Chapter Two

Luciana gets an offer she can't refuse. If she does, someone has to pay for it.

“Pierre,” I said through clenched teeth.

“I’m glad you’re happy to see me,” he smiled, showing his crooked teeth. His greasy brown hair was hung in stringy pieces on the side of his face. His mustache was beginning to show grey hairs.

“Come my dear, let us conduct business,” he gestured to a table in the far corner, touching the small of my back. I walked to the table and sat down on the edge of my seat. The bartender ignored us, but instead counted his earnings.

Pierre sat next to me, to close for my comfort. In fact, being in the same room with him bothers me. He watched greedily as I untied the sack and dropped it on the table. His quick fingers untied the string and poured the continents into his hand. His eyes twinkled at the sight of the gold.

“I’ll give you,” he began, putting the jewels back into the bag. “The usual.”

“No,” I snapped. “Five’s not going to cover that. Nine.”

“Six,” he retorted.

“Seven,” I said smoothly. “Or I take my business elsewhere.”

“Deal,” he grumbled. He dropped the coins in my waiting hand and I began counting, making sure he hadn’t cheated me.

I felt his breath close to my ear. “You know my beautiful thief,” he said. “You could be much more stable. You could live in a fine house…with a fine husband.”

His lips brushed my skin and I shuttered. He froze as my blade pressed against his throat. “Don’t. Touch. Me.” I growled, pressing my dagger harder to his throat as he backed away.

“Easy there, my Italian,” he said. “I meant no harm.”

I glared fiercely at him and sheathed my dagger. He rubbed his throat, swallowing. He always called me those awful pet names. I hated it. It was true though, my heritage is from Italy and France, though Angelo and I mostly look Italian.

“But I do have another proposition for you,” he said, leaning closer but keeping a careful distance.

“I don’t take requests,” I said, continuing to count the coins.

“This is no request, my dear. It is a job and a good paying job too.”

“Not interested,”

“Does two hundred interest you?”

I stopped counting, he defiantly had my attention. With that kind of money, I wouldn’t have to steal for a long time. I could even buy a small house…

I shook my head. “No, I don’t steal for other people. I only steal when I have to.”

He chuckled. “This man is very important and he wants you.”

“Why me? And if he’s so powerful why doesn’t he get someone else?”

“Because my little thief,” Pierre said. “You are the best, and this man wants the best. I would take the offer, because –believe me-if you don’t listen, he’ll get what he wants. Even if he has to take a few people down. Come here tonight, that is, if you don’t want to be on his hate list. I’d hate to see that pretty little face of yours scarred.” Pierre stood and walked away, pushing back a curtain of one of the back rooms and disappearing.

I watched him go, my thoughts swirling like a storm-tossed sea. Pocketing the coins, I moved quickly up the stairs. “Angelo?”

Angelo was waiting by the doorway, where I had left him.  He seemed rather mad at me. “What?” I said, “You got to go.”

“But I didn’t see anything happen,” he grumbled, leading the way back to the street.

“Good thing you didn’t,” I muttered to myself and followed him.

Back in the market, a band of gypsies had set up there wagon. They presented their items of selling to people passing by. Several of them shied away.

One of the men started placing a beat on his drum and a young gypsy girl started to dance. Several people stopped to watched, curious. The girl moved with the slow beat, the bells on her ankles and hips clinking softly. The drum beat slowly became faster, the drummer beating harder and harder. The girl’s dance kept up with the complicated drum beat. Her feet moved so fast, it seemed that they never touched the ground.

When the girl finished, a few coins dropped at her feet and she bowed in thanks.

“Luciana!” A girl my age leapt from the bright covered wagon and ran to us. “Angelo!”

I smiled broadly and we embraced, laughing. “Florica!” I cried, holding her at arm’s length.

“It’s good to see you both,” she said, hugging Angelo. “Little Angel! You’ve grown!”

“How long has it been, Florica?” I asked.

“A long time-too long if you ask me.” She replied. Her long black hair flowed to her waist, with colorful ribbons braided in her hair. I had met Florica shortly after we had run away. Her family gave us shelter for a few days and there we bonded a tight friendship.

“Where did you go this time?” I asked her, eager to learn of her travels all over France.

We sat behind the wagon, talking for what seemed like wonderful hours.

When she was done she fingered a bracelet, her dark eyes fixed on me. “Luciana…Do you still steal?”

I sighed, “I have to, or else we would starve.”

Florica fingered her bracelet more nervously. “But what if the soldiers catch you? They would send you straight to prison, and Angelo would have to go to the orphanage.”

“I know,” I said. “But I’m good enough to evade them.”

“Luci,” she said, taking my hand. “You know that I would never turn you in, right?”

“Of course,”

“But I’m still worried about you.”

I was touched, even after all these years she still thought me as a sister. I squeezed her hand. “Thank you, but I can take care of myself and Angelo.”

Florica chuckled. “Even after three years, you’re still the same.”

Later, when evening was drawing close, we said goodbye and I promised to see her again.

“Be careful.” She whispered as she hugged me tightly.

We made it back to our tent just as the sun was disappearing over the rooftops of the buildings. When Angelo was settled, I went back to the street and walked briskly to the same alley I had taken this morning.

 

Reviews

[Kelley]

this is getting interesting now with the big job offer. I wonder what it is?

Kelley