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Erik
Chapter 59
The Bird
When the wolves insulted Carmelo or Luciana, they called them bastard children, as though their mother was never married to their father. When they insulted Giovanni, they insulted his lifestyle. When they insulted me, they insulted my face.
But when they insulted Vincenzo and Salvatore, they didn't mock them for their parents or career or appearance.
They merely called Vincenzo a Gypsy.
They merely called Salvatore an African.
As if being Romani or being from the African continent was an insult in itself.
It boiled my blood beyond reason.
The wolves spat on Vincenzo, claiming that it was just like a Gypsy to be a thief. Meanwhile, the only reason he was in this "line of work" was because others stole from him first - they stole his family and home.
The wolves sneered at Salvatore, voicing their thoughts that it was fitting that a "barbaric" African would commit crimes. But if he hadn't, he'd still be a victim of the truly barbaric act of slavery.
Their words were a self-fulfilling prophecy. And it wasn't fair.
But nothing was ever fair, was it?
I was in love with Luciana.
I'd been with the Fox Den Inn crew for three years, and I was now fifteen.
With every passing day, my affection for them - for all of them - grew exponentially. And every few months, when Mario and his men came to collect, I wanted more than anything to hurt them. When we encountered them in the street, I wished to throttle their throats as they insulted my brothers.
But I had things to find happiness in, despite these anger-inducing moments. I looked forward to piano lessons with Carmelo. To reading with Salvatore. To sharpening my Italian or simply chatting and eating with Giovanni. To playing cards with Vincenzo.
But the thing I liked most was at dusk, when there was no mission to embark on. When Luciana and I would sit on the roof of the inn, looking out over the city.
We hadn't become this close until recently.
I'd found her crying alone in the cellar, when I'd returned early from a mission. Vincenzo and Carmelo wanted to visit a local pub, a place where mostly young men ventured, and I didn't care for the idea. Giovanni was mingling with guests, and Salvatore was in his bedroom. So I went to the cellar to play. I found her with her face in her arms, bent over the table, softly weeping.
"Luciana?"
Her gaze flew up to meet mine. Her eyes in the soft light were puffy, cheeks tear-stained. She wiped at them quickly. "What?" she asked. "What do you want?"
"Are you all right?" I took a step nearer. "Did someone hurt you?"
She contorted her face in disgust. "No. No one hurt me. Why does everyone assume that if I'm upset, I've been hurt? I can take perfect care of myself. It takes a lot for someone else to make me cry."
I looked away. "Sorry to offend."
"Don't do that, either." She sniffed. "Don't act like I need to have my sensibilities protected, that I can't handle being offended. I hate that."
I stared at her quizzically. "Then what would you have me say?"
"Whatever you want!" She threw her hands up and stood. "You can say whatever you want around me! You don't have to act in a way that's different to how you act around my brother or Vincenzo! The only thing that's different between Carmelo and me is our gender - and I hate that!" Another tear went down her cheek, and she wiped it away. "I want to be a thief, too, but my father has chosen my life for me - I'll never be anything but a helpless girl. He'll never allow me anymore freedoms than wearing trousers and brandishing a weapon - and even those, he says, are only so that it is easier for me to defend myself. Because, to him, I will always be on the defensive, not the offensive like the rest of you."
I listened to her rant, not saying a word, feeling quite badly for my thought that first night. That the way Vincenzo spoke to her was not appropriate for a lady's ears.
"I am capable of doing anything my brother does," she said. "But because I look like my mother, because my father is terrified of losing me, he won't put me in any danger. But what does that say about his love for Carmelo? Does he not love him the same? Or maybe, does he love him more? Respect him more? I can't say. All I know is that I hate my life. I feel trapped. I feel like I'm a bird in a cage, wanting to fly but knowing my wings are clipped."
I watched her, and as I did, I couldn't help it. "I understand what that's like."
We looked at each other in silence for a moment. Then she said: "Do you want to talk on the roof? I think I need fresh air."
I nodded.
Tonight was a night when no thievery, no mischief, took place. An off-night. This wasn't because we were tired. No, actually, we felt invigorated when we stole. I'd started practicing my skills shortly after watching Carmelo. And I excelled at it very quickly. I reached the point that I needed no distraction from Vincenzo to pick a pocket. Actually, my masked face was enough. When I'd at last learned to swallow my fear of crowds - a thing that took time and support from Carmelo and Vincenzo - I walked straight into groups and emerge seconds later with handfuls of coins.
My mask distracted them from what my hands did.
We took tonight off because even thieves need time to relax.
I ascended the stairs to the roof to find Luciana already sitting there, watching the yellow sun set over Venice's glittering cityscape. Of everything in my sight, she was the loveliest.
"I hear you are as good a thief as my father now." She looked at me and smiled. My stomach fluttered at the sight. The best part was that I knew she smiled genuinely - that though she wished to be a thief herself, she knew how I struggled to make myself go into public spaces. She was actually happy for me, despite the jealousy I knew she felt.
If I had the power, I would make it so that she could go on missions right alongside us. But only her father had that power. Her father, or perhaps her husband-
"I don't know if I'd say that," I said softly in response to her words, speaking before my thoughts ran away from me.
"My father says that." She leaned back on her hands. At sixteen, she was still so small. "The words came from his own mouth."
"Really?" A swell of pride grew in me.
She nodded, and then looked away, staring at the horizon. "Erik?"
"Yes?"
"Do you think it's forward for a girl to tell a boy she loves him?"
I felt suddenly quite lightheaded. I had to look away. "No, I - I -" I swallowed. "No, I think that's fine."
A long silence. "Erik?" she said again.
"Yes?" My heart hammered in my chest.
"I have something to tell you."
I turned slowly again, toward her. "What is it?"
"Carmelo has made fun of me for loving Vincenzo, but the truth is...well-" Her face reddened.
I thought for a moment that she wouldn't continue, and I wanted to tell her then that I loved her, that I loved seeing her smile. I loved her ferocity and sharp tongue. And there was no shame in telling me-
"The truth is," she whispered, "that I really do love him."
A cold feeling washed over me. "Who?"
She turned to me again. "Vincenzo." She bit her lip. "But I am scared to tell him. Should I tell him?"
The sun lost its light. It was still a dull yellow low in the sky, but it looked dark now. Everything did. "I-"
"You're a good friend, Erik," she said quickly. "That's why I tell you this. I know you'll keep the secret until I decide to say something, right?"
"Right," I whispered, bringing my knees to my chest.
"But should I tell him? I don't know if I should."
"I think that's up to you." I felt as though I had no breath.
She looked at me, perhaps waiting for more, and then sighed. "I know you're right. This is something I should decide on my own." When she laid her head on my shoulder, I was too numb to feel it. "I will think it over."
I closed my eyes, not knowing why I had the right to feel this way.
Of course she didn't love me back.
Vincenzo was good.
Vincenzo was handsome.
Vincenzo deserved to be loved.
I could not say the same for myself.
