Locking the door, I told the extravagant house, “I will return shortly and fill you with the aroma of true Italian cooking.”
I could speak as loud as I liked. There were no neighbors for miles.
Our last rental car had been an Escalade. Why on Earth a person would have the need to drive a house on wheels was beyond me. Angelo’s shoulders may have been a hair wider than mine, but let’s not be ridiculous. A normal back seat was sufficient. “Here you go, sir.” I playfully opened the back passenger door.
As he loaded in, he teased, “Shouldn’t you bow to me or something?”
“Lick my balls and shit yourself.”
Now he laughed, loudly. “Are your balls so foul they would cause me diarrhea?”
I slammed the door in his laughing face.
My hand grazed the shiny hood as I walked to the driver’s door. “I will not let you ruin my wonderful mood, Angelo Bianchi. If I live after today, I will be taking full advantage of the life God, mistakenly, hasn’t given me yet.” I opened the driver’s door. “Speaking of,” I sat behind the steering wheel, “I have been thinking.”
“Uh-oh.”
“Since I am the handsome one of this duo, I have come to realize I should be the one pretending to be the boss.” The engine purred to life. “It would be much more believable than the scenario in which we are trying to fool people.”
As I pulled out of the gravel driveway, passing an abundance of trees, Angelo asked, “And how do we explain this to our realtor and maid, who thinks I am her boss?”
Pulling onto a nicely packed dirt road, I pondered. “Hmm, we could explain it was all a ruse in case they are assassins?”
“Ah, yes. That theory would not cause unwanted questions to arise.”
We drove for hours. The closer we got, the harder it was to joke around. As were the mountains, the looming danger was too profound to be ignored. Even though Angelo had checked his guns many times, he was in the backseat, checking them again.
Out of habit, I asked, “Any messages?” but caught myself when remembering my father no longer had a way to offer any last text of warning or message to proceed.
Angelo’s voice sounded tight. “I’m so sorry to be asking you to go in blind.”
“Think we’re being set up?”
“I think your father has done his best to keep that from happening.”
“And if he failed, we fight.”
“Yes. We shoot until all bullets are gone. We fight and try to rescue a lost girl.”
“She is no longer a girl, Angelo.”
In the rearview mirror, I watched him give a curt, but not convincing, nod.
It was easy to still imagine the child we had worried for, for so long.
I asked, “If she doesn’t want to come with us?”
“Hit her on the head. That choice is not hers. I will carry her out.”
“I wonder if she has any choice at all.”
“As Isabella has done, Scarlett will find peace with family.”
“But we don’t know when that will be.”
“Sal,” he growled, wanting to focus on our immediate danger, not something we were powerless to change.
“You’re right.”
Eventually, we were no longer on paved roads, reminding me just how far we were from civilization. Experiencing a chill, I felt for my own guns. Only they and Angelo were my protection now. If we were to fail, no one would ever find us. There were too many places our bodies could be discarded.
Due to my GPS informing me we were only minutes away, I pulled over and blacked out the license plate. The address connected to it would never lead to us, but it could’ve possibly led to who sold me the car. I did not need that man to be beaten and reveal anything about Angelo nor me.
Once back in the car and driving again, I solemnly announced, “Last chance to turn back,” as I turned us onto a long dirt driveway.
Angelo pulled his gold cross from under his slightly opened black button-down silk shirt and kissed it, saying a prayer to have a successful mission. It was something he did each and every time.
All I could do was hope he truly had wings. “Angelo, if we do not succeed—”
“We fall together.”
Our pact. We would fight together, live together, and die together.
I made the sign of the cross on my chest, then kissed the tips of my fingers before offering my love to God, as the only home in sight finally appeared up ahead. It was quite rundown. Hadn’t experienced a fresh coat of paint in many years. There were old broken-down vehicles throughout the front and side yards. Old living room furniture sat around a hole in the ground that I presumed to be a firepit.
Noticing an abundance of little doghouses, I warned, “They seem to have many dogs.”
As I parked, Angelo asked, “Yes, but why are none barking?”
Trying not to move my lips too much, I uttered, “Cameras everywhere,” and got out of the car. Walking around the hood, I didn’t graze the beautiful car. I was too busy being cautious of the many dogs. I had no idea how long their chains were, but they were connected to metal rods in the ground that led into the little homes.
Opening Angelo’s door, I was free to look about—study my boss’ surroundings—as any bodyguard would. Angelo, on the other hand, had to play the part of a rich man who had no reservations about buying a human to mistreat and fuck as he wanted. So, he followed me and waited as I knocked on the front door, keeping his body behind mine.
We could hear men inside, laughing and shouting as if watching a game they had placed huge bets on. When the door swung open and a shotgun barrel was pointed in my face, neither Angelo nor I startled. I dipped my chin, thinking, I see you are as foul as your Montana friend, and explained, “We offer far too much money to play games. Lower your gun.”
The man on the other end of the gun had a cigarette hanging from crusty lips. He must have been at least sixty years old, and cleanliness was not of importance. His dark, beady eyes lowered to see the gun I had pointed to his extended gut.
After a pause, most likely contemplating his next move—or whether or not he was willing to pass up a million dollars, he finally demanded, “The password.”
Ignorant fuck. “Words. Plural. ‘Bitches and hoes’.”
The lewd old man smirked, then lowered his barrel. “Well, let’s not keep you waiting to see all the merchandise.”
Since we were here strictly to see one young woman, in particular, I was a bit confused by his statement, especially when he exited the home to walk past us. My eyes scanned the area, looking for another entrance to an underground bunker or basement where the ‘animal’ was kept, but that is not what I would see next.
“Bitches and Hoes,” he barked. “Get your skank asses out here.”
It took every bit of stolen composure to keep my mouth from falling open when naked women and little girls exited the dog homes, chains around their necks. One little blond girl rushed to a woman, “Mamma!” until the chain caught and jerked her trembling little body backward.
The woman she was rushing to was fighting tears, trying to soothe her child with hand gestures that hung in the air, unable to reach the one she clearly wanted to touch, while telling the man, “Please, she is just confused. She will behave.”