Page 32 of The Man with a Treasure

“Angel,” whispered Isabella in warning, but I didn’t care. This domineering attitude wasn’t going to work on me. Mateo nor his brothers personally scared me. I just didn’t trust them around Isabella. And I certainly was not going to let them get near the child I was positive I would someday find. So, I kept staring, waiting for him to get the message.

He smirked. “I see.” Now at Isabella’s side, he took a gander at her cup. “I was just checking to see if my sister needed more tea.”

Her head snapped in his direction, disbelief all over her face, only to be replaced with a big fake smile. “No, dear brother. My cup is full.”

Mateo’s nostrils flared for a split second before he matched her fake smile. I was surprised when he suddenly replied in French, a language I did not know.

Isabella kept smiling, reverting to Italian. “You know I cannot speak French.”

As did he. “And you are well aware that I do not speak English. Maybe you should have learned French from Mamma.”

That strong woman kept with her fake attitude on full display, but anger now laced her voice. “Well, she taught me English. When it was time to learn French, forgive me for being too busy being violently raped by men while you grew up in France living in luxury—”

I stood, telling her brother, “I am going to have to ask you to leave. Isabella is not to get upset.”

It was true. Mr. Giordano gave us strict instructions to not upset his daughter, at any cost. So, I waited, silently daring Mateo to cross such orders. I knew he wouldn’t. Upsetting the man who was in charge of his inheritance was a powerful tool for me to wield.

I aggressively did so.

A muscle along his jawbone twitched before he slightly bowed his head. “Of course.” When he looked back up to me, a grin was present.

It was cold. Chillingly so. But I held my ground, practically standing over a shocked Isabella.

Mateo told his sister, “My apologies,” then turned and walked back to the house while muttering something in French.

To lighten the mood, I teased Isabella as I sat back down. “Do you think he is giving me high praise in French?”

Staring at me, she finally smiled. A real one this time. I knew it because this smile always softened her face and made her beautiful. “I do believe you just earned a gift I have for you.”

My brows rose. “For me?”

She pulled a little box out from under the blanket over her legs. “Yes. It is a token of my appreciation for being such a dear friend.” Holding out the box for me, her eyes welled before she whispered, “The only one I have.”

Isabella had Mrs. Rossi, Mr. Rossi, and my father who cared, but I understood her meaning. She couldn’t speak with them like she felt she could with me. I accepted the gift, feeling so honored. “I do not have a gift to offer in exchange, but wish I did.”

“What you offer is nothing money, something of which I have in abundance, can buy.”

Warmth billowed in my chest. “That means a lot to me. Thank you—” I opened the box, then went speechless.

“Do you like it?”

I stared at the striking gold cross necklace. “I have never owned anything quite like it.”

Isabella sighed back into her lounge chair. “Perfecto.”

Even though I was holding a very expensive gift that was offered with such kindness, it was Isabella being strong and speaking Italian without being prompted that made me smile. “Yes. Perfecto.”

Taking a sip of her tea, she asked, “You never told me what you need my blessing for.”

I had totally forgotten. “Oh, yes! Sal and I have been talking and have decided,” I lowered my voice so only Isabella could hear me, “due to lurking danger, that we wish to be Scarlett’s personal protection when she returns.”

Earth altering blue eyes glistened. “You tell young Mr. Rossi that nothing would please me more.” She grabbed my hand and shook it, squeezing my fingers so tight I could feel her gratitude. Her voice quiet, as to not be overheard, she told me, “Thank you for being so wise beyond your years. When my daughter,” she swallowed, “returns, she will, indeed, be in great danger.”

Winter was bitter, but Noemi was warm. “Angelo,” she whined, “let me come.” The fire in the cave crackled with heated naked bodies that were already on fire of their own.

On her hands and knees, Noemi’s thighs trembled as I massaged lube from her core up to the crack of her ass. I had just finished licking her to perfection but denied her an orgasm. She groaned in need as I slipped a finger inside her now glistening anus. My other hand was around her waist, rubbing circles on that hard as fuck clit of hers. God, she was so sexy, begging for more with no words at all. Just her hips bucking backward. So, I slipped in another finger.

Sal was at my side, oiling his penis, which was so erect it almost looked painful. His eyes were hungrily locked on the prize. Up to this point, we had both had Noemi’s pussy numerous times, but the sex kept getting so intense—her wanting both of us at once—and us both wanting in at once, we needed to take the next step.