Page 70 of The Man with a Treasure

From behind the long bar, Sal lifted his hands to me. “False alarm.”

“Not false!” cried the woman. “Alarm! Alarm!” I lowered my gun, studying a hysterical Scarlett. That gained her attention. “Angel! It will break! It will break!”

Going to her, I grabbed a blanket from the back of the couch and wrapped it around my naked waist. “What will break?” I pulled her to me because her face was full of terror, and it was killing me to see.

She was almost inconsolable. “Please! Please! Use your gun.”

Sal’s eyes popped from sockets. “Er, a little extreme—”

“He has taken what is mine, Angel!”

Sal quickly spoke in Italian, “We really need to explain a thing or two to her about weapons.” Then he said, “Scarlett, it won’t break. I promise.”

Becoming unhinged, Scarlett pulled away from me and screamed, “Scar! My name is Scar!”

That name had my temper flaring, immediately. “Both of you, stop! Right now!” The kitchen went quiet, except for the dishwasher. “Now, tell me what the hell is happening.” They both pointed to the noisemaker. I lifted a brow. “Sal, please explain.”

“Hurry,” whimpered Scarlett, nibbling on her fingers.

Sal opened the machine in mid-cycle. Water dripped from every item, including the damn plastic cup. “I was only trying to clean it.” He grabbed it. “See? Not broken.”

Scarlett reached out, her trembling hand hanging in midair, silently begging for the item, so I took the cup from Sal—while grumbling to him, “Maybe we can wash it in the sink for the time being.” Then I turned to her. “Scarlett, I’m going to give you back your cup, but you need to try and remember that Sal would never hurt you, or,” I snarled, “your cup.”

I think I hated that cup so much because it was a glaring symbol of her past’s hold on her. One I had physically pulled her from—her tormentors—but the mental anguish was not so easy to peel from her. As long as she needed that cup, I felt like I was failing her.

As we all stood still, lingering in the quiet moment, Scarlett stared at the offered cup but didn’t take it. Finally, she pulled her hand to her chest, then looked to Sal. “Could you please explain why you have stuck it in that machine?”

I glowered at him because that should’ve been done in the first place.

Hearing me loud and clear, he dipped his chin. “Scarlett, I deeply apologize for scaring you.” He gestured and sounded a tad bit condescending. “This is called a dishwasher. You put the dirty dishes in, and they come out clean.”

Totally missing his sarcasm, she was now intrigued. “Like a body shower?”

Her innocence robbed him of all rudeness. Sal looked to the ground. “Yes. Exactly.” I knew he was remorseful.

Scarlett eyed her cup… then said, “I am okay with you giving it a shower.” With her shoulders set, she walked to her room.

Still not looking up from the marble floor, Sal whispered, “I’m sorry.”

Feeling bad for him, I hugged him. “Hey, relax. This is new for all of us.”

His forehead rested on my shoulder. “I can’t believe finding her only added to our already impressive pressure.”

“And it may only get worse.”

His true worry finally came forward. “Do you think Mamma is okay?”

As I worried for Isabella, he worried about his wonderful mother. I tightened my hold. “Your father, nor Pietro or Cristian, would never let anything happen to her.”

“I’ve never felt like I had to inspect every single movement around me. Not even at the Giordanos. I wish someone would just tell us something.”

Exhaling, I agreed, “So do I, my friend. So do I.”

He released me to lean back against the counter. Chuckling, he confessed, “I almost shot a squirrel.”

I laughed. “I guess it is better than Scarlett shooting you.”

His laugh grew. “Drastic, no?”