Page 13 of The Man with a Treasure

With a little scar on her upper lip, she exhaled more sorrow. “I think I am too lonely to close my eyes.”

“L-lonely?” I wasn’t familiar with this English word.

“Solitaria.”

“Oh.” I peered at the guards watching over her. “But you are… not alone.”

Her stare went vacant again. “Sometimes you can be in a crowd of many, yet still feel… alone.”

“I am s-sorry you feel that way.”

For some reason, my words pulled her from her distant thought. “Thank you.”

I nodded, even though I was clueless as to why she was giving me gratitude.

She pointed to my bandaged arms. “Are you in pain?”

I shrugged. “Yes, a little, but worth it.”

“Rossi’s boy was just a kid when I—” Her brows pinched as if concentrating very hard.

I didn’t push for her to finish her sentence when she stopped talking. But after the silence lingered, I told her, “Sal is my… best friend.”

A weak smile appeared. “How lucky for him to have you—” She stopped again but for a different reason this time. “I am so sorry. I never asked your first name. Your father has been so good to me.”

That made me proud to hear. It made me a little prouder of who my father was. “I am Angelo,” I looked to my father and smiled, “Bianchi.”

The surprise in his eyes told me how aware he was of my true ill feelings toward him.

The warm moment was short-lived when Isabella said, “Angelo.” She was staring off to the hill behind me where Sal and I almost died the night prior. “Wow, Sal has his own Angel of the Night.”

I was thinking back to Zeta and how she called me that when Isabella suddenly grabbed my hand, mumbling, “… the Angel of the Night…”

Not pulling away from her intense hold, my eyes raced to my father and Mr. Rossi, asking if I were in trouble, but they weren’t looking at me as they slowly started to approach us. They were focused on Isabella as if very aware something beyond my understanding was happening.

Isabella kept talking to herself, mumbling English words. “…the sky… clouds…”

When Mr. Rossi and my father tried to touch her shoulders, she recoiled from them and snarled, “Don’t you touch me.”

Their eyes widened, then raced to the other two Suits. My father jerked his head, telling them to go get help.

Both of her hands had a hold of mine now, just like Sal did the night before, the same terror in her eyes. “Angelo, who is talking to me?”

I told the men staring at me with so much alarm my heart was pounding, immediately reverting to my home language, “She won’t let me go.”

“Don’t try. Talk to her. We need her to remember.”

Had I not been holding a desperate hand who needed me, I would have fallen to the ground. Isabella had lost her memory. No wonder she felt alone.

I looked down at the haunted blue eyes that I was sure were once marvelous, and placed my other hand over her shaky ones. “What does… the person you’re hearing sound like?”

Her eyes filled with unshed tears as her voice softened. “Little girl.”

My gut soured. “What is she… saying to you?”

Isabella closed her eyes and focused. “She is asking… ‘What do you see in the clouds today—” Frustrated, she shook her head and groaned, “I can’t remember!”

My father gestured for me to keep trying, so I asked, “What did you say… in return?”