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with one hand and a hunk of breast meat with the other. I was reaching for the second drumstick when Silvano spoke behind me.
    “You eat like a starving dog.”
    I froze, my fingers still locked into the soft hot meat of the succulent bird. Slowly I drew my hand back and then turned to face Silvano. He stood in the threshold, holding a long, weighted silk sack that swung back and forth like a pendulum. He stepped closer, scrutinizing me. With his free hand he lifted up a lock of my newly clean hair, then let it fall. A quiver started in my spine, but I stilled it before it could grow into a shudder.
    “You clean up well,” he said, with a satisfied smirk. “I knew you would.” He moved his hand in a slow circle so that the lumpy sack swung in a wider arc.
    “There are rules in this establishment,” Silvano said, his pointy chin quivering with venomous pleasure. “Rules that must be followed at all times.” His hand moved faster and the sack picked up speed. “You will be clean and quiet,” he said. And then he flicked his wrist, a tiny, expert motion, and the bag blurred toward me. It snapped into my ribs with a force that rocked me on my feet.
    I opened my mouth to scream and Marco’s words rang in my brain:
“And don’t scream…. It’ll make him hit you more.”
SoI exhaled slowly through my open mouth. The sack was still circling. Silvano wasn’t done; he was going to hit me again. I couldn’t help myself. Despite Marco’s warnings, I darted around to the other side of the table. Panic like lightning flickered in every limb, every vein. There was nothing but fear of the pain. Silvano tittered and followed me, herding me against the wall.
    “You will please the men who come to you.” Silvano’s wrist shook, and the sack slammed into my gut. I fell to my knees, retching. “Do as you are told, or I will kill you!” He struck me again and again. Water filled up my eyes, but I never uttered a sound. After a while his admonishments took on a disappointed tone. He whipped the sack at me in frustration and then left the room. I lay curled up on my side, clutching my stomach. Tears plopped past my nose, the food I’d just eaten was disgorged on me, and, yes, a pool of urine was spread out around my legs. I had respect for pain ever afterward. It can deprive even the strongest man of his dignity.
    When I could see through my bleary eyes, Marco was kneeling over me. “A patron left my room and I saw Silvano going out, so I came to check on you. I was worried about you; some children don’t make it through the first beating. But you did well. You didn’t scream.”
    “I wet myself like a little girl and puked like a dog,” I said, groaning as he helped me up.
    “But you didn’t cry out, and it was your first time,” Marco consoled me. “Even I cry out sometimes, and I’m the best at taking pain.” He handed me a silver cup filled with wine. I took it with a shaking hand, grateful for his kindness. “Drink it all, Luca,” he urged me. “Simonetta will clean you and take you to your room. Rest. Silvano will send a patron to you later. Just lie there. That’s all they want, in the beginning. Lie there and breathe.” I bowed my head over the wine cup, hoping Marco wouldn’t see the tears stuttering the purple surface of the wine.
    “What’s the bag filled with?” I asked.
    “Gold florins,” Marco said. “They hurt but they don’t cut. Come now, drink. It will ease the pain. It will make you stronger.”
    I managed a deep swallow. “It would have been better if I’d died on the street.”
    “You can’t think that way. You get used to it. Time goes on,” Marco said softly. “Come on, you’re the bastardo who uses ingegno, that’s what you told me.”
    “What good is ingegno here, now?” I sniffled.
    “Use your ingegno to imagine things that will help you survive, like finding your parents.” He rose. “I have to go. I have special privileges because I’ve been here so long, but