Page 63 of The Man with a Treasure

Whatever transpired between the two in the basement still stood. There was a connection. Maybe she sensed his formidable stability. He was no longer in shock. He was now the solid Angelo my brother had sent me. Sent to me… Had my brother reached out to me through the dream? Trying to show me how Angelo felt to Scarlett—from her perspective?

Now remembering that viewpoint—how Angelo was someone I—she—trusted, I stayed quiet, hoping that dream was more of a premonition that was coming true. That Angelo’s wings would shine and lead the way.

He was off to a strong start, speaking to Scarlett about instincts and how her mother was wise to teach her about them. Especially when they were telling her she could trust me.

Either way, there was no denying the challenges ahead. Just the simple task of getting out of the car had been an ordeal and overpowered Scarlett’s senses. To say she was flabbergasted was a mild statement. A trembling little fist hit her own chest as she tried to explain her overwhelmed state. Tears filled those beautiful eyes. “I don’t know what is bad or good, but I know what hurts.”

Those words, that barely made sense, had me reconsidering all that I thought I knew. I had been so excited to live lavishly. Now, I was feeling like a fool for putting so much value in material things. All this young woman wanted was to understand why pebbles were hurting her feet.

To be humbled is a gift.

As I would soon learn Scarlett to be.

Eventually, she permitted Angelo to pick her up and carry her inside. Wide eyes darted about as she took in her new surroundings. When I had first stepped inside the house, I saw glamour and fantastic things, as I had seen in the Giordanos’ home. Scarlett, being raised in filth below any poverty level, only saw coldness. All the items that announced money were frightening her. I couldn’t help but wonder, was she sensing what that desire for wealth had done to her life? It hadn’t only stolen her freedom, but it had never offered any. She was doomed before taking her very first breath.

Is that how Isabella felt? Or did she live in rich bliss until the reality behind her father’s money, literally, smacked her across the face?

After double-checking all doors were locked, because I could tell the maid had already delivered food, I went into my room and rummaged through my suitcase for clothing. The jacket had kept falling off Scarlett, exposing her frail body. The smallest item I had was an undershirt.

Bringing it into the living room, Angelo called for me. “Sal.” He was trying to sit Scarlett on an expensive leather chair in the living room, but she wanted no part of it. That young woman, her bound hands clinging to Angelo’s shirt and jacket, gaped at the chair as if it were alive and the deadliest item she had ever seen.

Seen.

My stomach knotted as I realized… “Scarlett, did you ever sit in a chair before?” I gently asked.

With her head against Angelo’s chest, she closed her eyes tightly. I would come to learn this was her way of trying to remember something. When her eyes finally reopened, they were full of sadness. Her head tilted as if she hoped I could fathom her hurt. “Swing. I sat in a swing.” Her head leaned back as her eyes drifted shut, her expression softening while getting lost in a fine memory. “That was when I used to see the sun.”

Angelo and I were men who had taken lives, brutally so, but these two tough men were fighting emotions as if we barely knew how to kill at all. This woman was speaking of a child’s swing set and the last time she had been outside during the day. I knew she had been out at night when older. In that picture, she was surrounded by darkness and the men owning that night.

When we had rushed Scarlett from her captor’s home, she had been blinded by the sun. Panicked and in pain, she had kept trying to open her eyes to see where we were taking her, but the brightness forced them shut. Luckily, Angelo was already holding her, and she was able to hide her hurting eyes underneath his chin.

In the living room, forcing down a swallow, I gestured, explaining, “Well, this chair is like the swing. It just doesn’t move. It is safe for you.”

“I’m not supposed to touch anything.”

Fighting back anger for every rule those vile men taught her, I assured her, “You are here. With us. Allowed to touch anything you want. I promise.”

“Promise?” Her eyes showed pure confusion.

Deep inhale… “A promise is a vow, words that guarantee the truth.”

Scarlett looked to Angelo, who gave a faint smile, nodding his head. She gazed back down to the chair… then loosened her hold on Angelo.

As Angelo sat her in the chair, I told him, “With all she has been through, I am surprised how much she lets you touch her.”

He stayed by Scarlett’s side, watching her as if she needed every bit of his attention. “Isabella told me she doted on her. Held her almost every moment. Unless with the fathers, of course.”

The fathers. I had to hold back a primal growl. That is what they had Scarlett call them.

Disgusting inbreeders—

I stopped when noticing Scarlett watching our mouths. Not concerned with being completely naked, she pointed to Angelo. “The prayer. In my room.”

In the basement, when Angelo had spoken in Italian, she asked what he had said. I didn’t realize it had sounded like a prayer to her. Wait. “Did your mother pray?”

Scarlett suddenly leaned forward, her joined hands rising to her mouth to make the shh sign. She whispered, “Don’t let the fathers hear.”

Angelo snarled, “They are not here.”