Not me. I was only kissing Zeta, the young woman with an electric charge that made me positively admire the female gender. That’s why, while kissing her and feeling tears, I was so surprised. I had never seen her cry. She was always rambunctious, willing to cross every line set in front of her. Except for one.
Shaking, she whispered, “My father has promised me to another.”
This wasn’t hard to believe. In fact, it was still somewhat common in certain parts, but she was so young. I was fourteen, and she was fifteen. “W-What? To whom?”
Wiping under her nose, she growled, “My father’s friend’s son. He’s a scoundrel!”
“The son?”
“No. He is not so bad. I’m speaking of my father.” Her chocolate eyes found mine. “I told him about you.” Her bottom lip trembled before she admitted, “He said I am to stay away from Giordanos.”
“But I am a Bianchi.”
Her eyes filled with pity. “But… you are owned by them.”
I blinked as I pulled back in shock. “Owned? I am not—” I thought about the skills being taught to us, the Team Juniors. I was being trained to protect a house I was not to enter except for permitted areas. I was being groomed to protect a family who didn’t even eat meals with me. No, I may not have had a fence around me like the livestock, but I definitely had invisible barriers I was not to cross. “Am I?”
More tears slipped down her soft cheeks. “I will miss you, so much.”
“Wait… Is this goodbye?”
She hiccupped around tears. “Mother says if anyone were to find out about you and me, it could make me look unworthy of my future husband’s family name.”
Suddenly understanding I was not of the needed caliber to ask for her hand in marriage, I took a heavy step back. “I am not good enough.”
She reached out to me and cried harder when I pulled away. Clutching her denied touch to her chest, she begged, “Angelo, please.”
I kept backing away. “No. You are brave. You are a fighter.” My chest tightened to such an extent I felt physical pain. “Just not… for me.”
Turning away from the only girl I had ever cared about was tough. Walking home, now knowing I was a sheep that belonged in a pen, made it even harder. Silently, I promised to find a way out of the mess my mother had left me to deal with. Silently, I promised to find a way out from under my father’s rule, since I didn’t feel he wasn’t the one in charge, anyway.
But all promises would have to be put aside because one major one had been fulfilled.
Marching back home, ignoring I had heart wounds to lick, Sal raced to catch up to me. “Hey! What happened? Why is Zeta crying?”
I growled, “That is a question for her to answer.”
Keeping up with my quick pace, Sal studied me. “I’ve never seen you angry before.”
“I’ve never felt used before.”
“Used? By Zeta?”
“By the Giordanos.”
He stumbled but caught up to me again. “Angelo, you mustn’t say such things.”
Abruptly, I stopped and faced him. “Why? Am I wrong? Are we not sheep?”
Sal nervously peered around as if fearful we would be overheard. When he noticed we were still alone in the woods, he said, “Agreements and alliances have been made. We—” He patted my chest. “—are a part of that commitment. That’s it.”
“Did you vow to anyone? I didn’t. Why are we trapped in this?”
“Angelo, if not the Giordanos, who would you be interested in making such a commitment to?” He thumbed over his shoulder. “Clearly, Zeta is not an option you prefer. And I’m your only friend.”
“Who says I need more?”
He bobbed his head. “I suppose I have no argument since you are my only friend, too.”
“Then there’s our answer. We will vow to each other and someday break free of this,” my hand flew, erratically, through the air, “whatever we are in.”
Observing me, Sal teased, “Are you trying to swat a fly?”
“What?”
“Well,” he imitated my wild gesturing, “this is a bit erratic, even for an Italian.”
Trying not to laugh, I growled, “Sal.”
“Alright, alright. My oath: I, Sal Rossi, will choose Bonehead Angelo over the rest of my family, and break away from the only homelife we have when the time arises. Better?”
My shoulders sagged because this was an unfair request. “No.”
“Hey.” He shook me. “I meant what I said.”
With regret for ever asking for such a commitment, I shook my head. “No. Your family comes first. Do not choose me.”
“I didn’t!” He shouted, then pointed up to the sky. “He did.”
Our pact began that day. It would be on another day when it would be concreted. But, at the young age of fourteen, we were already impressively committed to our friendship.
The closer we got to home, the more we could hear voices sounding somewhat alarmed, so we took off running, both already discussing what hidden guns we were going to retrieve. But no guns were needed. Breaking the line of trees, we saw people running, sharing words with others, then hugging.
I asked Sal, “What happened?”
His jaw was hanging. “It couldn’t be… after all this time.”
As if sensing our presence, Mrs. Rossi turned to see us standing there, dumbfounded. Covering her mouth, tears dripping, she nodded to us.
“Oh my God,” uttered Sal. “Isabella.”
The first time I saw Isabella Giordano, she was in my father’s arms. He had stepped out of the backseat of the car that way. This woman, wrapped in a blanket, clung to his neck, tightly curled against his chest as if she was expecting to be attacked at any moment, and only the man holding her could help her survive. Whole body trembling, she didn’t dare to come out from under his chin to look around.
I wanted to greet my father since he had been gone for most of the time I had been on the property. His search for Isabella had taken ten whole years. But there was someone who needed to see his daughter, and I didn’t dare interrupt such an awaited moment that most believed would never come.
Mr. Giordano, an aging man, stood in the front yard of his fancy home. In his expensive suit, his expression of horror spoke to all of his mistakes. It spoke of why I wanted away from such a family. All the money—from illegal activities—was not worth the true price. God saw what was being done. Greed had cost Mr. Giordano so much more than all his wealth.
His daughter was now broken and would never be the same. No matter what.
After Isabella had returned, Sal and I hadn’t been told what she had undergone during her abduction, but we sure wondered because we often woke to her screams in the night. We would sit up in bed, our hearts racing as we waited to hear how the adults reacted. We didn’t know if we should grab guns and run outside, like when a wolf would hunt the sheep.
But no one moved.
The only wolves present were from Isabella’s haunted past.
One particular night, when her screams woke us, Sal and I snuck out of the house. We crept around to the back of the Giordano mansion, hoping to find answers. What we found was my father, sitting on the ground, in the dark, crying.