chapter 8

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Matteo stepped onto the cracked sidewalk, the cold wind biting through his thin jacket. The street was rough—trash scattered everywhere, broken glass shining like tiny stars on the ground. Buildings leaned against each other, paint peeling and windows dark or broken.

People moved fast, faces hard and tired. No one stopped to smile or say hello. This wasn’t a place for kindness — it was a place to survive.

Matteo’s stomach growled. He hadn’t eaten much since yesterday. His hands itched for something to do, some way to make money to buy Leo’s medicine, to keep their apartment from falling apart.

He walked past shuttered shops and dirty alleyways, eyes always watching. Every step was a risk—one wrong move, and he could end up in trouble.

At the corner, a group of men huddled, smoking and talking low. Matteo kept his head down, knowing better than to get involved.

He thought about Leo’s coughing last night, how scared he’d been. That scared him more than anything.

“Gotta keep going,” Matteo whispered. “For Leo.”

He pulled his coat tighter and pushed forward, ready to face whatever the day would throw at him.

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Matteo moved toward the busy street, hoping to find a quick job or even just some small work. Maybe a delivery, a clean-up, anything to earn a few coins.

He stopped by a rundown café where a man stood outside smoking. Matteo cleared his throat. “Hey, sir… you need any help? I can carry things, clean, whatever.”

The man looked him over, then laughed without kindness. “Kid, you’re wasting your breath. Ain’t no jobs for street rats like you.”

Matteo’s face flushed with anger and shame, but he forced himself to keep calm. “Please… I just need some work. For my brother.”

The man shrugged and flicked his cigarette away. “Look around. This city eats kids like you alive.”

Matteo swallowed hard, feeling the weight of the man’s words. But he didn’t give up.

He turned and walked away, eyes scanning for the next chance. Each step felt heavier. The city was full of doors closed tight, and his brother’s health was closing in on him too.

He found a corner where some old crates sat. Sitting down, Matteo rested his head in his hands for a moment, trying to fight back the despair.

“No,” he said quietly. “Not today. Not yet.”

He looked up at the sky, gray and endless.

“I’m not giving up. I’ll find a way.”

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Matteo’s fingers clenched tight around the small leather pouch in his coat pocket as he slipped down a narrow side street, hoping to stay out of sight.

But the city was alive with eyes. Just as he was about to turn a corner, a rough voice cut through the noise.

“Hey! That’s mine!”

Matteo froze, heart pounding.

He turned to see two men jogging toward him, their faces hard and angry.

One held out a battered wallet—Matteo’s stomach dropped. The wallet was missing from a man in the café he’d just passed.

“Where’d you get that?” the taller man demanded.

Matteo’s mind raced. “Look, I didn’t mean to—”

“Save it,” the other snapped. “You’re in our neighborhood now, kid. You don’t take what’s ours.”

Matteo swallowed and tried to keep calm. “I’m just trying to survive, man. I’ve got a little brother sick at home. Please.”

The men exchanged a glance.

“Maybe you can work for us instead of against us,” said the taller one slowly. “You’re bold enough. Could be useful.”

Matteo’s heart jumped. “Really? I can prove it.”

The shorter man snorted. “We’ll see about that.”

Before they could say more, a loud crash echoed nearby — a tipped-over trash can, or maybe a fight breaking out.

The men’s heads snapped toward the noise, just for a moment.

Taking that chance, Matteo slipped past them and vanished into the maze of alleys.

“Run while you can,” the taller man called after him. Then he laughed, low and bitter. “But you’re not out of this yet, kid.”

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