“They are the ones you deserve. That night, when you wanted her to talk, I am sorry I stopped you.”
My heart began to thunder. “Sal, do I need to go to her right now? What is it?”
He shook his head. “No, leave her be. Her family—” He stopped talking and shook his head again.
“Sal, are they cruel to her?”
He exhaled so heavily. “You could say that.”
“Enough,” barked my father. “Her reputation is on the line. If you care for the girl at all, you will never speak of her again. Gift her your secrecy.”
It was a very hard goodbye to swallow, but I was too young to know there was an option. I had yet to see the world and learn the Giordanos didn’t rule all. I felt letting Noemi go and live her life, what we always knew was coming, was for the best. Maybe that way she could be rid of the family Sal was so worried about.
The brilliant matriarch of my family was pacing in front of our home until she saw me and Sal slowly walking toward her. Mrs. Rossi grabbed her chest. “My boys.” The way her feet kept partially lifting off the ground, but not taking a step, told me how hard she was restraining her natural urge to run to us.
Mrs. Rossi was allowing us to be the men she had raised.
She was right to do so. It was another pivotal point in my young life. I had to turn another corner and face what was next. I had surrendered my soul to a little girl, and she needed someone to finally find her and bring her home.
My eighteenth birthday came and went, but it wasn’t until Sal’s eighteenth birthday that we both received a delivery that would concrete our path. Two very expensive tailored black suits hung on our closet door. Sal and I sat at the edge of our beds—which were now barely big enough to keep us off the floor—and stared at our future. Neither of us smiled.
The suits were supposed to be symbols of what we had worked so hard for, but they felt more like promissory notes to the dark side. Of what? Sal and I still weren’t sure, but again, we were left with little choice. So, side by side, we stood and accepted our fate, putting on the first of many black suits we would own.
As soon as the white cloth of the button-down shirt hit Sal’s shoulders, he was hooked. “I’ve never owned silk before. It is so soft I may sleep in it.”
He wasn’t lying. We may have been becoming the Devil’s spawn, but damn, the cloth was at least exquisitely comfortable.
He complained, “I still do not believe your shoulders are wider than mine.”
Nothing needed to be said because numbers don’t lie, nor did our tailor when we were fitted for the expensive suits. I only smiled at my reflection in the mirror above our dresser.
“I do not appreciate your smug attitude.”
“Nor that I require more room here, too?” I palmed my clothed cock.
“Now that is a lie!”
It was, but it was also fun to rile him, and we needed a distraction. Both our fathers were back on the road, unsuccessfully searching for Scarlett, and not here for our first official day of being a Suit. Maybe they couldn’t stomach what their decisions brought onto their sons’ widening shoulders. Maybe they were obsessed with rescuing a child that was now thirteen. In Italy, that made her practically a woman, gaining many responsibilities at the home front. I couldn’t help but wonder what kind of responsibilities were placed on her shoulders, all alone. And were grown men watching her grow and develop? Wanting more than they should?
Constantly, I had to push such thoughts from my mind to stay sane and find more distractions when not with Isabella, digging for any resurfacing memories. When with her, and with Mr. Giordano’s permission, I wore normal clothes. It seemed to help relax her.
With the suits came pay. I stared at the stack of Euro in my palm thinking this was a plus. Up to this point, Sal’s and my only pay had been a roof over our head, a smile from Mrs. Rossi, and warm food in our bellies. That had been plenty. We rarely went into town. We had no need for money. But now that we had some? It was a bit liberating.
The first person I shared it with was my aunt and uncle. Sitting at the little wooden dining table, stuffing Euro into an envelope, Mrs. Rossi giggled, handing me a piece of white paper. “Maybe a little note to go with the money?”
Thinking she was brilliant, I quickly wrote a message:
It would mean so much if you and Uncle would allow me to share my pay with you.
Please accept. I would love to show you my gratitude for all you have done for me.
Your nephew,
Angelo
Standing next to me, Mrs. Rossi kept smiling as she took the note and wrapped it around the Euro, then slipped it into an envelope. “You look so proud of yourself.”
“They work hard but make little money. It would be an honor to assist them.”
She kissed the top of my head. “This will be sent tomorrow, my sweet Angel.”
The first thing Sal and I bought? We took Mrs. Rossi to dinner, where she was not cooking, cleaning, or waiting on ungrateful Giordanos.
That night, at the restaurant, was the first time I realized Sal and I were a sight that women appreciated. In our suits, we escorted Mrs. Rossi into a fine dining experience. Sal’s head tilted when every woman, accompanying a man or not, took a gander at us.
Mrs. Rossi made no comment about it and loved her dinner date with her boys. We spared no expense and ordered her so much food she had to have her dessert put in a container to go. In the backseat, it sat in her lap, and all the way home, she praised the chef for such superb plates. We were all still smiling while driving down the long driveway next to the grapevines.
But no happiness existing near the Giordanos lasts long.
Headlights from Mrs. Rossi’s car lit the front yard, showing live-in farmhands rushing around, unfolding a huge tarp on the ground. My smile faded. “What are they doing?” Isabella’s brothers were yelling, arms waving through the air. Mr. Giordano was facing his home, his cane on the ground, both hands up in the air. I couldn’t see what he was gesturing to, due to a tree blocking the view.
One of the night shift Suits ran toward the car as I parked. He opened the driver’s side door. “Angelo, we have a situation.” I got out in a hurry, already putting the puzzle pieces together. I ran toward the house. Isabella.
Sal ran around the hood of the car. “What is it?”
Before I could see her, I heard a shriek of terror.
Mr. Giordano slammed his hands to his face. “My beautiful one, please wake up!”
Running past him, I didn’t even pause to ask questions, nor did I give answers to the brothers all yelling questions, wanting to know why I was getting involved. Everyone else knew the routine and had witnessed or heard of my abnormal connections with the female Giordano of the house. Therefore, they didn’t bother me and went about any business to help get a positive ending out of the night.
Farmhands were frantically picking up ends of the tarp while peering up, fear etched on every face. I didn’t offer to help. I just ran to the tree trunk and started climbing. When I could spare a split second, I scanned for Isabella’s balcony, where I needed to be.
It was dark, but not so much that I couldn’t see her at the handrails, arms flailing as if trying to protect herself. The whole time, she cried, “No! No! Please, don’t hurt me! My father will pay you. Please, stop. He will pay any amount...”