Page 3 of The Thief

A lump forms in my throat, and I nod wordlessly.

“Then start there,” he says quietly, lacing his fingers in mine. “Don’t let yourself forget their love. I can’t pretend to understand your parents’ decision, but what I know is that we don’t make our best decisions under pressure. When we are hurt, when we are in pain, we don’t think. Instead, we hide, and we lash out.” His grip on my hand tightens. “Maybe they thought they were protecting you, or maybe they didn’t want your last memories of them to be filled with pain.”

I make a scoffing sound. “You’re a lot kinder than I’m willing to be.”

He continues as if I haven’t interrupted. “As for how to move forward, you just do. You put one foot in front of the other. Until one day, you realize that you’re able to think about them without pain. In time, the anger and the grief will fade, cara mia, and you’ll be left with the good memories.”

We’ve been steadily walking toward civilization. The Ca’Pesaro looms before me, casting ornate shadows into the canal. I lift the bottle to my mouth, find it empty, and fling it into the water.

My rescuer tracks the movement. “Where are you staying tonight?”

I cannot go to my parents’ apartment. I just cannot. I cannot be in the place where they died. I can’t run into our neighbors, and I can’t cope with their sympathy and concern.

“I don’t know.” I reach for my phone and realize it’s in the bag the thieves took. “My purse is gone.” It feels like the last straw. I take a deep breath and fight the urge to burst into tears. “I have no money.”

He puts his hand on the small of my back, a comforting gesture that tells me I’m not alone. “Come with me, signorina. Let’s get you settled for the night. I’ll track down your purse in the morning.”

He takes me to a hotel. We walk into the brightly lit lobby, and after the darkness outside, it takes my eyes a few seconds to adjust. I turn to him to finally see what he looks like, but the vodka has gone to my head, and I’m having trouble focusing. The room swims in front of me, and I see double and triple of everything. I get the sense of a firm jaw and full lips, but that’s it.

“I need a room for the night,” he says to the clerk behind the counter.

The clerk takes a look at his face and jumps to attention. “Si, Signor.” There’s respect in his voice but also a trace of fear? Or am I imagining it? I can’t tell.

Checking in takes less than a minute, then my rescuer steers me to an elevator and presses the button for the top floor. It starts to move, and I slump against him, my bones turning to liquid. “You smell nice.” It seems important to share that with him. “Like the ocean.” I sniff him again, breathing deep and letting his scent settle into me. “And something else. Pine, maybe? I like it.”

He doesn’t respond, but his grip on me tightens slightly. I like that too.

We reach the room, and he opens the door for me, gesturing for me to go in first. He follows me inside, heading to the bathroom. I collapse on the bed, my head spinning. I hear water running before he returns with a glass, motioning me to sit up. “Drink this,” he orders. “It’ll help with the hangover.”

“I don’t get hangovers.”

“You will tomorrow,” he says with a short laugh. He makes me drink the entire glass before getting me another and placing it on the bedside table.

Then he cups my cheek with his callused hand and looks deep into my eyes. “Go to sleep,” he says gently. “Things will look less bleak in the morning.”

He turns away, and it’s only when he’s almost at the door that I realize that he’s leaving. I don’t want him to go. “Stop!” I cry out.

He freezes in place.

My heart is racing in my chest. “I don’t want to be alone tonight.” I grip the bedspread with my fingers and take a deep, shaky breath. “Please?”

He hesitates for a long moment and slowly turns around. “Okay.” He turns off the light, and the room plunges into comforting darkness. A minute later, the mattress sags with his weight as he gets into bed with me.

I snuggle closer and kiss his cheek. “Thank you,” I whisper. My eyes close, but before sleep tugs me under, I want one more thing. “I don’t know your name.”

“Antonio.”

“Antonio,” I repeat, trying out the name on my tongue. “I’m Lucia.”

He brushes a strand of hair away from my face. “A lovely name for a lovely woman.” The words should feel like an empty compliment, but the weight in his voice makes it feel real. “I’m right here. Sleep well, Lucia.”

* * *

When I wakeup the next morning, I’m alone. There’s no sign that anyone was ever with me, and I’m still wearing the clothes I fell asleep in. If I wasn’t in a strange hotel room, I’d be convinced I imagined the events of last night.

I get out of bed, wincing in pain. Antonio was right: my head feels like it’s going to explode. This is what I get for drinking an entire bottle of vodka in one evening.

I make my way to the bathroom and splash some water on my face. The skin around my neck is abraded and raw from where the thief tried to yank at my chain. I finger the precious pendant absently, a complicated cocktail of emotions churning through me. Antonio’s words from last night ring in my head.In time, the anger and grief will fade, and you will be left with the good memories.

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