Page 29 of The Chameleon

“Father!” Ares cried, torn between running to help his father and keeping his little brother hidden behind his body. So far, the men hadn’t noticed the little guy quivering behind him. Ares could feel the boy pressing his face into his back, trying his best to hide behind his older brother.

“Run! Now! Ares!”

With those haunting words, Ares spun around, grabbed his little brother, and took off into the darkness.

“Run!” Ares heard his father shout one last time before he heard the gut-wrenching sound of his father's skull being crushed in by what Ares could only imagine was one of the many large rocks that rested outside their home.

Fear.

Adrenaline.

Terror.

Ares wasn’t sure what was driving him that night as he ran off into the darkness surrounding their home, being guided by only the light from the stars and moon above their heads.

His heart was pounding, his fingers were bleeding, but he dared not stop. He had one mission now—to protect his little brother from the monsters who pursued them.

Ares ran all night, never daring to stop or steal a glance behind, too terrified of who or what he might see chasing after them.

Was it fear? Or perhaps the guilt of leaving his father behind to die? Ares was too terrified to look back and face the harsh realities of the split-second decision he had made in the horror of the night. No man should ever be forced to choose between saving the life of their parent or their sibling. The result would be a lifetime of guilt and torment.

When morning finally came, he stole some rice from a local woman who was preparing her husband’s breakfast over an open fire. After scarfing down their food, they managed to sleep for only an hour before continuing their journey across sand, rock, and sea.

It would be twelve months later before Ares finally found a place that felt safe enough to start a new life. They still lived on the streets and slept under bridges, but Ares did what he needed to do to take care of himself and his little brother.

Over time, Ares learned the skills that would put him on a path to becoming one of the greatest criminals in Europe. He became an expert at picking pockets, stealing from unsuspecting victims, and even learned how to sweet-talk ladies and wealthy gentlemen, often convincing them to open their wallets to him and give him what he wanted.

He became a master of disguise, adapting to his surroundings and taking on personas and mannerisms to suithis needs or circumstances. When fiction didn’t work, Ares resorted to the other valuable skill that he learned quickly while living on the streets—resolving matters with his fists. While Ares was not the tallest of blokes, his wit and determination often made him the deadliest of opponents.

While Ares never would have considered himself a violent person when he was a boy, it didn’t take him long to realize that it was easier to get what he wanted when people’s lives were in danger.

Little did he know the path he was on.

9

ARES

You’re a masochist. Why are you putting yourself through this? Time after time. Why?

Because… he… needs me.

No, he doesn’t. It’s because you feel guilty. For what you did. For everything that happened… because ofyou.

No, it wasn’t my fault.

Yes, it was. If you hadn’t been so ambitious. If you hadn’t sought them out. They would still be alive.

But it wasn’t my fault.

Wasn’t it?

In the end, he knew that he was partially responsible for the deaths of Giovanni and Carmela Sabarino—Matteo’s parents.If he hadn’t been so trusting… if he’d just listened to his own instincts. But how was he supposed to know?

Because people can’t be trusted,that inner voice he kept locked deep inside his mind whispered. He hated that voice. Always taunting, always digging. Ripping away at the layers until there was nothing left but raw emotions.

Emotions were weak.

They were a vulnerability.

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