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Taviano knew she meant every word. More, he was absolutely certain she would do just what she said. She might suffer a few agonies while she figured it out, but she’d get it done and she’d go back for him. He threaded his fingers through the weave of her braid at the nape of her neck, where it was thick and soft.
“I did pretty well here in the house, with you following me, not helping me, Taviano,” she pointed out. “I didn’t get sick going back to the plane, and I didn’t, not once, here. I managed to find my way into each room. Granted, I was going slow, but it was me, controlling how fast I went.” There was satisfaction in her voice. Pride, even.
“It’s no wonder I’m in love with you. The wonder is, no one else knows what a treasure you are. I wish I could have met your mother, Nicoletta. She must have been something special.”
“She was.”
Taviano took her hand and they walked through the house back toward the kitchen. He’d glanced at his watch to see if Stefano had texted him, but the last message had merely said that no word had come in from the New York cousins. Rigina and Rosina had their eyes on Los Angeles and Chicago, and so far, there was no real movement. Stefano suggested they relax until he gave the word to move.
“Your parents never had any other children.” Taviano made it a statement.
“Mom couldn’t have any more after me. She always said I was enough for her, and my father—adoptive father, but for me the only father I ever knew, and I loved him very much—said he was happy with me. He certainly made me feel that he was.”
He waved her to a barstool so she could sit while he washed fresh berries he’d had brought in earlier for her. He mixed them up in a bowl and put them in front of her. She loved fruit. He’d also gotten dragon fruit and passion fruit, fresh mango and papaya, and cherimoyas, the last, one of his personal favorites. She loved cherries, and he had those brought in for her as well. He cut up a few mixes of the exotic fruits and laid them out for her, along with several different cheeses, honey, jam, crackers and spiced nuts.
“You’re totally spoiling me.”
“That’s my intention,” he admitted. He sat opposite her and nabbed one of the small plates he’d set beside the cheese plate. “Eat, woman. You always want to be well hydrated and have something in your stomach.”
“So I can throw up all over your brother?”
“That won’t happen this time.” He poured confidence into his voice and hoped it wouldn’t happen.
Stefano might use her being sick as an excuse to ban Nicoletta from the shadows until he saw fit to proclaim she was fully ready. Taviano knew she wouldn’t be able to stop herself from practicing on her own. She had been telling the truth when she said it was a compulsion now, a need. It was for all shadow riders when they reached a certain point in their training. That was when they were usually sent out of the country to be trained with other families. That was the point when it was known to their parents and trainers that they were true riders.
He knew Nicoletta was a true shadow rider. He just hoped Stefano saw it as well. She had no experience and little training, but she had the instincts, and her body was strangely adapting faster than he had ever seen or heard of a rider adapting. He knew the Archambault family was different. No one ever spoke of why they were different, but they were the ones policing the riders for a reason. Elie was crazy fast in the shadows. He had amazing reflexes. Sometimes he was so fast, his hands or feet appeared a blur when he fought. All of the Ferraros preferred training with him. Working with anyone that good improved their speed as well. Nicoletta had Archambault blood running in her veins.
“I hope you’re right,” Nicoletta said. “I don’t want Stefano to ban me from practicing. I don’t intend to be a liability to you in any way, Taviano. I know I can learn. Mariko and Emmanuelle are assets to you. You said yourself that there are way too few riders.”
He nodded. “Unfortunately, that’s true. We’re stretched pretty thin. So few children. That’s part of the reason Eloisa and the older riders are so upset with our generation of riders. They want us to be old-school in our thinking and accept arranged marriages, produce children and train them immediately. I can understand that way of thinking, but it’s difficult to agree with them.”
“You’re thinking of Emmanuelle.”
He nodded and added honey and jam to his cheese. “She’s in love with Valentino Saldi. The problem with a Ferraro falling in love is they only do it once if it’s the real thing. Emme has indicated to Stefano she’s willing to accept an arranged marriage. I don’t want that for her. Neither does Stefano. As head of our family, he has to make that happen.”
Nicoletta took several pieces of the fruit. Taviano noted which were her favorites. She was definitely fond of the dragon fruit. She did eat some of the cheese and honey, but far more of the fruit.
“Is Val really that bad? Could you talk to him?”
“I’d like to beat him to a bloody pulp,” Taviano said, meaning it. Just the thought of the hell the man had put his sister through stirred the rage in him. “When she was just sixteen, he seduced her. It wasn’t right. It was deliberate. His father ordered him to seduce her so that he could get information on our family from her. All along he was seeing other women. She caught him, and even heard him telling another woman who had confronted him about his relationship with Emmanuelle that he had no feelings for her whatsoever. It broke her heart.”
Nicoletta looked up from where she’d been choosing a spiced nut, her dark eyes suddenly blazing. “Are you kidding me? And none of you have beaten the crap out of him?”
“Vittorio did,” Taviano said. “Although not nearly as badly as he deserved. It’s saying something that Emmanuelle didn’t try to stop him, either. Normally, she would have been the first to defend Val. She hasn’t spoken to him in two years. She’s refused, and I know Val’s tried to contact her several times. She’s left the country a few times, and I think it was because he was pushing pretty hard to see her. I think she’s afraid to hear whatever he has to say, even if it’s an apology.”
Nicoletta nodded. “I can understand that. Women forgive men they love way too easily. It’s a failing most of us share.”
He sent her a quick grin. “It’s a trait you all need to have because men tend to screw up a lot. I’ll need you to have that particular characteristic running deep, tesoro.”
“I think it will have to be the other way around, Taviano.” She sampled the passion fruit and then more of the dragon fruit. “This is so good.”
“I had it brought in this morning for you.”
She went very still. “You didn’t.”
“Of course, I did. I know you love fruit.” He studied her face. She was just that little bit too still. “What’s wrong, piccola?”
“You. You’re so thoughtful. You really do love me. I don’t know what to do with that. With you. All this time …” She trailed off. Nicoletta pressed her lips together and then her lashes swept up so her gaze met his. “You’re the most amazing man. I realize I’m very lucky.”
He couldn’t help smiling. “You just remember that when I screw up big-time, or Eloisa makes you crazy. Or Stefano does. And we all will.”
Her smile was slow in coming, but when it did, it lit up her face and reached her eyes. His gut settled. She had him tied up in knots, and he hadn’t even realized it. He didn’t like her upset.
“Tell me about your cousins in New York. Emmanuelle and Francesca were talking about them a few weeks back when I was over playing with Crispino. I met Salvatore briefly, or I should say, I saw him. He was just leaving Stefano’s when I arrived. He looked very intimidating. And sad. I don’t know why I thought he was sad, but I did.”
“Salvatore, like Emmanuelle, has resigned himself to an arranged marriage. So many women throw themselves at men like us and they resort to all kinds of underhanded schemes to try to trick us into marriage. He wanted to find a woman to love him for who he is, not because he’s wealthy, or a rider. That just doesn�
�t happen so easily when you’re a Ferraro and your picture is splashed across the world in every magazine there is.”
“Your family doesn’t exactly keep a low profile.”
“That’s true, but we do that for a good reason,” he pointed out.
Nicoletta nodded. “Well, I felt bad for him. What’s he like?”
“He’s a really good man. Tough. Responsible. He’s always the one who volunteers to take extra shifts even if that means going overseas. I like Salvatore. I always have.”
“He has two brothers?”
“Lucca and Geno. Geno is the oldest. He’s quite a bit like Stefano. Maybe a little rougher around the edges. He isn’t a man you’d want to cross. He’s loyal to the family and watches over his brothers. I know he’s been worried about Salvatore for some time. I guess all of us have been. Salvatore is extremely good-looking, and the women go after him. He’s gotten the most tricks played on him and I think that’s taken a big toll. Geno is too tough for women to try to play him. They’re smart enough to be afraid of him. Lucca appears to be the definitive playboy. He’s a player and the women go after him, but they don’t expect to win, and they don’t.”
“I find that so sad,” Nicoletta said. “I’m glad I don’t have money. It just seems to make everything a mess.”
Taviano burst out laughing. “Honey, sometimes you’re priceless. You do realize you’re a Ferraro. You’re married to Taviano Ferraro.”
She nodded and took another bite of cheese with olallie-berry jam on it. “Yes, of course, I know who I married. It’s your money and your family’s money, not mine.”
He leaned across the short distance between them and brushed his mouth over hers, his tongue licking along her bottom lip, where a trace of jam lingered. “I love you so much, woman. It’s our money and our family, so that money is yours as well.”
She actually went pale. “We’re not going to discuss this. I can’t talk about it with you. Stefano will make more sense than you, and if he doesn’t, I’ll talk to the family lawyer. He’ll have sense enough to protect you. We’re going to draw up some kind of paper.”
“Amore mio, on this one thing, you’re not going to win, so don’t bother fighting me on it. You know how stubborn I can be. Finish your fruit.”
She shook her head. “Taviano, you just don’t make any sense. And when you say the family’s money, are you including the cousins as well?”
“Each part of the family makes their own money and builds their own financial empire, so to speak, but we contribute to the overall family wealth as well. That is overseen by a board consisting of a representative from each branch of the family.”
“That’s so crazy. How do you all get along?”
“We have a branch of the family that polices everyone. They make certain everyone does their jobs. The penalty for cheating or lying or doing the kinds of things that happened in Mariko’s family, once found out, is extreme.”
“I see.”
Taviano was certain she didn’t, but he didn’t want to explain to her how things worked in their family when riders—or anyone else—went wrong. That would be for another time. Right now, he wanted their time together to be as smooth as possible.
Salvatore Ferraro stood in the shadow surveying the men wearing the colors of the Demons. Already drinking heavily, they didn’t look like men on a mission to back up their president. They looked more like men determined to get drunk and push the locals around. The locals had, for the most part, already gotten wise and left for the night. The bartenders, three of them, were old hands in the business, and clearly knew they were in for a long night of broken glass and little pay.
Salvatore noted Lucca on the other side of the bar, just to the right of the flashing neon sign that proclaimed the best beer in town. Since the bartenders were pulling the beer out of a small refrigerator in the back rather than having it on tap, Salvatore doubted the sign was true. The leader of this crew of Demons was a man named Ed, and he was flanked by two others, Carl and Thomas. The three seemed more interested in where the women were. Several times they demanded the bartenders get on the phone and call some whores down to the bar so they could have some action.
“Get it done,” Ed snarled, pounding his fist on the bar. “Otherwise, you’ll be the one on your knees.”
The other Demons erupted into laughter, one pointing to a bottle of tequila, and when the bartender tried to pour it into a shot glass, he snatched it out of his hands and just drank from the bottle.
“Pass it over, Adan,” Ed demanded. He snagged it, drank and passed the bottle to Carl.
The Ferraros didn’t want the bartender to call prostitutes. They didn’t need more witnesses to work around. Two of the Demons headed toward the men’s room. Lucca stepped into a shadow that took him directly ahead of the men sauntering toward the restrooms. He entered first and waited for them just inside the door.
One came in first, looked around, opened the doors to the stalls to make certain they were alone and then the two men immediately laid out lines of cocaine on the bathroom sink. The sink was unwashed. The bathroom smelled of urine and mold. It looked to Lucca as if it hadn’t been cleaned in the last century, but then his standards were much higher. He told himself he might be considered a snob.
One of the two men leaned down to sniff the line up his nose. As he did, Lucca appeared behind the other one and very gently took his head in his hands, snapped his neck and murmured the appropriate phrase as he lowered him to the floor. He was gone before the other Demon straightened. The Demon giggled and then looked around, looked surprised, giggled again and then toed his friend.
“Get up, Moe. Stop fooling around.” As he bent down, Lucca came up behind him and delivered the signature kill of the Ferraros. He left the cocaine on the sink untouched and once more slid outside the door to wait until someone noticed they hadn’t returned.
Three of the Demons snagged beers and stepped outside to ensure no cops were around. They each took a separate direction to walk around the building. Geno slipped out behind them. He shadowed one man with long stringy hair. It smelled as if the Demon hadn’t bathed in several days. Stringy hair walked briskly around the corner, not once looking behind him. If he was their best sentry, Geno thought they were in real trouble. He simply matched steps, caught his head, snapped his neck and lowered him to the ground with the appropriate phrase.
Geno took a shadow tube, a fast one, that shot him around the building to the other side, nearly dumping him out to the right of his next victim. This Demon was a little more aware of his surroundings, taking his duties seriously. The fence was on this side, and he had actually climbed up to peer over it. Geno stepped behind him and as he came down, simply broke his neck and left him where he lay.
The third man was just rounding the corner toward where the first victim lay on the ground. He halted, staring, as if he couldn’t believe his eyes. It was dark on the side of the building, but the bar had neon signs on top of it, giving off light that cast shadows across the ground. The Demon could see his friend lying there, his beer spilled on the ground.
“Deke, you hurt?” he called out and then sprinted toward his friend.
Geno broke his neck and let his body fall over Deke’s just as the man was pulling out his phone to call his boss and inform him of the loss. He rode a shadow back inside and waited for Ed and the others to notice that no one had come back in from sentry duty.
Ed paced back and forth, drinking more tequila and demanding “bitches and whores” be called. He wanted food. The bartenders put out peanuts and chips.
Two Demons, ones Salvatore overheard referred to as Berto and David, snagged several bags of the chips and moved to the back of the room to eat. Ed threw the empty bottle of tequila after them. Glass shattered and sprayed across the floor, but neither Demon seemed to care, which told Salvatore that they were used to Ed’s tantrums. He found it interesting that these were the men sent to back up Benito Valdez. They seemed to be screwups. No matter.
In the darkness and privacy of the booth where Berto and David had retreated to eat, they died quietly.
Four men headed toward the back room to play pool, although Salvatore was more inclined to think they were escaping from Ed’s continual rants against the bartenders. He was drinking from his second bottle of tequila and passing it to Carl and Thomas, still demanding women and more food.
Salvatore and Geno followed the pool players into the back room. One of the men racked the balls on one table while another did so on a second table. The other two men hefted pool cues and then chalked the tips.
While those bent over the tables were concentrating their attention away from the men with the pool sticks, Geno took one of them and Salvatore the other. Both were eased to the floor with broken necks. They were on the two other men in seconds, so there was no possible way either would have time to call out a warning to those in the other room. They left all four men dead on the floor.
Ed glanced around and frowned. “Hugo, tell Moe and Boz to quit snortin’ and get their asses back in here.” He waved his hand toward the men’s room.
Hugo sighed, put down his beer and stomped purposefully toward the restroom. He didn’t like being an errand boy and he made that clear. He shoved open the door and took three steps in. The door closed behind him just as he spotted the two men lying on the floor. His first thought was a bad batch of cocaine finally got them. Then there was a wrenching pain.
Lucca dropped the third body over the other two. There was no point in blocking the door. If he was lucky, maybe Ed would check on his men himself. He had to have drunk so much by now, he was going to have to visit the men’s room soon anyway.
Ed paced back and forth, glaring toward the booth in the back and then at the poolroom. He snapped his fingers for the bottle of tequila, took a long pull at it and then jerked his chin toward the front door.