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‘Don’t worry, Aleksander will reimburse you.’
Lykos’s response of a growl was more grouse than bite, partly because he was trying to control his body’s worryingly swift reaction to her touch.
‘It is, after all, for the children.’ She play-pouted and he rolled his eyes. Spinning away from him, she took up a slow walk down one of the paths in Parco Sempione. Lykos had found it on the internet last night while trying to figure out how to get through Marit’s list in the short time that they had. The largest park in Milan boasted lakes and views of the Arch of Peace, as well as being conveniently situated near their hotel.
His eyes scanned the area, the large group of happy children slowly working their way towards a sugar high, teachers trying to wrangle the few stragglers. A couple passed them hand in hand, the dark-haired man making him think of Theron and causing him to wonder how his partner, Summer, was getting on with their new baby. As his attention focused on a young boy, Lykos mentally kicked himself for ignoring Theron’s most recent invitation. The baby was cute, he could admit that. But that didn’t mean he had to drop everything and rush to admire his friend’s progeny. Especially given the baby’s biological connection to Kyros Agyros.
He pressed pause on his thoughts and slowed as he saw the young boy move to stand a little too close to the trouser pocket of one of the teachers. And while he might not be overly familiar with children’s clothing, he did know clean from dirty, new from old. And he knew a child thief when he saw one. After all, he had been one of the best.
Marit had stopped a few feet ahead and turned to follow the direction of Lykos’s gaze. Not wanting to alert the boy, Lykos gave what looked like his full attention to Marit as he pulled his wallet from his pocket discreetly and swapped out his credit card and driver’s licence. Marit frowned, clearly realising something was up but thankfully kept her silence. Lykos replaced the wallet in his trouser pocket as he reached Marit and held out his arm to her.
Bemused, Marit took his offer, threading her hand through the crook of his elbow and together they carried on their walk, just like the happy couple they had passed. Lykos wondered how long it would take the boy to notice a much richer mark and, not a minute later, he felt the grab. The boy jolted into him, not too hard, the pressure just right—as if he’d been trying to get round Lykos but misjudged. He imagined the park offered the kid a fair bit of income during the summer months and wouldn’t begrudge the loss of the leather wallet at all.
‘What was that about?’ Marit asked, leaning into his arm conspiratorially after the boy had run off.
‘What was what about?’ Lykos replied, catching the moment the kid checked the contents of his wallet and saw the boy’s eyes grow wide.
‘The thing with your cards and your wallet?’
Lykos turned to her, his face purposely blank, but she wasn’t buying it, not for one second. Sighing, he pulled her back onto the path as they made their way towards the Arch. ‘Do you see that kid?’
‘The one running off?’ she asked.
Lykos nodded. ‘He just stole my wallet.’
‘What?’ Marit demanded, shocked. ‘Should we call the police?’
Lykos laughed. ‘No. He earned it. It was a good lift.’ Once again he felt the tug of her confusion. ‘If I hadn’t expected it, I doubt I would have felt it. It takes years of practice to get that good. And, besides, it was only money. As you saw, I’d removed my cards and ID beforehand.’
‘How much was in the wallet?’
Lykos frowned. ‘Five, maybe six?’
‘Hundred euros?’ Marit asked, her voice a squeak.
Lykos shrugged. He had more money than he knew what to do with. What he didn’t have—as Kozlov pointed out to anyone who would listen—was pedigree. Unlike Marit. In that moment he knew he had more in common with the kid who’d stolen his wallet than the Princess walking beside him.
‘So you let him take a wallet containing six hundred euros?’
‘Marit, I know this may be hard for someone like you to understand, but if the kid is stealing wallets he probably needs the money.’ Irritation and years old resentment rose to colour his words in harsh tones. And the look of hurt that marred her pretty eyes slapped against his conscience.
She looked at her feet, then off into the distance where they had last seen the boy. Marit nodded absently and gently withdrew her arm from his, the sudden snap of cold where there had been heat making him feel it even more. He could feel the burn of the blush marking his cheekbones, as much for his guilt as for the shame in what he was about to admit. ‘I used to be that kid,’ he thrust from between his clenched teeth.
It was her, he realised. It wasn’t shame about his humble, if somewhat illegal, upbringing. It was because he didn’t want her to look at him like Kozlov. As if he was still that same dirty, streetwise, backtalking kid.
‘My father taught me how to steal, how to thieve, as soon as I could walk. By seven years old, he would drop me at a shopping centre and give me a number. If I didn’t come back with that amount of money, I’d have to walk home.’
He hadn’t spoken to anyone of his past for years. The memories made his throat thicken, his voice gravelly. The muscle at his jaw pulsed and he rolled his shoulders to loosen the tension cording his neck. He felt the furtive touch of her gaze against his cheek, there and gone just as quick, an encouragement to continue.
‘My father was a bastard,’ he said, simply and truthfully. There had been no redemption for Aeolus Livas. Three years after his mother had left him at the orphanage, Lykos had been caught by some wannabe gangsters Lykos and Theron had tried to rob. One of them, a friend of his father’s, recognised him, let him off the hook for old times’ sake with a drunken mumbled apology for Lykos’s loss. That was how he’d been told about his father’s death. As he’d later found out, he’d crossed the wrong guy and had been ‘dealt with’. And Lykos had never spared him another thought. Aeolus had been a better drunk than thief, and a violent husband on a good day. ‘But don’t think I didn’t use the skills he taught me. I stole from rich businessmen who wouldn’t miss their money in order to buy food. To buy water.’ He shut his mouth before more revealing words could pour forth. Thirst. That was what he’d remembered most. Not the pangs of hunger gnawing at his stomach, or the fisted grip fear had on his mind, refusing to let him sleep. Delirious thirst. That had been the worst.
‘What about your mother?’
The bright sky fractured into the starburst of a headache and he winced. ‘She did what she had to,’ he replied, coming to the end of the park and hailing a taxi.
‘The only way I’ll be safe,’his mother had said as she’d left him on the steps of the orphanage,‘is if he can never use you against me again.’
Marit was less shocked by the devastating description of his childhood than the way Lykos swayed as he got out of the taxi at the hotel.
