Page 29 of The Man with a Treasure

The black Suits were not only for protection, but also to help deliver and pick up goods that Mr. Giordano had wielded, all in the name of adding financial means to his grotesquely rich empire. Drugs and guns would exchange hands, and more money would be delivered. In order for all of these transactions to go smoothly, there were tools used.

Sal and I were given cellphones. The first and only person I called was my aunt. I wanted her to have my number in case she needed me. Although I could hear relief to be able to reach me as her heart wished, I could also hear her worry. “Mr. Giordano gave you this phone?”

“Yes. Please don’t worry for me. I am well.”

“Remember, my boy, there is no such thing as free. Even freedom itself has a price.”

Even though she couldn’t see me, I nodded, missing her dearly. “I love you, Auntie.”

“And I cherish you and your precious soul.”

As excited as Sal and I should have been to finally be a part of the modern world, I couldn’t help but feel the device was robbing us of the innocent country life I adored.

In our bedroom, Sal snarled at the item in his hand. “How do we sneak off for hours, claiming to have lost track of time, when they can find us anywhere?”

Out on the hill, there was a new tower to make sure the phones worked in the rural area we called home.

Every ounce of freedom being taken from us was like losing a bit of our souls. Farm work was being traded for earpieces and more training. There had been no other young men moving up the ranks while Sal and I were kids. At least we were too busy being kids to notice.

I had no idea how much I would miss cleaning stalls and working hard in the sun until those responsibilities were slowly replaced by my holster around my shoulders, back, and ribs to carry my weapons. Not appreciating the feeling of unfamiliar leather as I walked to greet Isabella in her lawn chair, I observed a horse with a saddle and wondered if the animal also felt strapped and trapped.

She was shivering, even though the sun was brightly shining down on her. In a foul mood, I griped, “Why are you being forced to be somewhere that is making you uncomfortable?”

She pulled her knees closer to her chest. “Apparently, my mind is not sound. I cannot determine whether or not I am cold.”

I was pleased with how her cheeks were filling out. “Weight looks good on you.”

She peered up at me and smiled. “And English sounds good on you.”

It had improved greatly. “That is all a credit to you.”

Sitting up more in her lounge chair, she giggled. “You mean to say I am actually competent about something other than being the Giordano Nutcase?”

I sat next to her, studying our surroundings. “I’m starting to believe you are the only sane one here.” Eyeing the back French doors of the Giordano home, which was starting to appear dark grey even though its paint was a vibrant white, I stared at the man in his late twenties staring back at me. “What is with all these family members moving back in?”

Isabella peered around the back of her lawn chair, then laid back again, letting out a weighted exhale. “That new addition would be my youngest brother, Mateo.” She snuggled under her blanket as if feeling a breeze that didn’t exist. “It was one thing for Papa to spend ‘family’ money to find me. It is a whole other issue to spend it on a bastard child that may or may not even be alive.”

My eyes slid shut as I did the sign of the cross on my chest. “She is alive.”

A cold hand grasped mine, so I opened my eyes. Beautiful blue ones stared deep into me. “I believe you.”

“I will bring her back to you.”

Isabella swallowed as she nodded with a gentle but unconfident smile on her face.

My heart sank. “I thought you believed me. I thought we agreed—”

Her hand squeezed mine. “Angel, I believe you with my whole soul.”

“Then why that expression?”

Her eyes welled. “Because you no longer refer to your father bringing her to me. It is now always you.”

I jolted, realizing she was correct. “I… mean my father.”

She sunk back into her chair, releasing my hand. “No. You don’t. And that is okay. It is God telling you the truth.”

I could feel my adrenaline begin to race. If Isabella was speaking the truth, then why was I not on the road with my father?