Shadow Warrior

by Feehan, Christine

  “I should have known all three of you would come,” she greeted. “Thank you.”

  “I don’t really think Giuseppi would be stupid enough to try to wipe us out, but you never know,” Stefano said. “Something’s up. We just need to be careful. I’ve already given our cousins everything we have on Haydon Phillips as well.”

  “He’s a scary little bastard,” Geno said. “Have you locked your woman up tight, Vittorio?”

  “She’s upstairs with Francesca and Sasha,” Vittorio said. “He can’t get up there. The ducts have been protected and there is no way to use the elevator, or the elevator shaft. He’s clever, though, and as more time passes and he can’t get to Grace, I think he’s going to try something he might not ordinarily try.”

  “He seems as though he can be very patient,” Lucca observed. “I’ve read all the data they have on him so far and he waits months at a time for his revenge.”

  “But before, he’s always had access to Grace,” Salvatore pointed out. “I agree with Vittorio’s assessment. I think in some way he relies on having her in his life. He seems to need her. He terrorizes her, he uses her to pay debts and he clearly was willing to sell her, but not for the long term, or permanently. He also expected he could control the deal.”

  Vittorio agreed wholeheartedly with Salvatore’s conclusions. “Grace has been the only constant in his life. He wants to keep her isolated from anyone else. He’s made sure she can’t get close to anyone. She’s the one person he isn’t going to let go of. That means he’ll come after her with everything he’s got.”

  “And hopefully make mistakes,” Ricco said.

  “Caterers are coming,” Stefano said, looking down at the text on his phone.

  “That’s our cue,” Geno said. “Chances are, the Saldis have someone on the payroll.”

  Vittorio agreed. The catering company was one of the best, one they used frequently. Giuseppi Saldi would know every company the Ferraros did business with. It would stand to reason he would put someone on his payroll. The Ferraros always had people on the inside of companies the Saldi family used.

  Mariko and their three New York cousins slipped into the shadows in their assigned spots. Vittorio circled Emmanuelle’s shoulders with his arm, drawing her close to him. “Emme, I would be a lot happier if you would join them. You could still protect us.”

  She went up on her toes and brushed a kiss on the hard line of his jaw. “I love you, Vittorio. You’re the best. All of you. You’re good to me, but I made this mistake. I set myself up as a target for the Saldi family. I knew I shouldn’t have a relationship with Valentino, but in spite of all the warnings, I did it anyway.”

  She rubbed her face against his arm and then straightened her shoulders. “I’m a Ferraro. I can admit to making mistakes, no matter how foolish. I was sixteen when I fell for him. I’m not sixteen now. If he wants to gloat, let him. I stand with my family, and at no time did I ever give him one piece of information about any of you, or my family in general. He may have gotten my heart, but he didn’t achieve his goal, so fuck him and Giuseppi.”

  There was no way his little firecracker of a sister was going to hide in the shadows while her brothers faced the Saldi family. Vittorio knew there was no sense in trying to talk her out of her stand. In any case, he would have done the same. “I’m proud of you, Emme.”

  She flashed him a smile and turned toward the door as the caterers began to filter in one by one. Vittorio knew that Emilio and Enzo were double-checking each employee as they approached the room. They also had a dog that would alert if there were any evidence of bomb materials in any of the carts or on their persons. The caterers were patted down for weapons. Their faces were run through facial-recognition software, checked against Haydon Phillips’s face. Vittorio wouldn’t put it past him.

  The refreshments were put on the table along with small crockery and glasses. Wine was opened. The caterers left. Eloisa slipped into the room. She scowled at her oldest son, hands on her hips. “What is Giovanni doing in this room? He can’t possibly escape if there’s a problem.”

  “It’s been handled,” Stefano said.

  “He shouldn’t be here.”

  “He’s a grown man,” Giovanni snapped. “Don’t start shit before this goes down.”

  “It wouldn’t be going down if your sister hadn’t decided to play the—”

  “Don’t,” Vittorio commanded, his voice low, but carrying. He stepped closer, towering over her. “Do not say one word against my sister. You’ve caused enough trouble. Leave us, or take our backs, but for once in your life, hold your tongue or I’ll put you out right in front of the Saldi family.”

  He was at his limit with Eloisa. She’d already jeopardized his relationship with Grace. More, she could have prevented what happened to Grace, but she had arbitrarily decided she didn’t want Grace as a daughter-in-law. She was relentless in her desire to tear down Emmanuelle. He’d had enough and really, if she didn’t stop, he was more than capable of picking her up and putting her out of the room right in front of Giuseppi and his family. None of his brothers would lift a hand to stop him.

  Eloisa looked outraged. “How dare you threaten me. I’m still your mother, as much as Stefano tries to take that role.” Even as she hissed the words at him, she backed away.

  “Eloisa, you’re on the western side of the room,” Stefano said, indicating the position he wanted her in.

  The conference room had been designed for the riders. Shadows fell across the walls and doorways, leading in all directions, thrown from the many overhead lights artfully placed. Their mother disappeared into the shadows, and Vittorio closed his eyes for a moment to center himself. The adrenaline receded, and he was once more himself.

  Stefano put a hand on his shoulder just as the door opened and Emilio nodded at them.

  “Bodyguards remain outside. You know what to do,” Stefano said. “The trouble could start out there. Be watchful.”

  Emilio gave them all his deadpan look, as if to say let them try.

  “Bring them in.”

  Valentino came into the room first. He scanned, taking in everything and everyone, his gaze coming back to rest on Emmanuelle. She didn’t stand close to any of her brothers, but rather she was straight, her chin up, regal almost, and Vittorio was proud of her. He noticed Val’s breath hitch, but his gaze moved beyond her to Stefano.

  “I’m trusting you with my father, Stefano.”

  Taviano opened his mouth, but Vittorio shook his head. They all wanted to say the same thing. They’d trusted Val with their sister. They should have stopped the relationship. They’d protested, but they hadn’t stopped it and she’d been broken by this man.

  “I’m trusting you with my family,” Stefano responded. Saying nothing and everything.

  Vittorio always admired how Stefano could command a room with his sheer presence. He repeated back to Val his own words, yet his inflection meant something altogether different.

  Val was silent a moment, taking a careful look around, even looking up, once more scanning the room for any hidden threat. He studied Stefano’s face, and then looked at Emmanuelle, as if she might give him answers.

  “Don’t look at her,” Vittorio cautioned. “Worry about yourself, not your family.” He kept his tone low and mild, but there was a menacing promise in every word.

  Val continued to study Emmanuelle’s face. Vittorio glanced at his sister. He was proud of her. She didn’t bend. Her shoulders remained straight, no expression on her face, and she looked right through Val.

  Val’s gaze shifted to Vittorio and then touched on each brother. He didn’t look intimidated, but he did look upset. He shook his head and then glanced over his shoulder. “We’re good.”

  It was difficult not to respect Valentino Saldi. In the midst of the hostility he couldn’t help but feel emanating from the Ferraro family, he still trusted them enough to call in his adopted father. It was clear he loved Giuseppi and would defend him fiercely, but even if w
ar was coming between the two families, he wasn’t about to back down from trying to stop it.

  Giuseppi Saldi entered. He was a man in his early sixties, in good shape. His black hair was streaked with attractive silver. He looked worn. Vittorio had never seen him look so beaten. He wore sorrow like a cloak. As a rule, Giuseppi could take over a room. He usually had a smile and his dark eyes were laughing. There was no laughter whatsoever in him. He went straight to Stefano and held out his hand. Stefano immediately shook it and indicated the conference table.

  “I appreciate you meeting with us, Giuseppi, especially under the circumstances. We were so sorry to hear about Greta. I hope she’s comfortable?”

  Everyone knew Greta was the love of Giuseppi’s life. She was in stage four pancreatic cancer, and Giuseppe spent all of his time with her. For him to take the time to come to the meeting meant it was extremely important to him.

  Giuseppi nodded several times. “She was happy to see Emmanuelle.” The man turned to look at her. “Thank you for going to see her. It meant a lot to her.”

  Emmanuelle inclined her head. “Greta is very loved by everyone who knows her.”

  Valentino swung around, looking from his adopted father to Emme. She didn’t even glance his way.

  Giuseppi smiled at her and turned back to Stefano as his brother entered, his brother’s three sons behind him. “Pay no mind to Miceli. He’s a hothead.” It was an attempt at the humor he’d always shown.

  Stefano accepted Miceli’s handshake. “As is Taviano. We’ll keep the two of them apart.”

  Miceli laughed. “He’s been saying that since I was four. Now I’m sixty and he thinks I haven’t outgrown that trait.” He turned to Vittorio. “Before we start this meeting, I have to formally apologize to you. I had no idea Grace Murphy was your fiancée. No one knew of your engagement. I certainly have no idea what Ale and Lando were doing at your nightclub.”

  Vittorio, like all shadow riders, could hear lies. Miceli Saldi was lying. The look of apology on his face appeared sincere. His expressions and inflections were perfect, but he was lying. Vittorio studiously avoided looking at any of his brothers or Emmanuelle. They would hear it, the note that was just off enough to warn them the man was a blatant liar.

  “How is she doing?”

  “As well as can be expected with a shattered shoulder.”

  “I understand she works for the event planner. Martina uses the company for every charity or party she throws. She’s met Grace.”

  “How is your wife?” That was safe enough. If the Saldis did have any psychic gifts, and it was entirely possible, Vittorio wasn’t going to say anything that might be heard as a lie. Martina Saldi was a good woman. Vittorio had met her at numerous functions and she was always unfailingly polite to everyone. Even to Eloisa, who could be abrasive.

  “Fine. Fine. She laments every day that our sons haven’t married and done their duty to provide us with grandchildren.” He waved his hand toward his sons, who had entered behind him.

  Dario Bosco, Miceli’s oldest, often worked as the primary bodyguard for his cousin, Valentino. His other two brothers, Angelo and Tommaso, spread out a little, taking up positions that didn’t seem to be threatening, but would better protect their father and uncle should it be necessary.

  “Our mother often says exactly the same thing,” Stefano said. “I believe Martina and Eloisa have often had a conversation about grandchildren.”

  “Greta wished to see our grandchildren,” Giuseppi mourned and sank into a chair to the right of the head of the table, exactly where Stefano had planned for him to sit.

  The head of the Saldi family looked and felt so sorrowful, Vittorio felt sorry for him. Everyone who knew anything about the Saldi family knew Giuseppi Saldi was in love with his wife.

  Miceli put a hand on his brother’s shoulder and patted just before he took the chair next to him, facing Taviano and Vittorio. Ricco took the chair directly opposite Giuseppi. Giovanni took the chair directly across from Miceli. His body was nearly, but not quite, in one of the larger shadows cast by the chandelier overhead. Emmanuelle walked around the table, head up, royalty deigning to be with those far beneath her, coming around to take the seat beside Taviano.

  Valentino took the chair directly opposite her, leaving two chairs open between Miceli and himself. Miceli’s two sons, Angelo and Tommaso, immediately filled between their father and cousin, leaving Dario standing. Vittorio didn’t like that Val’s cousins were all but smirking when they looked at Emmanuelle, but she didn’t appear to be in any way bothered by their looks, so he kept silent. This was Stefano’s show.

  Giuseppi took several food items and poured himself strong coffee. The others, on both sides of the table, followed suit. Vittorio didn’t feel like eating. Sorrow was coming off Giuseppi in waves, but something else, some other strong emotion had crept into the room. The tension in his belly coiled, not like knots, but like a snake, waiting to strike. He couldn’t tell where the source of danger was coming from, but it was in the room, spreading across the table and swirling around his brothers like a cloak of doom.

  Stefano stood at the head of the table, his coffee cup close. “Thank you for taking the time to come to the meeting, Giuseppi. I know that every minute away from Greta is difficult for you.”

  “I felt this was important, Stefano, to clear up any misunderstandings that have occurred between our two families,” Giuseppi said. “I explained to Greta and she agreed with me. We might have differing points of view, but we have always been allies with one another when necessary.” Deliberately he referred to a terrible attack on the Ferraro family—he’d sent his men to aid them. Of course, at the time, his son was in the line of fire as well.

  “It has come to our attention that one of our employees at the nightclub has been working for the Saldi family. We have several men and women who have worked for us for years. Martin Shanks has always been a trusted manager and considered a friend. Timothy Vane is his assistant, also a trusted employee.”

  Vittorio watched Miceli and Giuseppi closely as Stefano talked. Giuseppi ate his food calmly but listened attentively. Miceli dropped his hand under the table several times and Vittorio envisioned him whipping out an automatic and spraying the entire Ferraro family with bullets. He felt that same tension coiling in his brothers, but none of them showed it, their faces expressionless as they ate from the abundance of food and drink.

  “The cameras had been erased both in the parking lot and inside the club, but fortunately, we have cousins who are amazing with technology and they miraculously resurrected the video for us.”

  Vittorio knew the footage was recovered from the backup remotes.

  “It clearly shows Timothy Vane escorting your employees, Miceli, Ale Sarto and Lando Gori, into my club, along with Haydon Phillips, who we now know is a serial killer.”

  Miceli waved his hand. “Ale and Lando went rogue on me. I would have fired them had I known they were dealing in trafficking. It came as such a shock when I found out. I questioned Lando myself. He was apologetic and begged forgiveness, especially for using your club for such a meeting. His reasoning was, it was the last place they would be spotted by any of their fellow workers. I do not employ this disloyal assistant Vane, nor would I. Clearly, Sarto and Gori were striking out on their own.”

  It was the biggest crock of shit Vittorio had ever heard. Miceli’s voice sounded sincere, but the lie was too big to be covered by the superb acting. Vittorio watched the Saldi sons closely. Dario had taken the seat on the outside, beside Val. His gaze was on Taviano, as if he’d chosen the youngest male Ferraro as his personal target. Angelo was watching Giovanni closely. Tommaso had eyes only for Vittorio. That meant Val was on Emmanuelle. Vittorio didn’t like it. If it came to a shoot-out with the Saldi family, he didn’t know if his sister would hesitate before she pulled the trigger. If she did, Val would kill her. Could he get off a shot at Val and then manage to kill Tommaso immediately after? Even knowing Stefano had planned for
such a shoot-out, he still went over the scenario in his mind, again and again, practicing until he knew he would be smooth and fast.

  “Timothy Vane has been detained and is being questioned by the police,” Stefano continued, his cold dark blue eyes boring into Miceli.

  Giuseppi had turned in his seat to look accusingly at his brother. He didn’t try to hide his expression or his skepticism.

  “Haydon Phillips is on the loose, and if the cops can prove Vane aided him in any way, they’ll put him behind bars. I’ve already questioned Vane and he had quite a bit to say. According to him, he was approached when he first was hired. The initial contact was made by a man named Harold Jenson. I believe he is in your employ, Miceli.”

  Rather than look outraged, Miceli laughed softly. “Stefano, let’s be men here. You have those in my employ, in Giuseppi’s and our businesses. We have them in yours. This is just business between us. We watch one another, but that is all. If Vane is one of these men Harold recruited, then yes, he’s given money to tell us whatever he can about the mysterious Ferraro brothers and their lovely sister. That is all. There is no big conspiracy.” He waved his hands dramatically and then picked up a cannoli and took a large bite.

  Giuseppi nodded as if his brother had fixed everything between the families.

  Stefano sighed. “Perhaps what you say has some merit, Miceli, but conducting any business in our club is strictly forbidden. That is Ferraro territory. The lines are marked clearly, and we’ve set down the rules between our families long ago. Any infraction is an act of war. Your men have been conducting business in our club for some time now. Not just Ale and Lando, God rest their souls, but several others. In front of both of you is a list of names. These men are all on your payroll, Miceli.”

  Before Giuseppi could drag the paper to him, Miceli caught it up, crumbled it in his hand and threw it. The paper landed in the strawberry jam. “I’ve said I do not conduct business in your club, Stefano, and my word should be enough!” Miceli shouted the accusation, his face turning red.