Page 43 of The Man with a Treasure

Would he fire me? Kill me? I wasn’t sure. And I didn’t dare find out. I had yet to find Scarlett, therefore my mother’s soul was in jeopardy. The leader of this crime dealing family knew it.

With regret, I reached out and took the key back. “No, sir. No more questions.”

My obedience taught Mr. Giordano much. He could use Isabella and Scarlett against me, at any time, any place, however he wished. I was attached to them in more ways than one. And in more ways than I had yet to learn.

Innocence.

Yes, I was still innocent, too.

Standing in front of the Giordano home, we watched the sun shining down on the black car that had been sent to retrieve my father and Mr. Rossi from the airport. As soon as I laid eyes on my father, I knew something was wrong. He looked worn and pale. It wasn’t Scarlett who had died. It was my father who was dying. How did I know? Because I had seen it before. I took care of my mother as cancer slowly stole her away from me.

My gut clenched as he walked toward me. This ‘angel’ knew another death was going to graze his wings.

And it was going to hurt like Hell.

The man I had fought the urge to love was now with days numbered. I had to gear up and prepare to watch him wither away, just as I did with my courageous mother.

Father dropped his bag on the ground and took me in his embrace. “Stop worrying, my son.”

I growled, “I am no fool.”

Strong hands gripped my face before he kissed my forehead. “Then stop acting foolish.”

“I can see—”

“Is your name now Mrs. Rossi?”

“Father—”

Those strong hands shook my head. “Every day. Let’s make every one of them count.”

My heart split open.

There it was. The truth.

Like a child, I rushed and wrapped my arms around his midsection so I could hide in his shoulder while clinging to the life still inside him.

Arms that were already weakening held me to him. He chuckled “I hope the rest of my security team doesn’t expect this treatment.”

I forced a laugh, searching for the strength to become a numb Suit again, and pulled away. “Maybe the jeweler would like such affection when he arrives?”

Straightening his suit jacket, he rolled his eyes. “He’s already a pain in the ass and doesn’t even arrive until tomorrow.” The man was Italian but lived where the dollars were being made: New York City. “His wife and daughter, the following day.”

I nodded. “Yes. Pietro gave us the details.”

The front door opened, and Mr. Giordano exited his house. “The clever one has returned.”

I wasn’t accustomed to watching the two men interact and was surprised at the endearing embrace. Afterward, my father was full of respect. “Sir, I have returned at your request.”

“Thank you. Thank you. I wish for my son’s union to commence with no interruptions. Good for business. Good for business.” He guided my father away. “Let us talk over brandy.”

Two days later, many Giordanos were in the back yard with the brothers’ wives and visiting family members. Tables were set up, and they were enjoying refreshments Mrs. Rossi and her kitchen staff had made. Their clothing—dresses and spring attire—and snotty laughter were grating on my nerves, which seemed to be on fire for no apparent reason.

Maybe it was the fact that my father needed rest, not to be a tour guide for an unappreciative stranger. The jeweler’s every step was full of arrogance and undeserved royalty as he walked around the house, eyeing us Suits as if we were beneath his standards.

As the tour continued, my father would point out the security cameras and triggers for alarms throughout the property, explaining all the measures he had taken to provide the best protection possible.

The jeweler pointed up to the third floor of the Giordano house. “She is to be high. On top. Where she belongs.”