My heart would race, knowing my task was futile, but I always tried to find her, lifting each box to see if Scarlett was underneath. She never was. The search made me crazy. I would begin kicking the remaining boxes, screaming, “Where are you?” It felt like someone or something was toying with me—sending me on an endless wild goose chase.
After each box nightmare, I would wake in bed, sweating and out of breath from the excursion that was only in my mind. Needing water to wet my dry throat, I would find my way to the kitchen and fill a glass. While drinking it, I would walk to check on my father who was now in a hospital bed in the living room.
His mouth would be gaping as he slept deeply with the influence of the drugs for pain management. My hand would shake as it hovered over that mouth to make sure he was still breathing. It is eerie to feel someone’s breath, knowing there are not many left, yet soothing to know he still had more to exhale. I wasn’t ready to say goodbye.
There were meaningful conversations we still needed to have…
“It was a sacrifice to love you from afar,” said my father as he lay there, staring at his home’s ceiling.
I wiped away angry tears as forgiveness forced its way into my heart.
“My son, I figured it would be easier for you this way.”
Now, with the knowledge he had been searching for Isabella the whole time, I imagined what it could have been like—him constantly saying goodbye, me so young, crying for my father. It would have been torture. “Do you regret it?”
A burst of tears escaped his steel exterior. “I regret letting your mother go.” He sobbed, “I loved her so much.” My jaw fell open. “She was the most beautiful girl in my town. And she loved,” he lifted his trembling, weak chin, “me.”
I fell back into my chair, stunned. My mother had it all wrong. “She thought you didn’t care for her.”
“I thought her hatred was better than missing me.” He exhaled so much regret it stuck to everything in the room. “And now I suffer as she did. I guess the lesson to learn, my son, is that denying love is a powerful mistake.”
There are moments in life that present themselves in such a way that their magic cannot be denied. My father was sharing his mistakes and the wisdom he gained from them.
I accepted the gift. “Thank you… Papa.”
His eyes found mine. The only other time, besides being a very young child, he heard me call him this endearing title, was when he woke me from a head injury.
Taking hold of his hand, I gripped it—him—tight. “Thank you for loving me.”
Tears fell from usually sick and tired eyes, now full of adoration and joy.
There would be more precious moments between father and son, and there would be a special memory with close friends. The Rossi family showed up at our door one evening, with baskets of food and items we could appreciate during such dark times.
We shared bread that night.
We shared wonderful soup to help my father’s stomach.
We shared old stories.
Apparently, my father and Mr. Rossi were quite the sinful young men. Mrs. Rossi’s arms flailed in the air as she spoke of all the havoc they used to cause.
The light from the fire and candles shone on our glowing, smiling faces. Laughter danced throughout a home that had been drowning in sadness. I remember telling myself I would never forget such a miracle. It was beauty amongst dreadful heartache.
It was love that would never end.
Memories… I thank God for them, every day. Without them, the now-empty hospital bed would have been too much to bear.
Papa was gone.
I touched his pillow, where he rested until God carried him home. I vowed to my father’s spirit, “I will do my best,” I wiped under my leaking nose, “to live by your wisdom, your regret, your mistakes,” I sobbed, “your loyalty… and your courage that has made this son proud.”
When I heard the wood creak behind me, I faced the one who had come to now care for me.
Sal stared at me with an expression that told me he was feeling my pain because he was, and would always be, my very best friend.
Turning twenty was a milestone in many ways. I was no longer a teenager. I no longer had biological parents. I no longer had anything holding me back from spreading my wings to go and find a Giordano treasure.
“Mr. and Mrs. Rossi will watch over you,” I assured Isabella.
From her lawn chair, she assured in return, “I will be fine, Angel.”
“And Pietro and Cristian. They will be at your—”
“Angel, I will be fine.” She beamed at me. “I will never be able to express my gratitude.”
Sitting in the chair next to her, I looked to the grass under my dress shoes. “I haven’t found her yet.”
Delicate fingers lifted my chin. “Even if you fail, you will have won. God knows how sincere you are. Your mother’s soul is safe, Angel. I swear it.”
I stared at the woman who was as brave as they came. “I hope Scarlett is just like you.”
Staring at me, she suddenly jolted. Her hand fell from my chin as she blinked her eyes.
“What is it?” I knew she was gaining a memory.
“Scar,” she murmured. “Angel, they called her Scar.”
That name sounded so forbidding to me. I would never hear that word again and not think of the girl who was lost in a world full of cruelty.
“Well,” I told that little girl’s mother, “it doesn’t matter what ‘they’ call her.” I growled with determination, “Her name is Scarlett Giordano, and her family wants her back.”
Isabella, fighting tears, dipped her chin. “And she has a formidable Angel of the Night coming to retrieve her.”
That moment was the first time I actually, somewhat began to accept that title. I envisioned myself as an enraged dark angel with wings of blades, ready to slice and kill anyone who got in my way.
Over my earpiece, Mr. Rossi said, “Angelo. Report to Mr. Giordano’s study. We are waiting.”
I spoke into my wrist, “Coming.”
I’m not sure where Sal was, but I heard him over my earpiece, “And me?”
I had approached Mr. Rossi with a plan, one he was not interested in but would take into consideration. If he told Sal not to join us, that was my green light.
My heart raced, waiting for his reply.
I finally heard, “Negative.”
Completely unaware of what was happening, Sal said, “Rude.”
His father responded, “Pardon me?”
“It’s American slang, Papa.”
Mr. Rossi grumbled, “Get off the airway, Sal.”
Still staring at Isabella, I will never forget that moment. The air crackled. So much was being said between us without one word being shared. The next time she saw me, it was possible that I would be returning with her child.
I was her only answer to her only prayer.
So, I stood, kissed her on top of her head, and walked away, silently swearing vengeance to the ones who would never forget the ‘scar’ I would soon leave on their souls.
Inside the Giordano home, I went into the leader’s office. “Good afternoon.” I was disappointed to see the three older brothers present, all staring at me. Especially Lorenzo, who was silently spilling hatred for me. I didn’t give a fuck. Smirking at him in return, I lifted my chin. “Problem?”