Page 48 of The Man with a Treasure

When I heard the wood creak behind me, I faced the one who had come to now care for me.

Sal stared at me with an expression that told me he was feeling my pain because he was, and would always be, my very best friend.

Turning twenty was a milestone in many ways. I was no longer a teenager. I no longer had biological parents. I no longer had anything holding me back from spreading my wings to go and find a Giordano treasure.

“Mr. and Mrs. Rossi will watch over you,” I assured Isabella.

From her lawn chair, she assured in return, “I will be fine, Angel.”

“And Pietro and Cristian. They will be at your—”

“Angel, I will be fine.” She beamed at me. “I will never be able to express my gratitude.”

Sitting in the chair next to her, I looked to the grass under my dress shoes. “I haven’t found her yet.”

Delicate fingers lifted my chin. “Even if you fail, you will have won. God knows how sincere you are. Your mother’s soul is safe, Angel. I swear it.”

I stared at the woman who was as brave as they came. “I hope Scarlett is just like you.”

Staring at me, she suddenly jolted. Her hand fell from my chin as she blinked her eyes.

“What is it?” I knew she was gaining a memory.

“Scar,” she murmured. “Angel, they called her Scar.”

That name sounded so forbidding to me. I would never hear that word again and not think of the girl who was lost in a world full of cruelty.

“Well,” I told that little girl’s mother, “it doesn’t matter what ‘they’ call her.” I growled with determination, “Her name is Scarlett Giordano, and her family wants her back.”

Isabella, fighting tears, dipped her chin. “And she has a formidable Angel of the Night coming to retrieve her.”

That moment was the first time I actually, somewhat began to accept that title. I envisioned myself as an enraged dark angel with wings of blades, ready to slice and kill anyone who got in my way.

Over my earpiece, Mr. Rossi said, “Angelo. Report to Mr. Giordano’s study. We are waiting.”

I spoke into my wrist, “Coming.”

I’m not sure where Sal was, but I heard him over my earpiece, “And me?”

I had approached Mr. Rossi with a plan, one he was not interested in but would take into consideration. If he told Sal not to join us, that was my green light.

My heart raced, waiting for his reply.

I finally heard, “Negative.”

Completely unaware of what was happening, Sal said, “Rude.”

His father responded, “Pardon me?”

“It’s American slang, Papa.”

Mr. Rossi grumbled, “Get off the airway, Sal.”

Still staring at Isabella, I will never forget that moment. The air crackled. So much was being said between us without one word being shared. The next time she saw me, it was possible that I would be returning with her child.

I was her only answer to her only prayer.

So, I stood, kissed her on top of her head, and walked away, silently swearing vengeance to the ones who would never forget the ‘scar’ I would soon leave on their souls.