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Chapter 1
Luca Age 10
Myhandstretchestheyellow-colored elastic that’s attached to my homemade wooden slingshot. The sky is hazy with a wildfire thousands of miles away, giving the day an orange glow. There isn’t a breath of wind to carry any of the smoke away or to fight against the rock nestled in my pocket.
I eye my surroundings. Two men are dressed in expensive suits, sitting at a cramped table outside near the perimeter of the brick patio. Their bodyguards stand with their hands behind their backs, watching over the street and not toward the bush I’m hiding behind. My hand is bruised and busted from a fight I got into earlier in the week. Each time I pull at the elastic, I’m forced to stare at the injury, causing my mind to be distracted with the way I’m forced to live right now.
My punishment for fighting is no dinner for the next week. They can’t beat me—for the most part—because the bruises will show. I’m a lot bigger than I was a year ago. Each year, I become stronger, and soon no one will be able to touch me. At the age of ten, I’ve now been placed in sixteen different foster homes. It has come to the point when I run away, they don’t search for me until a couple of days before the monthly inspection. I’m a scrawny, scrappy, mouthy, dirty kid who no one loves. Not that I need love. I’ve become good at making the best out of my situation. I can take care of myself.
The two men smell of wealth, and I set my sights on them. Their gold rings and fancy cars showcase their money all the way from over there. I bet they have hundreds in their wallets. My stomach grumbles at the thought of what I could do with that money. Even once it’s split three ways.
This street is typically packed with people, which is the reason why I picked it. Busy means it is easier to steal; it’s as simple as that. Today, there are small clusters of people around, who seem to belong to these guys and no one else. The sidewalks are empty, and there is a weird vibe in town, similar to when a foster dad gets drunk and is wanting a fight. I don’t have time to wait for a better time in the day.
My stomach grumbles, and my legs shake, making my accuracy less than ideal. My concentration is lacking, as all my brain wants to do is scream for food. Glancing back at the two men, I see they’re still sitting at the edge of a patio, making it easy to get in and out. The edge of the building shields my two friends, while the green bushes act as a barrier for me.
These two kids who follow me around, I’ve made them my right-hand men. We all come from broken homes, making us the only family we have. I line my slingshot up, aiming an odd-shaped pebble. My friends are waiting to pickpocket the unsuspecting “too rich for their own good” type of guys as soon as they become startled and stand up. We’ve done this a hundred times before. It should be like taking candy from a baby.
I have almost perfect aim as I line my shot up. It would be perfect if I had control over the rocks I could find. Some of them have a mind of their own. With their weird shapes and sizes, it can make even the best marksmen inaccurate.
Pulling the elastic back, I keep both eyes open, and the worn leather-like pouch sits next to my cheek as I aim my shot. Deliberately, my fingers let go, and I watch the rock sail through the air. It knocks the hat off the first man, making him draw his gun and stand up.
His eyes are searching, and my friends, Scott and Jay, freeze. None of us were expecting guns. I thought these men were the pushover type who would be frightened. These men don’t appear to be panicked. I’ve never backed down from anyone. Instinctively, I grab another rock and sail it through the air, hitting the man in the back of his head.
The second man stands, moving his coat to show he’s packing as well. His demeanor appears to be more amused than angry, unlike the other guy. But I guess it’s because I haven’t hit him with a rock yet.
Taking another pebble, I move my position and aim for the second guy’s hat. They were both wearing brimmed hats, much like the gangsters do in the old movies I’ve watched. Maybe that should have been a clue that these guys weren’t normal businessmen. Pulling the elastic farther back than before, I sail my rock in the air, only for the man to shoot it like a flying clay object. It explodes in the air, impressing me.
His eyes follow the trajectory and land on me before replacing his gun to his side. By now, everyone has scrambled away, because they’re all weak. I stand my ground, walking toward them with my head up. They haven’t asked me to come, but I go with Plan B, which is to gain their respect. I recognize their type. They have power and money—both things I want to possess. They can’t do much more to me than what the world already has.
The man I hit grabs me by the back of the neck and squeezes like you would the scruff of a dog. My arms come out swinging, hoping to hit him hard. I’ve got practice in fighting bigger men than me. I use my size to my advantage. Curse words are flying out of my mouth faster than most of my jabs.
“Mancini, let the poor boy go. You’re making a mockery out of yourself.”
This makes the man named Mancini squeeze my neck harder. I refuse to slouch in pain, fighting harder, only to miss him each time. “No one disrespects me.” Mancini’s words sound like they’re caught on a growl as he seethes at me.
It’s unclear if he’s talking to me or the other guy. My eyes dart around, finding the street is bare. The shops have shut their doors and now have Closed signs on them. Nothing about this is our normal steal. Out of nowhere, my two friends are being dragged toward us. Fear clouds their eyes as their feet drag across the pavement with the goons pulling them.
“Are you a coward who can’t do his own dirty work?” Scott yells, fighting the grasp the men have on him.
“It’s small dick syndrome,” Jay yells out to Scott. He’s stopped fighting the man holding onto him. I admire how he’s always brave, never afraid to mouth off. “I bet they all suck each other.”
Mancini raises his gun and shoots Jay without warning. I’ve never seen someone die in front of me before. I want to scream and fight, but I force myself to stay still.
“I didn’t realize you’re in the business of killing children,” the second man says calmly but dripping with coldness. Scott and I are ignored while the men talk. The other man’s posture is relaxed as he places his hands in his pockets. He shows no expression that he cares about my dead friend. A grin teases his mouth, confirming he rather enjoys provoking his friend.
“Rossi, your four daughters make you weak,” Mancini sneers, making it sound like a threat, even though he didn’t threaten anything in particular.
I watch Scott fight harder, fearful of the same fate. Without mercy, Mancini lifts his gun and shoots him too. I want to vomit, but I haven’t eaten in three days. This time, when the other man takes his gun out, so does everyone else. The safety on the guns sound like dominos as they fall.
“Leave my territory. Our meeting is over.” Rossi’s commanding voice vibrates around me, and I watch Mancini eye me like I’m a bug he would love to kill.
My shoulders tighten, scanning for an escape path if I need it. My eyes blink more than they should as they ping-pong between the men. Rossi is not a man to be crossed. Fear slithers deep into my bones until the sensation is overwhelming.
“You pull that trigger again, and I will put you down,” says Rossi.
“You’re choosing a homeless kid over our alliance?” He’s staring at me, the spit from his words hitting my face in a splatter. Disgust is written all over him as he returns his gaze to the one person who might be saving my life.
“I cannot approve of a marriage for my daughter to the son of a child killer. It has nothing to do with the boy.” He laughs like someone told a joke.
