that rested on the surface and crunched into it, wiping her wrist against her chin at the juices that slid down. She chewed, swallowed, and smiled. "You can continue. I will remain quiet."

Just then, Vincenzo came barreling down the stairs. He looked at us three with wide eyes. "There you all are!..." he whispered roughly, and then put a finger to his lips. "Wolves."

Carmelo stood immediately. Luciana paled. I felt a chill. Wolves?

"I can stand with you three," said Carmelo under his breath. "I am old enough-"

"No," answered Vincenzo. "Your father explicitly asked me to tell you, Luciana, and Erik to hide." He hurried to a corner of the cellar, to a brown rug, a chair upon it. He moved the chair, pulled back the rug, and revealed a trap door. He opened up the door and motioned for us to follow. "Come. Hurry. They will be coming any moment."

Luciana didn't hesitate. She dropped her apple and went swiftly to the trap door, climbing down. Vincenzo nodded to me. I came close to the trap door, and was about to follow her down, watching as she looked back up from me from the darkness.

I turned to him. "What do you mean, wolves? What is going on?"

"I will explain later," he hissed through his teeth, anxiety on his face. "But for now, get in."

I obeyed.

Carmelo didn't.

"Really," he said desperately. "I can handle it."

"No."

"You're fifteen," he told Vincenzo. "Only two years older than me. And you were my age when he allowed you to-"

"No. Now get in there, or Giovanni will have not only your hide but mine as well."

Carmelo finally entered the trap door, and Vincenzo closed it behind us, leaving us in darkness. I heard him move the rug and chair, and then walk away.

I also heard Carmelo seething beside me, breathing deeply.

"Oh, come off it, baby boy," Luciana whispered harshly. "We were born the same exact day, and you don't see me complaining about hiding."

I blinked my surprise in the darkness. She was Carmelo's twin, a year older than me. Here I'd thought she was younger. She was so petite.

"Shut up," he retorted. "You complain about everything else. How you're not allowed to go on missions. The only reason you're being compliant is because Vincenzo is showing he cares about you by asking you to hide, and you like it, because you like him."

"I do not." Her voice was small - I could sense it even in the whisper.

"Yes, you do. More than that, you love him."

"Shut up." But it lacked confidence. She sounded guilty.

Jealousy sprouted in my core. I pushed it back down.

Carmelo had told me about Vincenzo after we played the game of cards altogether. Vincenzo was Romani - more commonly known by the term Gypsy, a word I was advised not to use around him so as not to cause offense. His family, his entire small clan, had been raided by a hateful group of Venetians in the outskirts of the city, and the police were no help. His mother fled with him. She found Giovanni's inn and asked for temporary lodgings, for sanctuary, until she could figure something else out for herself and her son.

Giovanni let them stay. For good. She offered to cook, saying she was excellent with food, and he agreed to this. But she grew sick. Vincenzo thought that it was due to homesickness, due to the loss of her family. Her clan. Now surrounded by the very race of people who'd taken her from the life she knew.

She died.

But Vincenzo stayed. He, like Salvatore, became a part of the family. Carmelo told me that thieves often came and went from the Fox Den Inn, some staying for years, some for only a few weeks. Right now, the numbers were limited to the Billisis, Vincenzo, and Salvatore. These members of the family were apparently the permanent members. And now there was me. The more time I spent with them, the more I hoped perhaps I would be permanent as well.

Of course, I'd have to start learning soon. I told Giovanni of Carmelo's instruction of voice throwing. He was pleased, and said that when I was ready, I'd go "into the field" to observe. I was still a bit nervous to do so, but my confidence on the matter grew with my comradery with my new friends.

But this, this business with the "wolves", whatever was going on now...this family had secrets I did not yet know of.

"What is happening?" I asked in the sudden silence.

"The wolves," said Luciana beside me in the inky blackness. It was the kind of darkness where the mind began filling it in with shapes and colors that weren't there.

"Who are the wolves?"

"Our father's enemies," said Carmelo. "Led by Mario Cardacci."

"A rival thief?" I asked.

"No." Luciana. "Not a thief. Just a very rich man. An aristocrat. But he has a small army of his own, men who act as bodyguards and soldiers on his behalf. His private little police unit."

"What does he want of Giovanni?" I asked in alarm.

"Mario was in love with our mother," explained Carmelo. "She chose our low-born father instead. Needless to say, he wasn't pleased. On our mother's passing during childbirth, Mario hired his own thief to collect a necklace that our father gave her on their wedding. It was his way of saying that our mother was rightfully his."

"That's cruel," I said coldly.

"Yes." Luciana shifted. "And now he comes here every half a year or so to collect payment from him for taking her from this world, as if it was our father's fault she died."

"Payment," I repeated. "Like money?"

"Exactly," she said. "And if he can't pay the full unknown amount, then he punishes him or his men - Vincenzo and Salvatore. If he can't pay any of it, he punishes all of them. The first time it happened, my father refused."

"That's how he got the scar. And the leg," explained Carmelo.

"Why doesn't he...fight back?" I asked. I felt icy, angry - someone was threatening these people who'd taken me in, and I wanted to hurt them. No, I wanted my family to hurt them, to defend themselves, and I wanted to help.

"Because though the police look the other way from us," he said, "two adults, a young man, and two - now three - children cannot best a small army in a fight. So our father treads carefully, paying him off or taking a beating when he can't."

My heart hammered. This wasn't fair. It was entirely outrageous. There had to be something they could do, I could do...

But what?

"...down here, gentlemen, and we shall talk like civilized folk, yes?" Giovanni's voice, along with what sounded like half a dozen or more footsteps.

"Now, Signor Billisi, you know why my men and I are here," said a silky voice in return. A chill went up and down my spine at how similar the tone sounded to Javert's voice. Sickly sweet. "We don't need to drag it out like this. I have a dinner to get to back at the house, you know."

"Oh? And no invitation for your old friend?"

"Unfortunately," said the silver tongue. "Now..." I heard a chair scrape, as if pulled away from the table. "I am looking for double what I asked for last time."

A long pause.

"Well? I am waiting."

"I cannot give you that, Signor Cardacci," responded Giovanni. "I can give you what I gave last time plus half of that, but not double. I will be left with nothing."

"So? Steal more. Isn't that what you do?"

"I cannot steal enough to replenish the loss in a quick enough time. And the inn does not bring as much in as you'd expect-"

"Then pay me what you can and choose one of your men to bleed."

A long silence again, then Giovanni said, "Mario, be reasonable."

"I am." A foot tapped. "You stole from me. Like the thief you are. And now you must give repayment for what you took. Choose a man. The African or the Gypsy. It matters little to me. But from one proud Venetian to another, I'd advise you to choose better company than these...types of people."

"I'm Sicilian, my friend."

"Then I retract my statement. You're practically African yourself. And it explains your pigment - dark like a Gypsy as well." He paused. "Choose a man. Or I will."

"I will volunteer." Vincenzo.

"No," whispered Luciana. Carmelo shifted uncomfortably.

"No, I will," said Salvatore. I pictured, then, Salvatore being beaten, and couldn't help picture Javert doing the beating. I felt a fiery rage.

"Fine." I heard Mario move out of his chair. "We will bleed them both."


Luciana tended to Vincenzo's wounds in his room. I tended to Salvatore's.

Part of me couldn't help picturing Luciana pressing a hot cloth gently on Vincenzo's bruised and cut body, and that jealousy went through me again. But talking to Salvatore and dressing his wounds took my mind off of it. Carmelo was acting as a runner, sprinting to and from the kitchen to get more water or cloths. Giovanni, on the other hand, was calculating ways to earn even more money, so that this didn't happen again.

But just from what I'd seen, I knew that it would never be enough. That if Mario wanted to, he would merely keep increasing the amount requested.

"This can't keep happening," I said to Salvatore, as I bandaged his arm.

Salvatore smirked, sitting on his bed. "You don't need to tell that to me. But we have few other options. Fight back too hard and the police will stop closing their eyes. Stealing from a small bank or pickpocketing passersby is one thing. Harming one of the most influential men in Venice is another."

"There has to be something," I whispered, looking at him. "This isn't fair."

"Well." He stood. "If you figure something out, let me know. Let us all know. I'm sure we'd love to hear."