“Yes, it is. They were blatant about being in the club, Emme. How they got in without any of us being told, or how Haydon slipped through, I have no idea.”
“Tell me about her,” Emme invited. “When did you meet her? Stefano says you’re claiming her as your fiancée. Rosina is sending us information as fast as she gets it so we can answer any questions posed to us by the police or anyone else.”
Vittorio rubbed his chest. He still felt her there. Deep. Her voice had opened something soft in him that had been locked away. “Tonight was the first time I ever laid eyes on her. She was . . . unexpected.”
“Are you certain she’s the one?” Emme whispered. “Do you just know it, Vittorio? In your soul, where you live, do you just know?”
He glanced down at her sharply, his gaze moving over her face. He nodded slowly because she deserved an answer, especially when tears swam in her eyes and the family of the man she loved was involved in kidnapping and forcing a woman into prostitution.
“She’s the one. I never thought it would be possible. I’d just been thinking that, looking around the club at all the women, knowing there wasn’t one out there that would suit me . . . and maybe there isn’t. Maybe she’s a rider and she would be good for someone other than me. I’m not so . . . lovable.”
“Don’t say that.” Emme’s defense of him was fierce. “Don’t ever say that, Vittorio, because it isn’t true.”
“I love you, honey,” Vittorio said. He pulled away from her and looked at the woman waiting so patiently for him to give her details about his fiancée. “I claimed her, but she doesn’t have a clue who I am. If she knows about the Ferraros . . .”
“Everyone knows about our family or they’ve been living off planet,” Emmanuelle quipped. “She knows. She might not care, but she knows.”
“I’m no bargain, Emme. I need things from a woman most men don’t. She stood up to those men.” He found himself smiling at the memory of her flying out of the trunk of the car, straight at Haydon. “That red hair of hers is natural.”
“Good for her.”
“Yeah. Good for her.” He’d loved that she’d fought back, that she was no pushover. That wasn’t what he wanted in a woman, but maybe it was what he needed.
Hell, he didn’t know. Right now, all he felt was sick inside, his guts twisted into vicious knots. He’d done his best to keep her alive, his hands in that mess that had been her shoulder, trying to stem the tidal wave of blood.
“She’s going to live, Vittorio,” Emmanuelle assured. “She has to, if she’s yours. Shadow riders fight. She may not know she’s capable of riding, but that strength is in her. She’ll pull through and she’ll need lots of help after.”
He was good with that. “I’m going to have to fill out paperwork for her. Rosina has sent me all kinds of information, so most of it will be easy enough.” He rubbed her cheek with his thumb. “What about you, honey? This has to hurt.”
Emmanuelle didn’t pretend she didn’t know what he was talking about. “I broke things off with Val a few weeks ago. I think about him every minute of every day, but I have discipline. I heard him say—I heard him, with my own ears—say that his father had ordered him to seduce me. He told another woman that. A woman he was clearly going to bed with.”
Vittorio wrapped his arm around her again, drawing her under his shoulder, wanting to take the hurt from her. “I’m sorry, Emme. Really, really sorry.”
“It was better to find out now before I made an even bigger fool of myself than I’ve already made.” She paused for a moment. “I would have given up riding the shadows for him. I would have given up everything I am for him and he’s not worth it.”
“No, he’s not.” Vittorio wanted to shake the man until every bone in his body turned to powder, but he refrained from saying so. Emme would have been more upset if she thought he threatened Val with bodily harm. He didn’t want to give her any excuse to champion Valentino Saldi.
“Val was my ‘the one.’ The lesson here is, we can get it wrong. Make certain this woman suits you, Vittorio. If she doesn’t, don’t go there. Don’t let yourself fall too hard. It’s a long road back and every step is painful.”
Vittorio wanted to wrap his sister in a cocoon. She didn’t deserve what Val had put her through. She’d broken it off with him many times and he always managed to get her to come back to him—until recently.
“Rosina is searching for everything she can find on Haydon Phillips.” Emmanuelle changed the subject. “Stefano called a meeting at his home at breakfast. Hopefully, your girl will be out of surgery by then and you can join us.”
“I told her I’d be there when she woke up.”
“Ask the surgeon when that will be,” Emme prompted. “That way we can have the meeting, prepare a battle plan and then you can get back here. You have to know, for the Saldis to come to our club, something is up.”
She was right about that. “The footage needs reviewing. Someone let them in. They allowed them onto the third tier. They had to have paid for that, or they couldn’t have gotten up there, unless someone we trust snuck them in.”
“In which case, we know where all the drugs are coming from,” Emmanuelle said.
He nodded. “We can access the recordings from our phones if need be. The managers know we don’t as a rule, so if they can wipe out the recordings, we might get lucky and they overlooked that.”
“But they won’t for long. With Grace getting shot, the two Saldi employees getting arrested and all of us involved, they’re going to be doing damage control. I’ll get on that right now.” Emme pulled away from him, going toward the door. “Try to make the meeting, Vittorio. It won’t do either of you any good to be sitting by her side when she’s out of surgery and unconscious. In any case, if we’re going to war with a major crime family, we have to be prepared.”
It was a huge concession for Emmanuelle to acknowledge that Valentino’s family were criminals.
“I’ll be there if at all possible,” he promised. The meeting was going to be very painful for his sister and he wanted to be there for her. He wouldn’t leave if Grace was awake, but if not, he was determined to be there for Emme.
CHAPTER TWO
Vittorio rode the private elevator that took him to the penthouse suite in the Ferraro. The chain of hotels the family owned were renowned for their opulence and meticulous attention to every comfort and detail. Most were frequented by celebrities and politicians. Actors and actresses, singers and bands, the wealthiest of the wealthy. The hotel catered to them, pampered them and gave them every luxury.
Stefano Ferraro lived in the penthouse suite, with his wife, Francesca. Francesca had been the woman to provide hope for the entire Ferraro family, and that included their New York, San Francisco and Los Angeles cousins. Until Stefano found Francesca, none of them had believed they would find a woman capable of bearing shadow riders who would be a perfect match. That she and Stefano had fallen so deeply in love with each other was icing on the cake. Stefano was the leader of the Chicago Ferraros, but Francesca was the heart of them.
The elevator opened directly into Stefano’s foyer. The place was elegant, always had been, but when Stefano had lived there alone, it had been cold. Now, it was warm and welcoming and smelled like heaven. That was Francesca. She could make a cave a home. Breakfast at Stefano’s wasn’t hotel food, never mind that they had five-star chefs. Francesca insisted on cooking and usually his youngest brother, Taviano, helped her in the kitchen. There was something special about their concoctions, most likely the love they put into them.
“Hey, you,” Francesca greeted, leaning into him so he could brush a kiss along her cheek. “How’s Grace doing?”
Vittorio noted, with some alarm, that she looked tired. “She was in surgery most of the night. Doc says she lost a lot of blood. It’s going to take some time to heal all the smashed bones, but he says everything looks good. Told me to get some sleep and come back around noon. They want to keep her out as long as possibl
e because the pain is going to be barely manageable.”
He gave the report to his family because they’d all ceased their boisterous conversations to hear what he had to say.
“Breakfast is ready,” Taviano said. “We were just waiting for you.”
There was no reprimand, but Vittorio didn’t want Francesca to think he’d held them up for no reason. “The doc had a lot to say about her care and I needed to hear it.” He made his way to the large table, already set with white china rimmed in gold.
Each of them tended to choose the same seat when they ate at Stefano’s, which was often. They hadn’t been allowed to attend schools as other children had. They’d trained together. They’d studied with tutors and had been expected to learn multiple languages and excel in everything required of them, particularly when it came to mastering weapons and turning their bodies into weapons.
Their family had to be protected at all times. Once, a hundred years earlier, the Saldis had attempted to wipe out the Ferraro family.
That didn’t allow for friendships outside the family. What they did was done in complete secrecy and would always have to be. No one outside the family knew what they were capable of doing. There were other shadow riders in the world, but very few. They policed themselves and were extremely careful at all times.
Every rider had personal bodyguards whether they wanted them or not. It was a fact of life they’d learned to live with. Most people thought they were a crime family, just as the Saldis were. They were investigated often, but had never been indicted for a crime. They couldn’t have close friends outside the family. They had to portray a lavish, extravagant lifestyle to the public, to further their images as playboys with far too much money.
They played polo. They raced cars and gambled. Those unmarried had a different woman on their arm at night at charity events and clubs. They flew from one country to another, seemingly just to party. On the other hand, they had many legitimate businesses, including international banks and their hotels.
“Did anyone review the security tapes?” Vittorio asked as he took several homemade pastries from the basket being passed around.
“Mariko and I did,” Ricco said, indicating his wife. “Someone definitely messed with them, but I sent them to Rigina to see what she could recover. She’s working on it now.”
They employed only family when it came to the shadow riders. Rigina and Rosina Greco were Ferraro cousins and investigators. Both women were geniuses when it came to anything to do with computers or electronic equipment.
“I spoke with Giuseppi twice,” Stefano said. He took a sip of his latte. “He swears they aren’t running any operations out of our club. He spoke to his brother Miceli, and Miceli claims he has no idea why Sarto or Gori would have been at the club. He also claims complete ignorance of the fact that his two very loyal soldiers were involved in anything as heinous as human trafficking, prostitution and kidnapping. Neither knew the connection between Grace and our family, which is probably the only true statement made.”
“Leonardo Saldi was head of the family for years,” Giovanni explained to bring Francesca, Mariko and Sasha, Giovanni’s new bride, up to speed. “He had three sons: Giuseppi, Miceli and his youngest son, Fons. When Leonardo died, the oldest, Giuseppi, took over as head of the Saldi family. They have the entire East Coast locked down as their territory and they rule with an iron and very bloody fist.” He speared sausage onto his plate.
Ricco took over. “When Valentino, the now heir apparent, was eight, there was a car bombing. It killed his father, Fons, and mother, leaving him an orphan. Giuseppi and his wife, Greta, had always been in Val’s life. Supposedly, they adored him and were the favorite aunt and uncle. Greta has never had children, and there isn’t even a whisper of Giuseppi cheating on her. They took Val in and later adopted him legally. He was around ten when they made it legal.”
Giovanni took over the explanation. “Miceli had one son, Dario, out of wedlock. He never married his mother, but Dario came to live with him when he was fifteen, after she died. Miceli has two sons with his current wife, Tommaso and Angelo. Because Giuseppi adopted Val legally, Val, who would have stood in line behind Miceli and his three sons, was now the official heir to the Saldi throne.”
Vittorio slid his hand under the table and covered Emme’s hand. She was pressing her palm hard into her thigh. He felt her tremble and he waited until she looked up at him before he smiled at her. “We don’t have the first clue what’s going on, and as with any investigation, we don’t make a move until we know for certain.” He kept his voice soothing. Gentle. He pitched his tones to be comforting and even peaceful.
Emmanuelle visibly relaxed. “I can tell you that Giuseppi treats Val as his own son and clearly loves Greta. She has stage four pancreatic cancer and Giuseppi isn’t leaving her side.”
Stefano raised his head alertly, his dark eyes pinning his sister. Vittorio shook his head and immediately intervened. “Thanks, Emme. We’ll have Rosina see what she can dig up on Greta’s health and where she stands right now. It’s possible Giuseppi really isn’t in the know about what’s going on in his territory.”
“That would be a first,” Taviano said. “Nicoletta was assaulted in the flower shop by Saldi scum. I took care of it, but the bastard actually put his hands on her. And Val’s bodyguard, Dario, you know, Miceli’s oldest son, has twice called Nicoletta, just in case anyone’s interested in that bit of information.”
Nicoletta was a young woman they’d rescued when she was a teen. She lived with Amo and Lucia Fausti as their foster daughter and she’d recently turned eighteen. That made things difficult for the riders as they watched over her. She was one of them, that rare woman who could produce the type of child who was capable of riding shadows and dispensing justice.
Emmanuelle stiffened. “Are you kidding me? When did that happen? Why didn’t you tell me?”
Taviano halted in the act of lifting a scone to his mouth. “What’s wrong, Emme?” She had their complete attention.
“The Saldi family has definitely told their younger men to attempt to seduce the women in our family, me included. If they’re going after Nicoletta, I need to talk to her. She’ll listen to me. Taviano, you didn’t go by her house and lay down the law, did you?”
“You mean to tell her to stay the hell away from the Saldis? Damn right, I did. I told her if I caught her with one of them, I’d break his fucking neck.”
All four women at the table groaned in unison. Taviano glared at them. “What? I would. She had to have heard the truth of that. I’m not kidding around with her anymore. I’m done with her bullshit parties. She’s so damned wild I can’t even see straight thinking about it.”
Stefano shook his head. “You’re such a hothead, Taviano. You handle that girl all wrong. If you tell her not to do something, what do you think she’s going to do? You’re smarter than that. Think with your brain instead of your dick.”
Vittorio laughed softly, leading the others who followed suit. Even Taviano had to smile and shrug, conceding his older brother was probably right.
“I’ll talk to her,” Emmanuelle said when the laughter died down. “Don’t worry, she won’t go near Dario or any other Saldi.”
“The last thing we need is to have Nicoletta kidnapped and used in human trafficking,” Taviano said, exasperation warring with annoyance in his voice. “And believe me, it could happen to her. Just about everything else has. Did anyone think to put a tracker on her when she comes to classes?”
“Don’t you dare.” Francesca’s gasp of shock had everyone’s immediate attention. “Taviano, I mean it. That’s just wrong.”
“Nothing’s wrong when you’re dealing with unruly women,” Taviano stated, nudging Vittorio’s foot under the table.
Vittorio tried not to smile while Taviano struggled to hide a smirk. Stirring up the women in their family was a little like poking a nest of vipers, but always fun.
Francesca glared at the youngest Ferraro brother. M
ariko put down her fork, her exotic almond-shaped hazel eyes narrowing as she leaned toward him. Ricco laughed and put a restraining hand on her shoulder.
Sasha, Giovanni’s wife, wadded up her napkin and threw it with deadly accuracy. “You’re lucky that isn’t a rope.” She was referring to the art of Shibari that both Ricco and Mariko practiced.
Taviano picked the napkin out of the air, laughing at the reaction he got. “So easy, the three of you. Look at Emmanuelle. She’s just sitting there.”
“Plotting revenge,” she said sweetly and took a sip of her latte.
The smirk left Taviano’s face. “Emme, you know I was damn well kidding.”
“And watch your language,” Francesca said. “You’re not talking that way around the baby.” She leaned toward Stefano.
Instantly he put his hand on the little bump showing at her belly. “We’re going to do it this time,” he said. “Francesca is resting, just as the doctor wants. We walk several times a day, but only for a few minutes. The rest of the time, she has to have her feet up.”
Taviano sat up straighter. “What were you doing helping to make breakfast? Stefano, that’s not resting. She shouldn’t be in the kitchen.”
“I love the kitchen,” Francesca said. “I’m not on bed rest. Just light stuff.”
“The doc comes out to see her three times a week,” Stefano said. “I agreed to abide by his rules. He said she wasn’t on bed rest, so . . .” He shrugged.
Giovanni nudged Sasha with his shoulder and then grinned at her. “He can be bribed, Stefano, you ever think of that?”
Sasha kicked him under the table. “Try doing that, and I’ll get Emme to help me plot revenge. She’s already working up a plan to carry out against Taviano. It wouldn’t take much to include you.”
Shadow Warrior Page 3