Page 42 of The Man with a Treasure

I swallowed. “Scarlett.”

She set down her old wooden spoon that was as seasoned as her old pan. Then my face was in her palms, tilting down my head so she could read me. Her eyes studied… “You love her already?”

Clearly, I had not met the child, but yes, I was already loving her. She was the ghost my heart and imagination chased. “Who doesn’t love innocent children?”

Her eyes studied… “What is innocence, truly?”

A tad baffled as to why I needed to explain this, I slowly replied, “Not yet having learned something?”

Bordering annoyance, she released me and waved her hand. “This is not my angel speaking.” Then she turned her back to me.

To not be held so high in Mrs. Rossi’s eyes was a slap, instantly waking me up. A complete jolt of my self-esteem and desire to be better. “Wait!” I begged for a minute to think.

She held still… and waited.

My mind raced. I had never been around many kids.

My mind raced… Noemi. Her body. Her mind. All connected to her heart.

“Innocence is an untouched part of the heart.”

Mrs. Rossi slowly turned to face me, a grand smirk present. “Now, remember that, my Angel. No matter what has been touched on the outside, there is a whole other part of Scarlett yet to have been discovered.” Her voice went so soft, Mrs. Rossi now sounded like a true angel. “Even by her.”

Chills crossed over my whole body.

Was it a silent thank you? Maybe. Maybe not. But, within the week of Isabella’s live nightmare, Sal and I each received beautiful Ferraris. One black. One dark blue. Any young man would have been elated with such a gift, but I only felt more weight around my neck. That invisible noose tightening. Maybe it was because of the returned envelope in my hand.

My aunt called my cellphone with sincere apologies, explaining, “My boy, thank you for such an offering. We are truly grateful you thought of us, but we cannot accept. Giordano money is attached to lies, deceit. We wish to live poor and free.”

Her superstitious beliefs had her making a choice. Freedom of guilt. She was right. Everything has a price. Her freedom cost her wealth, and she was happy for it.

Slipping the envelope in my dress pant pocket, I walked toward the main home of the property. Sal jogged to catch up. “What are you doing?”

Refusing to stop walking, I looked at the remote key in my hand. “Returning the car.”

Sal let out a very non-manly squeak. “What?” He peered over his shoulder. “But they are beautiful!” He asked me, “Do you prefer the blue?” Then teased, “I thought the black one was becoming for the Dark Angel of the Night.”

“Asshole.”

At the door, I explained, “Keep yours. We could use a car.”

Delighted, his arms opened wide as he backed away. “See? This is why I love the Dark Angel. You are brilliant. We shall share one car.”

I laughed as he did a heel to heel jump in the air then ran back to the car. Then I dipped my chin to the Suit at the front door and went inside.

Mr. Giordano was in his impressive office that resembled a library with rich furniture. As I entered, he looked up from the paperwork on his desk. “Ah! Angelo! Are you here to thank me for your gift?”

I took a respectful stance in front of his desk, holding my hands together in front of me. “Yes, sir, but also to say this gift is too much. I have not earned it.” I set the key on his desk.

He was elderly but still full of dominance when needed. “You are mistaken to believe this is a returnable gift.”

“Then… it is not a gift?”

He shrugged. “See it as you like. But you are keeping it.”

As my noose tightened, I swallowed. “Mr. Giordano, helping your daughter is enough of a reward. Please, do not make me keep the car. Isabella is my friend.”

He leaned back in his office chair and crossed his hands in his lap. “She is not. She is your boss. As am I. Any other concerns you wish to discuss with me?” He eyed the key, daring me to disobey.