I now knew who Papa wanted Scarlett hidden from. All suspicions were confirmed at that very second. And that wasn’t even the worst part of the picture. Next to a bonfire, hanging by her bound wrists, was a young woman with an otherworldly resemblance to Isabella. It wasn’t her, but they were definitely related. I had literally grown up next to these people. I would recognize a Giordano.
This girl was one of them. This was Scarlett.
We had known that Scarlett had most likely suffered the same fate as her mother, but all the men being naked was a tale of the goriest of unexpected details. With no other woman present in the photograph, it appeared that Scarlett had most likely been raped by her uncle.
I was grateful Angelo was far too focused on the stairs he was already heading down to notice the picture. It was more than understandable. His self-afflicted curse was moments from being lifted. That, or he would soon be dead and able to apologize to his mother personally.
I found peace in the fact that, if I died that day, I would soon be able to hold my brother again and thank him for sending me Angelo, the man who would only die if we had fallen together.
At the bottom of the dark wooden stairway was another door. As soon as it cracked open, a cold draft chilled me to the bone and trembled my spirit. I instantly prayed no one had lived in such a damp coldness, but as screams echoed from above, I knew there was no God present in this house.
The door opened…
Standing on the third step from the bottom, I had a perfect view.
Only one fluorescent light hung above her, making her appear ghostly. Sadness, loneliness, and complete sorrow aimlessly drifted within the dreary basement. I wasn’t even in it yet but could feel and see… despair.
A naked skeleton of a body was more proof than needed to realize this woman wasn’t even being properly fed. Scars and blemishes on her terribly pale skin declared years of physical abuse. Out of all the victims I had witnessed over the past decade, this woman was the most maltreated. If this person wasn’t Scarlett, I would be tempted to put a bullet in her head to end her misery.
But this was Scarlett.
The way her bare legs curved, just as her mother’s did in her sundresses. Isabella hated shoes, therefore didn’t wear them often. I had seen her bare feet enough times to recognize the toes gripping the concrete floor.
To confirm, I would have simply studied her face, but it was hidden underneath all her jet-black hair hanging forward, due to her exhausted neck no longer holding up the head to which it was attached.
I stood strong as Angelo jerked back and into my chest before covering his reaction. It was that appalling to watch Scarlett’s bound wrists slowly lift into the air as we had seen her mother do when trapped inside a nightmare.
The man who had led us down to the basement pulled on the end of a rope that was strung to the wall next to him. It was atrocious how totally accustomed Scarlett appeared to this humiliating treatment.
The vicious woman we were told about—the wild one—no longer existed. She had been broken and destroyed. I doubted she would ever be able to resemble a happy human being again, no matter what we did for her from this moment on.
Motionless long and delicate fingers hung in the balance of life and death. The only sign of life was her dark hair puffing out as if Scarlett’s breathing was labored.
The basement was empty. No bed. No furniture. Not even a pillow or blanket.
“Must you keep her restrained like this?” asked a very agitated Angelo. His tone pulled me from my shock and reminded me of the job I had to complete.
Our horrid tour guide shrugged. “Eh, only if you like to keep your dick attached.”
I wanted to grip his shaggy grey hair and smash his old face into each and every concrete block imprisoning this Giordano royalty. But Scarlett’s safety was our priority. Angelo and I had to reel in the anger radiating off the both of us.
Which he did. “I will approach her alone. Thank you.” Watching Angelo’s courage to carry on, even though we had found her too late, I admired him even more. He was the example of a true man, one never willing to give up. “Your name?”
I braced myself. Does she even know how to talk?
My ears burned as I heard a weak voice, “Scarlett,” and it took all the adrenaline rushing through my veins to keep me standing.
Yet, the brave one stepped forward…
Keeping up with the persona Angelo had to portray, he touched the tips of her long dark hair. “Do you like the name Scar?”
As if a bodyguard seeing nothing new, I stood next to the man who believed he still owned Scarlett and acted unaffected by the tragedy I was observing.
“It is not the name my mother called me.”
Angelo slowly reached under her hair and lifted his hand. I thought he would finally expose her face, but he did not. I wasn’t sure what was happening until her head slightly leaned into his hand. I think he was somehow silently communicating with her, while openly telling me, “Sal, move a hundred grand into his account as good-faith and for him to leave this room.”
That is the moment I knew Angelo was barely hanging on by a thread of sanity.
He had used my real name.
“Yes, sir,” I replied, working my satellite phone while praying this man I was offering money to had no knowledge of my real name, nor the education to know it was an Italian name.
After examining his own phone, the man made a crude comment about how Angelo could’ve had a ‘go’ for free, but was pleased the money showed in his online bank account. Then he left the basement.
Once the footsteps on the stairs faded, Angelo’s stern voice slightly softened. “Scarlett, my next question is a very important one.” There was no need for any more proof, but Angelo was a stickler for rules, and protocol was protocol. “What was your mother’s name?”
Miraculously, Scarlett easily remembered, “Isabella.”
That was all we required. Now, we needed to get the fuck out of there. But Angelo still wasn’t stepping into high gear.
Nervously, I paced. At any moment, that picture on the wall could become a living nightmare. If these men were to be informed that we worked for the Giordanos, and were about to steal away their ‘prize’, we were as good as dead. We were outnumbered and outgunned.
Yet, my buddy was in some sort of stupor, asking, “Scarlett, may I see your eyes for confirmation?”
They’re blue! Guaranteed! Let’s fucking go!
Far too slowly, hair fell away from her face as her head tilted up to Angelo. Dark eyelashes opened, exposing magnificent large blue eyes.
“Sir,” I quietly warned, but wasn’t heard by either of them.
A mutual stillness was transpiring between the two. Meanwhile, our lives crept dangerously closer to death.
Angelo stared at her as if he wasn’t quite believing what he was seeing. Or maybe he was, and was transfixed with awe that we had finally found her. Maybe that is why he whispered, “Vita Mia.” Isabella’s endearing nickname for her child.
Scarlett’s body reacted as if she was seconds from collapsing. “W-What did you say?”
Concerning the hell out of me, and ramping my growing anxiety, Angelo swayed. Then, he whispered in Italian, “I thought this day would never come.”
A crack ripped through my chest. My dear friend was lost in the journey that had tortured him for so many years. I whispered, “Angelo, we must see this through,” as I pulled a pocket knife from my slacks and sawed at the rope restraining the Giordano Princess. I told myself not to think about the haunting feeling of someone coming up from behind my naked body, like I had experienced in the dream. I told myself to not wonder about how many times she had been raped in this very spot.