I turn toward the child. “Ciao, amico. Che cosa vuoi—” The stranger cuts me off. “Shit. You’re hot and speak Italian.” He smiles wide at me before he looks over at the kid. “Twenty euros. Leave.” The blond-haired, blue-eyed man holds out a crisp euro note straight from a designer wallet. The kid gets the meaning of his words as he grabs it and runs, leaving us alone yet again.
