Vittorio rode the shadows down the winding stairs to the main dance floor, keeping the three men in sight at all times. They were clearly headed for the nearest exit. He wove his way through the shadows, choosing to leave through a private door that spilled him into the darkest corner of the parking lot. The reserved family parking was just in front of him, empty of course, because he’d ridden the shadows there, not wanting anyone to know he was around.
The three men he followed were halfway across the parking lot to his left. They stopped beside an old, beat-up Honda. Haydon reached down and unlatched the trunk.
Vittorio’s breath hissed out between his teeth. He wasn’t a man to get angry. It wasn’t in his nature. Ordinarily, he was the peacemaker, the solution-finder. He watched as Haydon jumped back. A small ball of whirling fury exploded out of the truck, hitting the man directly in the chest.
The overhead light was out, something not tolerated in any of the Ferraro parking garages or lots, so the figures were no more than darker silhouettes as he neared them.
“What is wrong with you, Haydon? Get your hands off me.”
The woman shoved at the man, but he caught both her wrists and yanked hard. “Stop, Grace. Just listen for a minute. I’m in trouble.”
“You’re always in trouble. Always, Haydon. I told you the last time if you kept gambling you were on your own. I can’t take out any more loans. I can’t work any more hours. You messed up, you’re going to have to fix it yourself.”
Vittorio’s breath left his lungs in a long rush of shock. Something tight in his chest loosened. Someplace vulnerable. Someplace guarded and protected. He pressed his hand tightly over the spot, feeling as if that voice had been a key, fitting perfectly into the lock and turning it before he had a chance to react—and he had lightning-fast reflexes.
“I’m done with you. With your gambling and debts. I’m out of it, Haydon. I mean it. You’ve had more chances than anyone in life should expect to have.” Grace threw her hands into the air and turned away from him.
She was small. Vittorio would have been surprised if she was much more than five feet or five one. She had a figure, full breasts and a very nice ass on her. He appreciated that. He could see why these men would be interested in her. Her skin was very pale, and her hair was a true red. She had it pulled back in a long ponytail. There was something about that thick length of hair that got to him. The woman, as small as she was, standing valiantly in the face of the threat the Saldi enforcers presented, sent heat rushing through his veins.
Lando blocked her exit, stepping directly in front of her, a solid mass of muscle. “You’re going to have to come with us. The car is right over there.” He pointed to a town car with tinted windows.
She shook her head. “I’m not going anywhere with you. I have nothing to do with his debts. Nothing at all.”
“You’re his sister. Family pays debts.”
“I’m not his sister,” Grace denied, sending a furious look at Haydon. “We were raised in the same foster home. That’s our connection. Whatever he’s into, he’s in it alone.”
“Really?” Ale whipped out a gun, pressing it against Haydon’s temple. “You want me to kill him right now? That’s the second option.”
“Gracie.” Haydon squeaked her name.
Vittorio could see Haydon wasn’t worried in the least. He didn’t believe Ale would kill him. Vittorio knew better.
Grace froze when she saw the gun, turning slowly toward Ale. “What are you doing? Are you crazy?” She whispered it. “Put that away.”
Lando grinned at Ale. “I think she’s beginning to get the picture. Your friend Haydon made a deal. You pay his debts for him. You’re going to come work for us. A close friend of our boss wants you as his companion for a few weeks. Maybe longer. You make him happy and the debt goes away. It’s that simple.”
Grace’s gaze flicked to Haydon. “You sold me into prostitution? For your debts?”
Lando’s fingers settled around Grace’s arm. “Get in the car.”
“I’m not a prostitute.” She stubbornly refused to walk.
“I don’t give a damn what you are. The boss says bring you to him, you go to him,” Lando said. His fingers tightened like a vise and he yanked her toward the car.
Vittorio rode the shadow that would bring him straight to Ale Sarto. He wrenched the gun from Sarto’s hand and flung it away from them, so that it skittered across the parking lot, coming to rest under a BMW some distance away. He slammed his elbow into Ale’s jaw, breaking it, and swept his legs out from under him, stomping on his ribs to keep him down.
He leapt for the shadow, let it sweep him straight to Lando, and was on him so fast, Lando hadn’t had time to react to seeing his partner put on the ground. Vittorio wrenched Grace from Lando’s grip and thrust her behind him, out of harm’s way, as he attacked. Vittorio, always the one to seek solutions verbally, had no middle gear. Either he was talking logically, or he was acting, and when he went into action, he made every blow count.
He wasn’t trying to kill Lando Gori, but he wanted him down and out. Every punch, every kick, every single blow was a punishment. Vittorio was strong, and he trained every single day, as did the other riders. They trained against one another, and that meant speed and strength as well as technique. They all studied anatomy so they knew exactly where to strike to do the most damage. He broke bones when he hit or kicked, and Lando was on the ground, trying to reach inside his jacket for his weapon within seconds.
Grace tried to call out a warning, but Vittorio was already on it, kicking the gun from his hand.
“You’d better stop while you can, Lando,” Vittorio cautioned, using his soothing voice. He could calm with that voice and he did so now. “You know the Ferraro Club is off-limits. You were out of line, and you don’t put your hands on a woman on our property ever. You got your ass handed to you and you deserved it.”
Grace cried out. “Haydon, don’t. He helped us.”
Vittorio spun around to see the woman in motion, racing to get between him and Haydon. The gun from under the BMW was in his hand and he was aiming at Vittorio. Not at either of the Saldi enforcers, but at Vittorio. The bullet slammed Grace back into Vittorio and he caught her, turning so his body protected her against another shot.
Haydon threw the gun and ran. Vittorio dropped down on one knee, taking Grace to the asphalt. She was fully awake and looking at him. She had green eyes, the color of jewels, although shock was wearing off and excruciating pain settling in.
“Don’t move. Just let me handle this.” He gave the command without thinking, already mass texting his family and calling for an ambulance. “I’m going to take a look at the wound. Keep looking at me. At my face.” He could already see the bullet had done damage. His worst fear was that it had severed an artery and she would bleed out before help could get there.
She swallowed hard. Her lashes fluttered, but she was definitely courageous. Tears swam. He leaned closer, keeping his hand over the wound.
“This isn’t anything we can’t deal with. I’m Vittorio Ferraro. You are?”
Her lips trembled. She opened her mouth twice to try to form words. He would have told her to stay quiet, but he was a little terrified of her losing consciousness. “Grace. Grace Murphy.”
“An ambulance is on its way. I’m going to tell them you’re my fiancée, just to make things easier in the ER. We’ll get faster results that way. Let me take over for you and get this done.”
Vittorio stared down into her eyes, willing her to stay alert, to stay alive. He needed her to live, more than he needed to breathe. Very gently he pushed the hair spilling into her eyes from her face, his thumb as soothing as his voice.
“Just stay with me, kitten. I’ll get you through this.” She was writhing, her feet pushing up on the asphalt, trying to get away from the pain. Every movement only made it worse.
“You have to stay still, Grace. You can do that. I know it’s hard, but look at me. I’m right here with
you. You can do it because I’m asking you to. Just stay still. Don’t let your body move.”
Every nerve ending had to be screaming at her. There were broken bones. His hand pressing on the wound couldn’t be helping. In the distance he heard the scream of the siren, but the ambulance wasn’t coming fast enough.
Her gaze jumped to his and stayed there. She swallowed hard, but he could see her make a brave attempt to stop the fight her body was making to run. He smiled at her. “That’s my girl. Keep breathing for me. They’re on their way.”
His oldest brother, Stefano, emerged from the shadows first, took in the scene with a quick look and then was on the other side of Grace, leaning down with his Ferraro smile and that way he had with women.
“This is Grace,” Vittorio said. “My fiancée.” That should tell his brother everything, and it did. Stefano glanced at him sharply and then down at the woman lying on the ground, trying desperately not to move in spite of the agonizing pain because Vittorio had asked her not to.
“What the hell are the Saldis doing here? The cops will be here any moment.”
Ricco and Taviano converged from two different locations in the parking lot. Both scanned their brother first to ensure Vittorio was free from wounds and then took in the entire scene.
“They do this?” Ricco demanded.
Vittorio shook his head. “His gun.” He nodded toward Ale Sarto. “It’s over there. Her foster brother, Haydon—don’t know his last name yet—tried to sell her for his gambling debts. Had her in the trunk of his car. They were going to take her, too. Haydon tried to shoot me after I dealt with Ale and Lando. She stepped between us. Her last name is Murphy. She was raised in a foster home with this Haydon. Check the trunk of the Honda for her purse. Get this information to Rosina immediately. As her fiancé I will be expected to know everything about her.”
Taviano was already up, on his phone and hurrying to the Honda where he recovered Grace’s purse. Vittorio kept his eyes locked with Grace’s. Shudders went through her body. Tears tracked down her face. Several times she started to move, but the moment he murmured softly to her, she fought back the urge.
“That’s my girl. Stay with me. You’re doing great. They’re here.”
She looked desperate. He felt that way. He wasn’t about to be separated from her. “No matter what, I’ll be with you,” he promised. He glanced at his brother. Stefano made things happen, even impossible things.
His oldest brother was on the phone to Giuseppi Saldi and the conversation wasn’t pleasant. Stefano was pissed as all hell and the cold, clipped way he was talking to Giuseppi let the man know there were going to be repercussions.
“Two of your men are here in my parking lot. My brother’s fiancée has been shot with one of their guns and the cops are crawling all over my club. What the fuck, Giuseppi? You making a move on my family?”
There was silence. Vittorio continued to murmur to Grace as the ambulance screamed into the parking lot.
“Some asshole threw her into the trunk of his car, her foster brother or something, and these two clowns were going to take her as payment for his gambling debts. Since when has that been going on? Just letting you know, they’re both going to the hospital and then to jail, and if I see them on the fucking street, they’re dead. You get me, Giuseppi? You come at my family, we’re coming back at you and yours. And we’ll come back hard.”
Stefano ended the call and strode back to Grace and Vittorio. The EMTs were already running IV lines to Grace. Stefano was back on the phone, calling their surgeon, demanding he get his team ready and be waiting for Grace when they brought her in. Then he was diverting the police, while Taviano and Ricco kept a loose barrier between Vittorio and anyone coming into the parking lot. Bodyguards showed up. Three carloads, led by Emilio and Enzo Gallo. They were out and taking charge of the entire lot.
Two detectives arrived, and Stefano beckoned them through the security line. Art Maverick and Jason Bradshaw had investigated the Ferraro family on more than one occasion. Vittorio, like the rest of his family, considered them fair and decent men. They weren’t egotistical, and they always remained polite, even when frustrated. The family tried to cooperate with them as best they could. When the Ferraros had evidence involving a crime that they could pass on, they always saw to it that the evidence ended up with Maverick and Bradshaw.
“Who beat the shit out of Gori and Sarto?” Art Maverick asked. There was a trace of amusement in his voice that he tried his best to hide. EMTs were working on both men.
“Vittorio,” Stefano said immediately. “He came out into the parking lot to see Grace’s foster brother dragging her out of the trunk of the Honda.” He indicated the car with the open trunk. “Apparently, Haydon was going to sell her to the two morons in exchange for his gambling debt. In other words, sell her into prostitution.”
Art and Jason exchanged a long look of smoldering anger. “Are you certain about that?” Jason asked.
“Vittorio overheard them, and Grace can verify if she lives through this.”
“Who shot her?” Art directed the question at Vittorio.
Vittorio was on his feet following the gurney to the ambulance, grateful for the information coming so fast to his phone. “Haydon Phillips, her foster brother. Ale put a gun to Haydon’s head to scare Grace into complying. I knocked it away, beat the crap out of him and then went after Lando because he had his hands on Grace. While I had him down, Haydon picked up the gun and went to shoot me, and she took the bullet.” He pushed past the detective and slid into the ambulance. No one tried to stop him.
As the door was being closed he spotted his sister, Emmanuelle, running across the parking lot toward the ambulance. Then the door was slammed shut and the ambulance was moving fast through the streets of Chicago toward the hospital. His phone was blowing up with information regarding his woman. He didn’t glance down, not yet. Her eyes were locked with his again and he wasn’t about to let her down.
“I’m with you, baby,” he said softly. “The OR is set up and our surgeon is standing by. He’s the best and his team are miracle workers. You’re going to be fine.”
She tried to form words, but he leaned in close, staying out of the EMTs’ way in the tight quarters. “Don’t talk, Grace. Save your strength. I’ve got this. All you have to do is stay alive for me. I’ll take care of everything else. Will you do that for me? Just stay alive.”
Her nod was nearly imperceptible, but it was there. He was a complete stranger to her, but he knew that connection between them had started there in the parking lot, their shadows touching, coiling together, their eyes meeting. His hands buried in the blood and massive damage to her shoulder. His voice connected them. His compelling promises. He meant every word he said, and she had to feel that. It was all he could give her before she went alone into that cold operating room.
Her foster brother had betrayed her. No matter that she’d known he was a gambler and a drug addict, he still had meant something to her. That had been clear. She’d taken out loans to pay his debt. Took on extra work. He’d heard that very clearly. This was a woman who knew what it was to be loyal, and yet someone close to her would have sold her into prostitution. He wanted to rip the man in half.
The ambulance tore into the parking lot and halted at the double doors. A team waited for her, and then he was running with them toward the operating room where one of the best orthopedic surgeons the family had access to waited with his team to put her shoulder back together. Vittorio had no idea whether or not the artery had been nicked but it was possible. He’d applied pressure as best he could until the EMTs had taken over.
“You stay alive, Grace.” He poured command into his voice, his gaze clinging to hers.
For a heartbeat she just stared at him, and then she nodded. Or he thought she did. The doors swung shut and he was left standing there, her blood on his hands and shirt. His heart beating too fast. He had always known he had no chance at finding a woman of his own, one who might be a
ble to love him, to live with him, and in the blink of an eye that had turned around. Just that fast, she was being taken from him.
“Mr. Ferraro?” A nurse indicated he follow her.
“It’s her blood, not mine,” Vittorio explained. He wanted to be alone to look at his phone. He was going to find Haydon Phillips, the name the Ferraros’ investigator, Rosina, had sent to him, and he was going to kill him. He brought justice to all kinds of criminals. The rule had been drilled into him over and over: Never let it be personal. This was as personal as it was going to get.
The nurse indicated a small private bathroom off a waiting room that wasn’t open to the public. The Ferraro family had contributed several million dollars toward the hospital, a wing and equipment. They were kept out of the public eye when they were there. Most of the time they managed to fly under the radar of the paparazzi unless a nurse or orderly sold them out. One photo was often worth thousands of dollars.
When he came out of the private restroom, his sister, Emmanuelle, was waiting for him. She rushed to him, waited until he tore off the bloody shirt and replaced it with the one she’d brought him, and then hugged him tightly. “Vittorio. You could have been shot. Why would that horrible toad want to shoot you when you saved his life?”
He tightened his arms around her, taking comfort in her presence. “I’m okay, honey. Grace ran between us just as I was turning around. She took the bullet, not me. Phillips wanted her to pay his gambling debts and I interfered. That’s the short version.”
“But you can’t deal with men like Sarto or Gori. Everyone knows that.”
“Phillips believed Sarto wouldn’t shoot him, that it was all for effect, so she’d go with Saldi’s men.”
“I can’t believe they would do such a thing. Stefano told me what they were there for. It’s disgusting.”
He was grateful she didn’t protest. She had crushed on Valentine Saldi, Giuseppi’s adopted son, since she was sixteen years old and they’d had an on-again, off-again relationship for some time. Vittorio was certain Emmanuelle genuinely loved him, which was too bad. The relationship had been doomed from the start. Her brothers had tried to tell her, tried to protect her, but until recently, she hadn’t listened to them. His heart ached for her. He could see the genuine sorrow and distress in her eyes.
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