Taviano didn’t reply. He kept walking, but his fingers tangled with Nicoletta’s. She glanced from his set face to Stefano’s. They looked so much alike they could have been twins had they not had an age difference between them.
“I knew something was wrong, but you wouldn’t tell me when I asked. I shouldn’t have stopped asking, but the more I did, the more it felt like I was driving you away from me.” Stefano shook his head. “Sometimes, Taviano, I despised them so much. I looked at all of you and saw these beautiful, intelligent children deserving of parents who loved them, and what did you get? They couldn’t be bothered with even tucking you in at night, let alone looking after you. I never should have left. I’m so fucking sorry that I did.”
Nicoletta’s heart nearly stopped. If Stefano actually cried, she didn’t know what she’d do. He sounded like he was either going to weep or kill someone. She’d rather he kill someone. He was the Ferraro family.
“Stefano,” Taviano said gently. “You keep saying we deserved parents. You deserved them, too. You gave us the best of everything we ever had. You don’t have anything to be sorry for. Anything good in my life, I have you to thank for it.”
“Who was it?”
“They’re dead. She killed them.”
Stefano walked for nearly a block. “They? More than one. Fuck, Taviano.” He spat the last two words out and then walked to the corner in silence. “At least she did that. Why wasn’t I told?”
“Phillip wanted me gone. I was an embarrassment.”
Stefano swore in Italian, a long litany of so many colorful phrases, Nicoletta couldn’t possibly keep up with them all, nor did she think it was a good idea that she try. She just kept walking with the two men until Stefano had gotten his temper back under control. She knew it was be angry or cry. Stefano’s love for Taviano was more than that of a sibling. He’d practically raised him, although he’d been a boy himself. He was crushed and trying to do what was best for his brother in spite of his own pain.
“He threatened to leave unless she sent me away. She wanted to continue to be a rider. She made a deal with him. They wouldn’t tell you and I would stay, keeping out of his sight, and she would continue as a rider. Phillip could do his thing and no divorce.”
Stefano’s face looked like thunder. “Dio, Taviano, it’s a good thing she isn’t here at this moment. I would strangle her with my bare hands. Had they sent you away, I would have found you. I hope you know that. I never would have stopped looking for you. Fuck them. Damn them both to hell.”
Nicoletta knew it wasn’t helpful, but she couldn’t stop herself. “No counseling, of course, because you might ask questions about why your little brother needed to go into counseling.”
That brought more swearing, and she glanced up at Taviano to see if he was angry at her.
Stefano’s phone buzzed. He dragged it out of his pocket and looked down so furiously that at first the text didn’t seem to register, but then he passed his phone to Taviano.
“It’s from Rigina,” Stefano explained to Nicoletta. “They have the exact location of Benito Valdez and his crew. It’s not that far from here. Apparently, they were close, did a slow circle and came back. If you don’t mind, I would very much like to take this one. Actually, I very much need to take this one.”
“How big is his crew?” Taviano asked, handing back the phone.
Nicoletta hadn’t seen the location.
“He brought thirteen with him. His lucky thirteen. Geno’s family did the investigation, and these thirteen men always surround Benito. They do his killing for him. They bring him the women he wants, and while he was in prison, they made certain all of his operations ran smoothly for him. They kept him informed through his lawyer of anyone that was out of line, and he sent back word what action he wanted them to take, and they carried it out.”
“He trusts them more than he does his brothers?” Taviano asked, a little shocked. “Why in hell would you put more stock in strangers?”
“Others were willing to follow his brothers,” Stefano said. “You’re a Ferraro. You could have a huge following if you wanted, where someone in our employ wouldn’t be able to muster an army against us.”
That made sense. Nicoletta nodded her head. “Are you going to ask any of the others to come with us?” Silence met her inquiry. “What?” She raised an eyebrow.
“Didn’t you hear what I said about brain trauma?” Stefano asked. His phone buzzed again, and he glanced down at it. “He’s on the move again.” He glanced down the street.
Nicoletta followed his gaze. The streetlights illuminated the various stores. About a block away was Masci’s, the popular deli owned by Pietro Masci. The deli carried meats and goods from all parts of Italy. It was right next door to Lucia’s Treasures. Nicoletta had worked at Lucia’s Treasures almost continually from the first few weeks that she arrived in Chicago.
Lucia and Amo owned the boutique. The merchandise was handpicked by the couple, beautiful, unique and very expensive, because often, each item was one of a kind. Clothing was often from designers not yet known from France, Spain, Italy, India or the United States, treasures that Lucia and Amo had uncovered and were willing to take a chance on because they found them beautiful.
“You’re saying that because you’re men, you can take the risk, but I can’t?” she asked.
“No,” Stefano answered, looking impatient with her. “I wouldn’t expect that of you. I’m saying we both have been riders for years and have no known complications. You haven’t. Until we get a baseline for you and know that the bleeding and headaches you suffered are just that initial starting adjustment, we aren’t taking chances with you. In any case, I need the outlet of action right now. I just found out that my brother, one I love more than life itself, suffered a horrendous attack at a young age, one beyond my comprehension, and I need to put that all somewhere before I have to face my parent again. I don’t want to strangle her and end up in prison when I have a son, wife and family I love. Give this to me, Nicoletta, because I swear to you, I need it.”
She believed him. But she needed to make certain they were both safe. “He’s heading to Lucia’s Treasures,” she guessed. “Or our home. One or the other. I can walk to the store or take a cab home. You do what you have to do, and I’ll text the other riders to meet you where you think they’re going to be.”
Stefano gave her a faint smile and shook his head. “Benito is headed for your home.” He stood there a moment looking at her. “What you did there in my home for your husband, taking control and getting Taviano out of a bad situation, was extraordinary. I am more than grateful that he has you, Nicoletta. So grateful.”
The raw sincerity in his voice burned through her chest straight to her heart. She managed a watery smile.
“Former home,” Taviano corrected. “Benito is headed for your former home.” He leaned into Nicoletta, caught the front of her shirt and pulled her into him to kiss her. “If you have to step into a shadow, and you should always have one close, just step into the mouth of it. Stay safe. Let us do the work.”
There was no use commanding her to stay away. This was Benito Valdez, and if Taviano was the one being asked to stand on the sidelines, he would still want to make certain Valdez couldn’t harm another person she loved or come after her ever again.
“I will,” she assured. “Did you already alert the others, or should I?”
“You go ahead,” Stefano said. “Although most likely, Rigina sent a group text to them already.” He handed her his cell phone, and Taviano did the same. The two men turned and walked around the corner to the alleyway.
Nicoletta trailed after them, already texting Mariko just to be certain. She’d trained the most with Mariko, and she immediately told her that Benito and thirteen of his men were on their way to Lucia and Amo’s home. Stefano and Taviano had gone after them. She was going to follow in a car. She was abo
ut to call for a cab but then saw the number already programmed into Taviano’s phone for the bodyguards. She called for Emilio. It didn’t take more than a few minutes for him to arrive.
Enzo, his brother, drove while Emilio sat in the back with her. “They all went. Every one of the riders,” Emilio said. “Not the cousins or Elie,” he corrected, “but all of Taviano’s brothers, Emmanuelle and Mariko. They aren’t supposed to do that.”
He sounded so annoyed and so mournful she thought he could have rivaled Eeyore in the movies and books. She had to hide a smile behind her hand. “Why can’t they all go? There’re fourteen Demons if you count Benito, and he’s armed to the teeth and every bit as lethal as any one of his men,” she pointed out. “If they all went, that’s still only seven of them.”
“They don’t ever go where they all could be killed, leaving no one behind to carry on the name,” Emilio said. “I suppose there’s Crispino, but he’s years out from being a rider. It’s bullshit for them to do this. Stefano has lost his mind. You should have seen Eloisa. I thought she was going to have some kind of a fit. She turned purple and started choking.”
Nicoletta might have imagined that there was satisfaction in his voice. She had never considered it before, but Emilio and Enzo were also related to Eloisa, and they must have heard the way she was with her children over the years.
Whatever terrible things had happened to her as a child, however she’d been raised, didn’t excuse her for the neglect and terrible decisions she’d made with her children, at least that was Nicoletta’s opinion. She didn’t mean to be harsh, but she would never get over what Taviano had told her, not in a million years.
She knew, someday soon, Stefano was going to ask his younger brother to talk to him about what had happened. She knew Taviano would, and it would be difficult for both men. Eloisa could have prevented the trauma now by dealing with it then. Or just never having it take place by sheltering her son a little better.
“Are you all right, Nicoletta?” Emilio asked.
She sat up straight, realizing she once again had tears swimming in her eyes. She loved her husband more than anything, and no matter the things that had happened to her, she found it almost harder to accept what had happened to him because he had a family that could have prevented it.
“I’m good,” she lied as the car cruised up to a walkway a good block from her foster parents’ home.
She stepped out of the car, Emilio pacing beside her. She knew the way home through the network of backyards. She’d taken that route numerous times. They were all connected, those massive parklike courtyards. They came across two bodies, both wearing Demon colors, by a wrought-iron bench that Lucia loved to sit on when she went to the koi pond. Both had their necks broken.
Emilio stepped in front of her and Enzo took up the rear, sandwiching her in between them. The next two Demons were right at the edge of the pool, one practically lying in the tall blue grasses Amo had planted because Lucia loved them. The other lay across the stone path, neck broken, staring up at the sky.
Nicoletta recognized all four men. These were the men closest to Benito. He never went anywhere without them. There was satisfaction in knowing she was getting close to him.
Two more bodies were just outside the Japanese maple garden, the one meticulously planted and cultivated for Amo’s beloved wife. Both Demons had their necks broken. One had been particularly brutal, and she remembered him laughing when Benito had beaten her.
There were two in the maple garden, and she really didn’t like that. In fact, it upset her so much that she almost asked Emilio to pull the bodies out of the garden. Lucia loved to have her morning tea there. Often, Nicoletta would sit with her and they would talk of nothing important, but that was where she first learned to trust her beloved foster mother. She forced herself to stay quiet and keep moving.
The Ferraro family was proving themselves to be silent, deadly assassins. She knew they had all come on her behalf. She was their family, and this man had hurt her. He had done despicable things to others, and they would have gone after him for his crimes had someone pointed them at him, but he had come at her, and she was theirs. She was a Ferraro. Family. Famiglia. That meant something wonderful. Beautiful. She hugged the knowledge to herself.
There were two more dead just on the side of the house, leading to the front, as if someone had tried to creep around without being seen. She had to step over their bodies to get to the corner of the house. At once she could see her family surrounding Benito Valdez and his three closest men. They were silent shadows, moving out of the shrubbery and flowers and back into them, barely noticeable.
Taviano emerged directly behind Benito. Stefano was behind Benito’s first lieutenant. They were facing the other two men, whose faces she couldn’t see. Clearly, neither Demon had any idea they were in danger, but the Demons looking toward Benito and his lieutenant tried to call out warnings. It was too late as Ricco and Giovanni wrenched their necks in the signature kill, delivering justice.
Simultaneously, Taviano and Stefano did the same. Nicoletta’s legs nearly turned to jelly as she saw Benito go to the ground. He was gone. Really dead. Her worst nightmare. Emilio had his arm locked around her, and she turned into him and let him hold her for just a moment until she could get her strength back.
“These bodies can’t stay here,” she announced when Taviano came striding over to take her into his arms.
“No worries,” Stefano said. “I’ve called Uncle Sal. He’ll make certain no one ever hears from Benito Valdez or any of these men. Lucia and Amo will never have so much as one hair left behind on their property. You go on back to the penthouse with Emilio and Enzo. We’ll meet you there, and then everyone will leave in their respective vehicles.”
CHAPTER TWENTY
You look so beautiful, cara,” Lucia Fausti said, reaching up to touch the delicate Italian lace making up the barely there neckline adorning her foster daughter.
An ivory silk sheath clung to every curve, accenting Nicoletta’s figure, giving her the look of a long-ago Hollywood screen star. She could barely recognize herself in the full-length mirror.
Hand-embroidered lace florets were scattered throughout a sheer duster of designer lace flowing to the floor and forming a train that fell with elegance around her, adding to the look of an ageless beauty. The delicate peekaboo cap sleeves were made of the same sheer Italian lace, with the hand-embroidered florets falling gracefully down her arms.
Her dark hair had been plaited into several intricate braids and then woven into a long chignon at the back of her head. She wore a tiara of chocolate diamonds, which matched the ones dropping in two chandeliers from her ears and those in the necklace that sparkled so close to the silk and lace of her gown.
Nicoletta turned away from the mirror to her foster mother. “I don’t even have the right words to tell you how much I love you, Lucia. How much you and Amo mean to me. You saved my sanity, my life. You gave me a home when I was so messed up, I didn’t think I even deserved to live.”
She stepped close, inhaling the fragrance of orange, caramel and mandarin she associated with Lucia. That scent would always mean home. Reaching out, she framed the older woman’s face with her hands and leaned in to brush both cheeks with a kiss.
“I love you so much, Lucia. So much. I want you always to be close to me. I told Taviano we have to live near you and Amo. Wherever you decide to retire—and I know you’ve spoken of going to Italy—we’ll follow. He’s promised me, and Taviano would never go back on his promise.”
Lucia had tears in her eyes, but she shook her head. “We can’t cry on your wedding day, vita mia. We aren’t going anywhere. Taviano has already offered us a beautiful home on our retirement and a chance to help you when you have your babies. I don’t want to miss out on the chance to spend time with my grandchildren.”
Nicoletta looked over Lucia’s shoulder to smile at Amo.
Her heart actually ached she loved them so much. There was no way to repay them. They had been the ones to teach her what true unconditional love was. “Did you notice she said grandchildren? In the plural. I think there’s a conspiracy.”
Amo nodded solemnly. She could see the sheen of tears in his eyes as well, but he didn’t shed them. “Of course there is a conspiracy, vita mia. You are our heart and soul. You always will be. We are so incredibly blessed to have you in our lives, an unexpected gift that came when we had given up all hope. You brought joy and laughter to us. You brought a brightness we hadn’t known in years. Thank you for that. And thank you for allowing us to love you.”
Nicoletta didn’t care about the very carefully applied makeup Sasha had spent an hour on. She burst into tears and flung her arms around Lucia. Amo came close and hugged both of them tight. They clung to one another for a few minutes, the tears turning to laughter.
“What are you doing?” Emmanuelle demanded, coming into the room. “You can’t cry on your wedding day. Isn’t it bad luck or something? I’m certain it is. In any case, you’re going to have to pull it together fast because Grace is right behind me and she runs a tight ship. You’ve only got a few more minutes with Lucia, and then she’ll be sending her straight into the church.”
“No, no, I can’t leave yet,” Lucia objected. “I have something very special for my girl. I believe you need something old.” She turned to her husband.
Amo smiled gently at his wife, his eyes shining with his love for her. It had always been that way when Amo looked at Lucia, Nicoletta knew. It was one of the first things she’d noticed about the couple, the way they treated each other with such care. She saw that same light shining in Taviano’s eyes when he looked at her.
Amo took an antique jeweler’s case from behind him, where it was sitting on a table. The case was square, black, and worn in places, but rather tall. He opened the lid and handed it to Lucia. His wife looked down at it for a long moment and then up at Nicoletta.
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