Beautiful Isabella nodded, understanding me more than I did. “Ah, yes.” She pointed to the farmhands off in the distance. “They only see Suits, not understanding the true weight.”
Envying the farmhands in the sun, sweating and enjoying their vigorous work, I exhaled. “I can’t believe how much I will miss the smell of manure.”
“At least you got to smell it up close.”
My eyes snapped to hers, but Isabella Giordano didn’t see me. She was staring off as if dreaming about the life I once had, one she never had been permitted to live. Her reality had me stating, “You went from one prison to the next.”
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.”
This young man was committed to following me into Hell. How could I deny his simple request? So, I didn’t. I shut my mouth and sunk deeper into Noemi and the denial they both were begging for.
Sal and I had just had another morning of training. On this day, it had been about driving. Sal and I had known the basics, but we were now being taught: “Understand the force of a car… You have a small patch of contact. Your tires… Don’t turn the steering wheel quickly. Don’t fight it… Build up the energy in your car… Don’t shock it. Be gentle… Nice and smooth… Hold the grip… See how we are tighter?”
Having learned quickly, Sal laughed, commenting, “Race driving sounds like learning how to handle an Italian woman,” as he parked the car back at the Giordanos.
Cristian laughed freely while exiting the car. “Says one who sounds like an experienced lover.”
Headed to the vines for a ritual smoke break, Pietro asked, “So, you ever going to tell us which local girls you are using all these condoms on?”
“The list is too long, my friend,” lied Sal as he handed over the car keys.
Cristian coughed on an inhale due to laughing so hard. “That many, eh?”
Sal spread his arms wide. “Are you doubting Sal Rossi’s magic kisses? Who am I to say no to all the ladies’ desires?”
Many comments overlapped as we all teased Sal for his never-ending bullshit.
Cristian commented, “It has to be an impressive list because we have already had to replenish your supplies.”
I did wonder how one man, her husband, was going to be able to keep up with her healthy appetite.