interest

unobserved.

have to give that up one day. He had turned fifteen over the winter and he wasn’t so little any more.
Hastily she thrust her hand into her skirt pocket before Benito could see. “None of your business!” she snapped.
Benito looked hurt. “Hey, come on, Maria. You can trust me. I carried that ‘cargo’ to Giaccomo’s for you, right? And I got a bloody nose from Jewel as well as my ribs nearly kicked in—and I still got it there for you. Not one lira missing.”
She felt herself floundering. He wasn’t a bad kid, really. She had to talk to someone. If she talked to one of the cousins . . . they’d try to kill Caesare. Benito—and Marco too—had proved themselves both trustworthy and honest. But Marco was so . . . so good, even if he was nearer her own age. Benito she could at least talk to, about this sort of thing. He was more worldly than Marco. Marco’s interest in girls was real but so—innocent. Sending them love poems! On the other hand, she’d seen Benito doing some experiments e