Page 34 of The Man with a Treasure

Mournfully, she agreed, “And then to the next. I’m starting to believe there were more than I realize.”

It was time to stop feeling sorry for myself and help my friend find her child because that little girl was still in such a prison. I accepted the opportunity needed and poked around for some information. “Can you tell me about one of those prisons?”

Her eyes slid shut as if not wanting to talk but knowing she needed to. “I recently remembered men with Irish accents.”

That was huge! My heart started pounding. I need to tell my father Scarlett may be in Ireland—

“But I don’t think that is where she is.”

My shoulders sulked.

Isabella took a deep inhale as if trying to muster up needed courage to remember vile parts of her horrid past. “She is their child. They don’t sell what is theirs.”

I tried to keep my voice from wobbling when thinking of Scarlett’s possible conditions. “Maybe, because she is theirs, they won’t—uh, you know, let anyone be with her?”

Her exhale was full of such mature despair. It was controlled yet hopeless. “Those foul men—” She stopped talking as if her throat simply slammed shut. After a moment, she finally said, “I don’t worry about her being shared as much as them taking her themselves.”

At that moment, I thought of Noemi again, thankful that her sweet love kept reminding me that sex was natural and wholesome. Not criminal, like Isabella’s attackers made it to be.

“My friend, do you think… As Scarlett ages, do you believe she will look more like you than her father?”

Even though we were speaking of a horrendous situation—a mother having to describe her child she hadn’t seen in years because she was sold to other violent abusers—this woman lifted her chin and beamed with pride as tears dripped from her trembling chin. “My little Vita Mia was the spitting image of me. God gifted me with her. And he let her father’s seed be only that. The rest of Scarlett is mine.” Her determined claim to the little girl made me so proud Isabella was my friend.

My father sounding distant over the phone after I told him the new intel from the afternoon conversation with Isabella had me asking, “Is something wrong?”

Not a complete surprise, Mr. Rossi answered for him, “We are just tired. That is all. Thank you for the leads. They will help,” and ended the call.

So frustrated, Sal and I stewed in the small living room that now felt even smaller. Mrs. Rossi was still at the Giordanos, due to all the extra family members, so she wasn’t present to make sure we didn’t fall from our path. And Sal and I still lacked the skills to ‘talk’ to each other about pent up emotions. That is why, when I noticed Sal staring at the front door, I knew what he wanted. I told him, “She is not there, my friend.”

Sal and I were so off-kilter with our new ‘Suit’ schedule. No early evening farm chores left far too much time to think. Thoughts, with our environment—our line of work, or training—were cold like the Devil. They say the Devil is made of fire. I say he is made of ice. Just like Mateo’s smile.

My best friend and I needed warmth. So much of it that it could touch our bones.

Sal tossed his new cellphone on the coffee table. “If it is meant to be, she will be there.”

To Hell with it. I tossed my phone to lay next to his.

Then we ran through the cold night air in search of the only one who could warm us.

Noemi was pacing in front of the cave. As soon as she saw us, she grabbed her chest and exhaled. We were still running toward her as she pointed to Sal, “I need to feel those lips on mine,” then she pointed at me, “and those strong hands on my body.”

Sal didn’t pause to ask one question. His prayer had been answered, and that was all he could see. Barely slowing his run, he picked up Noemi, her legs wrapping around his waist as his lips devoured hers.

I, on the other hand, knew something was wrong. Noemi was agitated. Something had her upset, so, at her back, I asked, “What is wrong?”

Blindly, she reached behind her to find my hand. Of course, I offered it to her, hungry for her soft touch. As soon as she felt me, she pulled my palm to her clothed breast. She had already asked for my touch, so I would deliver.

Lost in confusion, our lives insisting on a direction the three of us wished we could avoid, we quickly found shelter in each other. Clothing was removed at a rapid rate, and naked bodies melted together. On our sides, Noemi grunted with every thrust; me at her ass, Sal at her pussy. Two sets of male hands battled for her little hips and waist, both wanting a strong grip so we could fuck hard, the way our girl was demanding.

“More,” she cried out.

Her insisting we impale her precious body, had me saying, “Noemi, please speak with me.”

“No saving me tonight, Angelo. Just fucking.”

“But I am concerned—”

“Please!” Sal barked, now peering over her shoulder. “Please, let me get lost in her.”