.jpg)
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.
“My mother gave this to me on my wedding day. Her mother gave it to her. You’re my da
ughter, so I’m giving it to you, and I hope when your daughter gets married you give it to her, and she treasures it the way I know you will.”
Lucia looked into the jewelry box for a long moment and then lifted the piece out slowly. Nicoletta’s breath caught in her throat. She heard Emmanuelle gasp. The bracelet was a series of thin gold bangles held together by woven gold braided knots. The piece was to be worn from wrist to shoulder.
Nicoletta didn’t know the first thing about jewelry, but just looking at it, she knew it was absolutely unique. Emmanuelle stepped closer to watch as Lucia slid the bangles up Nicoletta’s arm and tightened the knots. They were actually slipknots made of the finest thin gold.
“That’s so clever,” Emmanuelle said. “That’s a genuine Italian piece from the earliest craftsmen. Lucia, it’s worth a fortune.”
“It was my grandmother’s. And then my mother’s,” Lucia reminded in her gentle way as she turned each bangle on Nicoletta’s arm until she was satisfied the gold enhanced the perfection of her skin. “I wore this same bracelet, and now our girl is wearing it. To loosen each bangle, you simple pull the slipknot, see, Nicoletta?” She demonstrated with the last tiny braided knot.
Nicoletta should have protested wearing it, let alone accepting it. A piece of jewelry in such pristine condition from so long ago, crafted by Italian jewelers for wealthy patrons, was only seen in museums and then, rarely. But this was Lucia’s, and it was given to her from the heart, handed down from mother to daughter. The gesture was huge, and the meaning behind it even greater. She never wanted to take the bracelet off.
“Thank you, Lucia. I’ll treasure this incredible gift always, and when my daughter weds, she will wear it,” she vowed.
Nicoletta wrapped her arms around Lucia again and gently hugged her. Lucia always seemed delicate to her, a fragile flower, yet she’d lost two children and she remained standing straight, loving her husband, supporting him through every difficult time. She had a backbone of steel, just as Nicoletta’s birth mother had. Nicoletta was going to maintain that same backbone and make certain her children—boys or girls—did the same. She wanted Lucia and Amo close to be grandparents to her children, to be the amazing examples they were.
“I made certain to show Taviano the piece so he could match the gold with your earrings and necklace,” Amo pointed out, to keep the women from bursting into tears again.
Nicoletta turned back to the mirror to look at herself. Immediately her gaze was drawn to the golden circles going up her arm, complementing her skin. The ivory silk sheath dress could have been planned around the piece. The sheer duster, with its peekaboo shoulders and wispy sheer lace, looked as if it had been made specifically to be worn with the bracelet.
Even the tiara she wore in her hair with the chocolate diamonds had the same Florentine gold woven around the glittering gems.
Emmanuelle beamed at her. “You truly are beautiful. I can’t wait for my brother to see you coming down the aisle to him.”
The door opened and Grace leaned in. She beckoned to Lucia and Emmanuelle. “Everyone is waiting. We don’t want them to get restless, and if we’re not on time, Taviano will panic and come looking for Nicoletta.” She stopped to really look at her newest sister-in-law. “You look absolutely gorgeous.”
Emmanuelle took Lucia’s arm. “She does, doesn’t she? We don’t want to panic Taviano by being late.”
Lucia blew Nicoletta kisses and walked with Emmanuelle out of the room. Grace glanced at her watch. “I’ll come get you in a couple of minutes.” She closed the door, leaving Nicoletta alone with Amo.
“I’m so nervous, Amo, and I don’t even know why. Technically, I’m already married to him. He took my ring back.” She rubbed her finger. It felt bare without her ring. “Even without his ring, I’m still married to him. I shouldn’t be nervous, but look at this.” She held out her hand to show him her trembling fingers.
Amo took her hand and kissed her fingers. “You’ve never liked to be the center of attention, vita mia. That is why you have these nerves, not because you are having second thoughts. You would marry Taviano a hundred times.”
She would. She knew she would. More. He would always be her choice. She nodded. “You’re so right. I love him more than life itself.”
“I feel that way about Lucia. I always have, and nothing has ever happened through the years to make me feel any differently.” Amo guided her hand and put her fingers in the crook of his arm. “Always remember, this is your marriage. Your partnership. No one else knows what is between you. Keep that sacred and have each other’s backs at all times. Put each other first, and I promise you, Nicoletta, if you both do that, you will have what Lucia and I have had, and it is good.”
Throughout her time living under Amo’s roof, when he imparted advice, it was always in the simplest of terms, and yet upon examination, she had continuously found his guidance to be profound. “Thank you. I’ll remember. You look very handsome in your suit. I forgot to tell Lucia how elegant and beautiful she looks.”
“The Ferraro boys didn’t forget,” Amo said, with mock annoyance. “They try to steal her out from under me.”
Nicoletta laughed. “You always say that. I love that you do. You make her smile no matter what she’s thinking about at the time.”
“A sense of humor is always of the utmost importance in a marriage.”
She knew that it was. She’d seen Amo turn the worst situations around with his wonderfully timed humor.
“Before we join the others, I just want to say one more thing, my beautiful girl. I couldn’t have asked for a better daughter. I know you would have preferred a quiet little wedding, without the photographer underfoot and all the many guests, but this big affair was Lucia’s dream for our daughter. You’ve become that for us—our daughter. She needed this dream to be fulfilled.”
“I know she did,” Nicoletta agreed quietly. She had known.
Lucia would have never voiced a single objection had Nicoletta held up her ring and stated she wasn’t going through a huge church wedding just to satisfy the curious masses. Lucia, more than once, had talked to her about the wedding she had dreamt of for her daughter. Choosing the dress together, the cake and bouquet, jewelry, all the planning. It was extremely important to Lucia, and therefore, it became important to Nicoletta. She could take being in the glow of that hot spotlight for a few hours for her foster mother.
“Thank you,” Amo said simply.
“I love you both very much,” Nicoletta said.
Before Amo could reply, Grace pushed open the door, and at once they could hear the music signaling that the bridesmaids were to begin their walk down the aisle. She would have had Mariko stand up for her, and Taviano would have had Stefano, but since Lucia wanted a large wedding, there were several bridesmaids.
Emmanuelle, Sasha and Grace were escorted down the aisle by Elie, Giovanni, and Vittorio. They looked elegant as only the Ferraros could, dressed in their suits and the long silk dresses. Following them were Pia, Bianca and Clariss, escorted by Ricco, Enzo and Demetrio. Bianca, especially, looked ecstatic. Enzo looked pretty happy as well.
Nicoletta tightened her fingers on Amo’s arm as Mariko turned her head to look at her, sent her a serene smile and then started down the aisle.
Her heart began to beat wildly. Amo patted her hand, and then they were walking through the double doors following Mariko. The entire church was filled with people, all on their feet. She didn’t see anyone. She was looking down that long white strip leading to the man standing at the end of it.
Taviano was in a dark suit with the thinnest of stripes. He was so handsome he took her breath away, but then he always did. Mariko moved to one side, and Nicoletta had a clear vision of Stefano standing beside Taviano, but it was really only Taviano that she saw. His eyes were on her. There was that look on his face, and she knew she had a matching one on hers. Love. Adoration. Taviano was her everything, and she was his.
She felt the weight of the three gen
erations of Italian gold bangles on her arm, proclaiming the love between the man and wife exchanging vows. She had that. She had that man, that family. It didn’t matter how difficult some of her trials and issues were and would be for the rest of her life, or the scars both Taviano and she bore, they had this amazing love and family to see them through.
Amo kissed both of her cheeks and put her hand in Taviano’s. He closed his fingers firmly around hers as he stepped up beside her. Their eyes met, and she let herself get lost in his gaze, safe there through the ceremony that joined them together in front of their family and friends.
Keep reading for an excerpt from the next novel in the Torpedo Ink series by Christine Feehan
DESOLATION ROAD
Available July 2020 from Piatkus
Aleksei Absinthe Solokov loved books. He loved the smell of them. The sight of them. The information in them. He especially loved the places he could go in them. Books had saved his life on more than one occasion. He’d originally come to this place needing the quiet and peace, needing the scent and the words. And once again, books had led him to find something so unexpected, so spectacular, he still hadn’t accepted the offering, the gift, not quite believing yet, but he couldn’t walk away.
He sat in his favorite place right in front of the tallest stacks. The table was smaller and less inviting, due to the crowded space. He didn’t like being disturbed. He came to the library to get respite from the continual bombardment of other people’s thoughts and emotions. He could command with his voice, and sometimes the temptation to tell everyone to not think or speak for five minutes was brutally hard to resist. He needed to feel normal when he wasn’t. He wanted to see if he could fit in somewhere but he knew he couldn’t. He needed to stand on his own but it was impossible.
His small table, nearly hidden beside the taller stacks, not only protected him from unwanted company but gave him a direct view to the desk where the librarian checked out books, recommended reads and sometimes—make that often—helped teens with their homework. He had been coming for over a month. Six weeks to be exact. And he just watched her. Like a fucking stalker. The librarian. She was so damn sexy he was shocked that the place wasn’t overrun with single men—because she was single. He’d made it his business to find out.