Page 132 of The Man with a Treasure

Holy fuck! They formed their own mafia. “What are my orders?”

“Does this mean your vow is still true? We’re no longer going to be small potatoes and sheepherders, my friend. My father is pulling in all connections. Marchettis have many enemies.”

This sounded so messy and deadly, but no Mafia war was going to take me from Scarlett—the woman I loved—the mother of my child. My soul was now and had always been hers.

My eyes slowly lifted to see her next to Sal, staring at me through the glass. “My vow is true.”

“Good. Stay hidden. You are to keep her alive at all costs.”

You don’t have to worry about that. Wait! “How did you find us?”

“Your Faith.”

From under my slightly unbuttoned shirt, I pulled out my cross and stared at it. “No.”

“Yes. While I was in captivity, after Scarlett was born, I dreamt of you with silver wings. I thought you were only from my imagination, but then I met you. A young boy turning into a man. Angel of the Night, I have always known it would be you who would find my daughter. How could I ever chance losing such a gift from God?”

The phone went dead.

In utter disbelief, I slowly stood, staring at my necklace. Isabella Giordano had been tracking me all along.

Peering up to the two other souls on this mountain, I stumbled toward them.

At the glass, I rested my hand in between us, wanting to touch them. Two sets of scared eyes looked back to me as their palms met mine.

No matter what Hell was in store, I would keep them safe. Sal and Scarlett—the two jewels that I kept sheltered in the heart of my chest. That made me a man with a treasure.

In a meadow, in a far-off land, laid the maiden in waiting. She stared at the dark night, her legs now crippled.

“Mamma! Why were her legs crippled?”

Her mature voice rang, “Because the man who had her no longer wanted her to walk.”

“Mamma!” said the scared little girl. “Why would that man not want her to use her legs?”

“Because he wanted to keep her for himself.”

“Did the maiden not want to stay?”

The mother caressed her child’s face. “No, she wanted to be free.”

From under her blanket, the child nervously nodded. “Okay. More please.”

“The cold, dewy grass dampened the maiden’s nightgown—”

The little girl asked, “Was she getting ready to sleep like me?”

With sorrow, the mother replied as her mother had to her when she was so young, “No, she was preparing to die.”

Gasp! “No! But I like the maiden!”

“Yes, as did the bad man. A little too much.”

Chocolate eyes on a tiny face widened as the meaning became clear. “I want to stay away from such a man.”

The mother’s chest loosened. Her daughter was as smart as she was at that age. “That is very wise of you.”

“More, Mamma. More.”