by Gina LaManna
“You’re not going to be a dork this whole time, are you?” Carlos raised an eyebrow.
I laughed, surprised at his word choice. “You’re calling me a dork?”
A hint of a smile flitted around Carlos’s face. “Nora started it. She called me a dork the other day.”
“Why?”
“I wore tall black socks with my shorts.”
I didn’t try to stop my grin. “That is a little dorky.”
Carlos smiled. A real smile. “She made sure I knew it.”
“Thanks for taking me around,” I said as we hopped onto the Metro. Navigating this city was much easier with Carlos’s help. He did a pretty good job of making sure we didn’t get run over, lost, or in trouble. I hadn’t had much success with any of those things.
“Brera is the art district,” Carlos said. “I spent time there as a child, running around the alleys.”
“I thought you grew up in Bari.”
“I did, lived there most of my life, but I came up to the city for a few summers when I was young to spend time with friends and family. My first job was up here.”
“Doing what?”
Carlos didn’t answer. Apparently, he was all talked out, so I didn’t press my luck. I waited until the doors to the Metro opened and we left together.
As we ascended the staircase and emerged into the sunlight, I cast a quick glance at my grandfather. “Do you believe in magic?”
He didn’t look all that surprised. “Magic.”
“Like, tricks and stuff. Magic shows.”
“Do you?”
“I don’t know,” I said. “I saw a pretty convincing act today. It had me thinking that maybe magic exists. This guy was good. Really good. Almost too good.”
“Too good?” Carlos didn’t seem to be buying it. “Really.”
“Yes!” I explained about the show while Carlos guided me down a smaller alley “…and then he pulled this rose out of thin air and—”
Carlos held up a hand. I stopped talking.
“Was he…this good?” My grandfather held up his hand. In his fingers, he held a small object.
I squinted closer. “Is that my engagement ring?”
Carlos spun it a few times before he reached over and grabbed my hand. I was busy staring at the empty space on my finger, wishing that people would stop stealing my only piece of jewelry.
He slipped it back onto my finger. “Don’t let yourself get suckered into believing in magic.”
“What if I want to believe in magic?”
Carlos raised an eyebrow. “Then why’d you ask my opinion?”
“I don’t know,” I said. “Maybe I wanted you to tell me I’m not stupid.”
“Believe or not, that’s up to you,” he said. “You want a reason to believe, but you don’t need one from me.”
“How’d you get the ring off my finger?”
“I might not believe in magic,” Carlos said, raising his hands and examining them. “But I believe in hard work, training, precision.”
“Yeah, but—”
“Lacey, look around you. What do you see?”
I looked around the deserted alley. “Um, garbage cans?”
“Do you know what I see?”
I turned toward my grandfather, expecting to hear some sort of revelation, some deep facts about life that’d turn my world around. What I didn’t expect to see was Carlos holding the ring he’d slipped onto my finger seconds before.
“What?” I started. “How did you do that? Can you please leave my ring where it belongs?”
“Where you saw garbage cans, I saw an opportunity.”
I snatched my engagement ring back, shoved it on my finger, and returned to the main street. I focused so hard on my ring that I forgot to speak.
“Patience, Lacey,” Carlos said. “Magic is when patience meets opportunity.”
“Can I put that quote on my wall?”
“I see you’ve inherited your mother’s attitude.”
I hesitated. Carlos never talked about her. I wanted to ask why, to hear his side of the story. However, Carlos obviously didn’t want to go down that road because he cleared his throat and pointed me down a teensy, tiny winding road.
“Where’d you learn all these tricks?” I asked. “Stealing stuff?”
“It’s not stealing since I gave it back,” Carlos said. “Now, if I didn’t give this back, it’d be stealing.”
I looked up, my jaw dropping as Carlos wiggled my phone in front of my face. “How?” I started, then gave up and grunted. I snatched my phone back.
“The key to understanding this…magic, is to realize that people can’t focus on everything, all the time. You were so interested in your ring, you forgot about your phone. A brain is only so big, and it can handle only so many functions at once. All you need to do is wait. And watch. And when the opportunity strikes, seize it.”
“So if I wait long enough, I’ll be able to pick your pocket?”
“No,” Carlos said flatly. “I’m the exception to the rule.”
“But I thought you said brains only had so much power—”
“Not mine,” Carlos said. “I don’t follow the basic laws of human nature. My brain is all powerful.”
I rolled my eyes. “Oh, sorry. I thought you were human.”
Carlos coughed. “Try me, then. Take something from me.”
“I’m not going to steal from my grandfather.”
“Then don’t steal. Take something and give it back.”
“But now you’re going to be ready for it. That’s not fair.”
Carlos tsked, then lowered his voice. “People are always watching. That doesn’t stop thefts from happening because there is always, always a weak spot. No matter what. Except for me.”
I frowned. All this talk about pickpocketing had me wondering where he’d learned it. I decided I might as well make this conversation relevant to work, and threw out a hunch. “Do you know anything about The Violet Society?”
“What about them?” Not even his eyebrow twitched. I couldn’t tell whether he recognized the name or not.
“Anything at all. Where they’re from, what they do, why they do it…they’re suspected of having a hand in these latest jewel thefts. At least they were, but now the authorities are saying it’s a female. They’ve nicknamed her the Kitty Kat Burglar.”
“What do you think?”
I shook my head. “I have a theory, but I want to hear your opinion first.”
“It’s not The Violet Society,” he said. “It might be related, but the Society is not behind the thefts.”
“How do you know?”
“I don’t know, but you asked my opinion so I gave it.”
I bit my lip in thought. “Tell me about The Violet Society.”
“I’m sure you’ve heard that it is a group of the most polished criminals in the world,” he said. “Anyone on the grayer side of the law strives to join the organization. It’s the highest of honors.”
“Gray side,” I said with a snort. “It’s not really gray—stealing is wrong, and it’s illegal.”
Carlos tilted his head. “You asked, I answered.”
After a long pause, I asked the burning question. “Did you try to join them?”
Carlos’s eyes darkened.
“Sorry,” I said quickly. “Forget it. Do you know what it takes to join the organization?”
“You’d be better off asking your fiancé.”
“Anthony?” I stopped walking, my heart pounding against my ribs. “What do you mean by that?”
“I meant exactly what I said. Better to ask Anthony.” His lips pressed into a thin line. “I don’t know how one gets into The Violet Society.”
“How would Anthony know?”
“Maybe he doesn’t know.” Carlos clasped his hands behind his back, taking careful steps through the narrow alley. “Then again, maybe he does.”
Carlos was clearly going to talk in circles all day. I tried a new angle. “It
’s difficult to get into the Society?”
My grandfather’s eyebrow twitched. “Absolutely. It’s the most clandestine organization in the world. People have said it’s easier to become President of the United States than it is to be initiated into the Society.”
I blinked. “The President? The most powerful man in the free world?” My voice was heavy with skepticism.
Carlos snorted. “Politics.”
“I’m not talking about politics—”
“The Society allows exactly one representative from each country. I don’t know how they are chosen. Obviously, the Society keeps their cards close to their chest.”
“If they’re so secret, how do you and Anthony both know of them?”
“They’re a rumor.”
“They sound real to me.”
“To the news outlets, the blogs, the papers…they’re nothing but a myth. To the others, the ones who pay attention, they are real.”
Carlos spoke with a note of reverence in his voice. The way he kept dodging questions about Anthony, however, had me worried about the things he didn’t say.
“So, it’s like Santa,” I said. “Either you believe or you don’t.”
Carlos looked at me like I was crazy.
“Then tell me this,” I said. “Why would a group of thieves get together? Wouldn’t they prefer to work independently and keep all the profits?”
My grandfather stopped walking. He bit his lower lip, his eyes turned toward the sky. “You are right in that thieves are independent creatures by nature. These men are talented beyond belief. Now imagine…if ten of the most talented men in the universe joined forces, the things they might accomplish.”
“And then what? They split the profits?”
“I’m not privy to their financial arrangements.”
“Carlos, did you make a joke?” I asked, a grin curving my lips upward. If I didn’t know better, I’d think Carlos was fangirling over this Society. “You clearly think highly of them.”
“Everyone thinks highly of them.”
“Except the victims—the ones having their things stolen.”
Carlos made a noise of disagreement in his throat.
“Come on,” I argued. “Even you have to admit that people don’t enjoy having their possessions stolen.”
“The reason this group works is because of their elegance. Criminals don’t work well together, Lacey—there is no honor among thieves, no matter what anyone says. However, there is honor among artists, and these people have mastered their craft. They are on a whole other level.”
“They’re still stealing. Stealing is wrong, in case you’ve forgotten. It’s not an art.”
“If stealing is wrong,” Carlos said carefully, “is Robin Hood a villain?”
The question caught me off guard. “What do you mean?”
“The Violet Society operates on a strict policy: no violence, ever. Never in history has The Violet Society injured someone because of their work.”
“What are the other rules?”
“They donate a large percentage of the profits from every heist to charity.”
“I thought you weren’t privy to their finances?”
“After every suspected Society heist, one charity has received a very sizeable donation.”
“How do you know it’s from them? People make anonymous contributions all the time.”
“It’s not anonymous. They leave a note.”
“And people still don’t believe this Society is real?”
Carlos shrugged. “People only believe what they want to believe. Magic…” he coughed, “Santa. Believing is a choice. For anyone who doesn’t want to believe the Society exists, they write off the donations as a joke. They take the money, and shut up.”
“And the others?”
“Those who believe don’t need proof.”
I had no argument, since he was right. To a certain extent. Glancing over at him, I frowned. “Even so, it’s not right to steal.”
“Maybe not.” Carlos surprised me with his disagreement, and then he continued. “However, the Society never steals from anyone who would miss the money.”
“This is where the Robin Hood thing comes in?”
“Their last supposed heist lifted a considerable sum of money from a politician involved in dirty deals. The politician couldn’t report the missing money because he shouldn’t have had it in the first place. He’d skimmed it, stolen it, taken it from others.”
“Why didn’t the Society give it back to the original owners?”
“It was too convoluted—in dirty dealings, there are no records, Lacey. Even if they’d wanted to, the Society would have had no idea who the rightful owners of the money were.”
“So the Society took it and donated a chunk to charity instead. Then they took a little bit for themselves?”
Carlos looked ahead, not meeting my gaze. His lack of response was enough of an agreement. I struggled to find a reaction for a long time. My Family didn’t exactly have a squeaky clean record, and it wasn’t as if these criminals were hurting people. Maybe I was romanticizing Robin Hood, but there was something noble about his intentions.
“If what you say is true,” I said, “these jewel thefts don’t have the typical traits of The Violet Society. The jewelers are not bad people. They do miss the money, and more importantly, their beautiful pieces.”
“That’s exactly what I said at the beginning,” Carlos said. “Weren’t you listening?”
“I was listening! But you also said it might be related.”
“I don’t rule anything out.”
“But—”
“This will be the last thing I say on the subject.” Carlos gestured for me to step closer. “There are different kinds of criminals, Lacey. You must have understood that by now, or you wouldn’t be working for me.”
My conscience wrestled with the same debate I’d struggled with since I’d learned that for me, “Family” had a capital F. I sighed, and then I shook my head. “I don’t know…are there different sorts of criminals?”
“A thief always wants something,” he said sharply. “It’s what they desire that sets them apart from one another. Some want fame, others glory. The ones in search of fame, glory, riches…they will make a mistake. Always.”
“Always?”
“Yes, it’s in their DNA. They’re the type to leave signatures, return to the crime scene, take jobs above their skill level.”
The image of Alessandra crunching glass with her shoes flashed into my mind. Was she behind everything? Did she want fame? Glory? Riches?
“Others want pure money. They run on greed, and greed alone. These criminals are more careful than those in search of glory or fame. This type of thief steals, and they’re very good at what they do. Some get caught, some don’t. They’re not as likely to make a mistake during the crime, but after…after is where these criminals get caught. They’re impatient. They fence risky items while they’re too hot, or blow their new wealth on extravagant purchases.”
I glanced at my grandfather. “I feel like you’re not done yet.”
“We’ve covered fame and glory seekers, the greedy…” Carlos ticked off the listings on his finger. “What’s left?”
I shrugged. “I don’t know.”
“Necessity.” As Carlos finished speaking, his eyelids fluttered ever so briefly.
If I hadn’t been paying attention, I wouldn’t have caught it. This was him, I realized. He was talking about himself. Probably Anthony, too. Both men had done things they probably shouldn’t have. Some would argue they’d done these things for selfless reasons. I didn’t know the right answers.
Since I didn’t want to get into a moral debate at the moment, mostly because I didn’t know which side to argue, I stuck to work. “Which type is The Violet Society?”
“None of these,” Carlos said. “They view themselves as artists, plain and simple. Right or wrong, immoral or not, they have perfected their craft. In their mind,
as long as they are giving back to those who are in need, their actions are justified.”
“What do you think?”
“I don’t have an opinion I’m willing to share.” Carlos folded his hands in front of his chest. “I will share facts with you, and I’m confident that The Society could steal the pyramids from Egypt, and we’d never catch them.”
I needed time to think. Watching the ground, I wracked my brain for something, anything to say. Carlos turned to leave, but I held up a hand and squeezed his shoulder. “Wait a second.”
He stopped. “Yes?”
“What kind are you?”
He stared forward, away from me. When he spoke, it was light, curious. Not at all accusatory. “What kind are you?”
“Kind of what?”
“You asked me what kind of thief I am, so I figured I’d return the favor.”
“I don’t steal things.”
“Do you think I do?” Carlos watched me carefully. “What do you think I do for a living, Lacey?”
I almost bit my tongue right off. Any answer that flashed through my head could’ve gotten one or both of us arrested, so instead I gave a muted sort of grunt.
Carlos gave a resigned nod. Then he turned and walked away while I struggled to keep up. I alternated between watching scenery—the beautiful street artists painting on easels, the quaint coffee shops, the smell of marinara and pasta wafting from every street corner—and considering Carlos’s words.
“I didn’t mean to upset you,” I said finally. “I just assumed—”
He didn’t stop walking. “You assumed, but you’ve never asked. You’ve been part of this family for years now, and never once have you asked what I do, or how I make my money, or better yet…why I do any of it.”
“I have sort of asked,” I said, “Nora and Anthony, and I asked—”
Carlos turned around. “You’ve discussed this with everyone except me. Why didn’t you come to me if you were curious?”
I raised my hands, then let them drop back to my sides. “I don’t know.”
“Sure you do.”
“No—”
“Why?”
“Maybe I didn’t want to know the answer, okay?” My outburst was louder than I expected, and a few heads turned in our direction. I lowered my voice. “You run the underworld in the Twin Cities, Carlos. It’s no use pretending I haven’t heard others talk about you behind closed doors. I just figured that I’m probably better off not knowing what it is you actually do.”