Shadow Keeper

by Feehan, Christine

  “How was he acting?” Stefano asked.

  “Forget that,” Giovanni snapped, glaring at Vittorio and Taviano.

  “Like a complete ass,” Taviano said.

  “Is that unusual?” Ricco asked.

  “Shut the fuck up, all of you,” Giovanni ordered. He pinned his sister with a steely gaze. “This is important. Are you sure, Emme?”

  She nodded. “I was in the flower shop when Aaron came in. He trained on and off with you, Giovanni, so I thought you were friends. We struck up a conversation, and he told me he was ordering flowers for a woman. He wanted to pick them out personally, not have someone order over the phone for him. I didn’t know she was yours, so I just thought it was sweet.”

  “It’s not sweet,” Giovanni bit out. “He’s making his move. I knew he was interested. The bastard had women hanging all over him, practically blowing him right there at the table; in fact, he probably did. He acts like an asshole to her, and she’s going to forgive him because he sends flowers. Women. Shit.”

  “Women don’t forgive a man just because he sends her a bouquet of flowers,” Emmanuelle said, lifting her chin and leveling her gaze at him. “Sometimes the flowers end up cut to pieces in the garbage can.”

  There was a sudden silence. Emmanuelle looked around the table and the half-raised forks. “What? It happens. Am I wrong, Francesca? Mariko?”

  “You are not wrong,” Francesca said.

  Stefano narrowed his gaze at her. “Have you ever cut up flowers I brought home to you?”

  “You know very well I have. I did it right in front of you. You were being a bossy jackass, driving me crazy with your paranoid delusions that every person in the world is out to take me from you,” Francesca said firmly.

  Stefano brought her hand to his mouth, kissed her knuckles and then ran his thumb over them gently, stroking back and forth. “Aren’t they?”

  His family erupted into laughter. Even Giovanni had to laugh.

  “I’ve only received flowers from Ricco,” Mariko said. “I would never cut them up and put them in the garbage, even if he made me very, very angry, which he never has.” She sent him a sweet, intimate smile.

  Ricco reached for her hand and brought it to his chest, over his heart.

  “Emmanuelle.” Stefano continued to look at his sister. Instantly the forks stopped moving again. “What were you doing at the flower shop?”

  She was the only one to continue to eat. She took a bite of pasta and delicately chewed it before taking a sip of wine. When Stefano kept looking at her, she shrugged. “I visit Signora Vitale often.”

  Shadow riders could hear truth, and Emmanuelle’s voice righteously rang with honesty. Stefano continued to look at her. “I’m well aware you visit Signora Vitale on a regular basis. I also know she doesn’t go to the flower shop. Her grandson, Bruno, runs it now. I check on him regularly. If I didn’t, he would probably be sending drugs out with every order.”

  Taviano sighed. “I check on him, too. Just in case. Nicoletta works for the Vitales, so I want to make certain Bruno toes the line. Which he doesn’t and has no business pulling Nicoletta into his shit.” He looked at his sister. “Stefano’s right, Signora Vitale doesn’t frequent the flower shop.”

  Emmanuelle glared at him and mouthed “traitor” over her wineglass. She was the youngest of the Ferraros and strikingly beautiful with her long dark hair and curvy body.

  “Emme?” Ricco pushed.

  “It isn’t anyone’s business,” she snapped. “I’m over twenty-one. You can all stay the hell out of my business.”

  “Emmanuelle,” Stefano cautioned. He sat up straight. “Damn it. That fucking Valentino Saldi has been coming around again, hasn’t he? Are you seeing him?”

  There was a small telling silence. Every fork and wineglass went on the table and once again only the ticking of the clock and the breath rushing in and out of their lungs could be heard.

  “It isn’t your business.”

  “It is my business. It’s the entire family’s business. The Saldis are criminals, and our worst enemy. You know that.”

  “We’re criminals,” Emmanuelle pointed out, glaring at her oldest brother.

  “Did you know about this, Francesca?” Stefano demanded.

  Francesca didn’t reply, and her silence was damning. Dark lines of anger made her husband look very dangerous. “We’ll talk about this later.” It was a threat. Nothing less. He switched his attention to his sister. “He’s manipulating you to get information. We’ve had this conversation repeatedly. Since you were sixteen, sneaking out of your fucking window and seeing him. He’s too old for you, and he’s the enemy.”

  Giovanni didn’t want to hear that Valentino was too old for his sister, although he agreed she shouldn’t see him. Sasha was only twenty-two. He was older not only in years, but in experience. Of course, so was Valentino.

  “You see him again, Emmanuelle, you’re going to give me no choice here.”

  “What does that mean?” she challenged.

  “What the fuck do you think it means? Your loyalty has to be to this family. My duty is to protect it and every member in it. The Saldis nearly wiped out every member of our family …”

  “That is ancient history. Long before any of us were born,” she snapped.

  “The feud still exists to this day. Go to Sicily, Emmanuelle. You’ll learn fast enough. Valentino can’t be trusted. If he persists in using you to get to us, he’s going to disappear.”

  Emmanuelle went white. She put down her napkin, her dark eyes never leaving her brother’s face. “I would never forgive you. Never, Stefano. I would disappear, and you would never find me. If you think I’m trying to scare you, I’m not. It’s the honest truth. I love you. I do. I love all of you. You have no right to harm Valentino when he hasn’t done one thing to any of us. He took our side and saved lives when we needed it. He had his men help us,” she reminded, almost pleading with her brother.

  “I know he did, bella,” Stefano said. “I’m not saying Valentino isn’t a good man. I think he is, but he’s loyal to his family. He should be, just as we’re loyal to one another. It isn’t safe.”

  “I’m safe with him.”

  “You aren’t, Emmanuelle,” Stefano said. “He’s a very dangerous man. I’m telling you, I don’t want you to see him again. You’ll be safe. He’ll be safe. We can still be civil to one another. You know I’m right.”

  She closed her eyes for a long minute. Giovanni wanted to put his arms around her and hold her tight. Something had happened between Valentino and Emmanuelle, something she refused to tell any of them. Most of the time she avoided him, and then there would be short times they would sneak off together. Those times never lasted long. Again, no one knew why.

  “You don’t have to worry,” she said. “I’m not seeing him. I told Bruno, if Valentino called, he wasn’t to fill the order, that I’d compensate him for the loss.” She lifted her chin. “So, you have nothing to worry about other than my disloyalty to the family.”

  “I never thought you were disloyal.”

  “Of course you did. I must be giving away family secrets if I talk to him. I’m a woman, after all, and I can be persuaded by great sex.” There was bitterness in her voice, enough that every single member of her family protested at once.

  “Emme.” Stefano heaved a sigh and pressed his fingers to his forehead as if to relieve a pain. “Honey, I have never treated you as less than you are, a shadow rider of equal value as every man seated at this table. Maybe I’m guilty of loving you too much and being worried every second of my life that something would happen to you. I do the same with Francesca and now, Mariko. I can’t help who I am. The obsessive-compulsive streak to surround everyone I love with a huge wall is a battle I fight every day. I don’t mean to smother you, Emme. I trust you as a rider. I know you can take care of yourself and that you won’t betray family secrets.”

  “Then stop getting upset if I see Val,” she whispered.

&nb
sp; Giovanni wanted to protest. He could see on his brothers’ faces that they wanted to as well. Valentino Saldi was a good man. They’d all watched him carefully. His family had secrets—but so did theirs. They both were guilty of criminal activities. The difference was, the Ferraro family considered themselves on the side of good. Val couldn’t say that. He wouldn’t leave Emmanuelle alone. More than once she’d made it clear she wasn’t seeing him, and he always seemed to talk her around.

  “Honey, you think I don’t want to give that to you?” Stefano put his hand over his heart. “On my honor, Emme, with everything in me, I want to give you whatever your heart needs and it seems Val is your choice, but you can’t go there. Not with his family and not with yours.”

  “I know that. I make it clear to him. I just don’t like you threatening him. I have to manage my own life, but”—she held up her hand to stop Stefano from interrupting her—“if I need you, any or all of you, to help me, I promise I’ll ask.”

  Stefano sighed and shook his head but he didn’t persist. Giovanni wanted his older brother to lay down the law in no uncertain terms. They all knew Val was dangerous. Emmanuelle, by tacking on the last, made it clear that she thought there might come a time when she would be once again “making it clear” to Valentino Saldi that she wouldn’t date him.

  “What are you planning to do about your little waitress?” Vittorio asked Giovanni. The peacemaker, changing the subject.

  “I have no idea. She already probably thinks I’m the playboy from hell,” Giovanni admitted. “And she doesn’t like me.”

  “What else did you do?” Stefano asked, his tone deceptively mild. He hadn’t gotten his way with Emmanuelle, so he was quite willing to battle it out with his brother.

  Giovanni shrugged. “I did ask her to dance, and when she wouldn’t because of club policy, I offered to fire her and then rehire her after.”

  Ricco groaned. “She had to think you were trying to make her part of that game you invented.”

  “He invented the game?” Francesca echoed. “Giovanni. You didn’t.”

  “I’m sorry.” Giovanni wasn’t above acting. He hung his head. “Really sorry.” He was, now that Sasha had overheard him.

  There was no explaining what their lives were like to someone who hadn’t been born a Ferraro. Someone whose financials weren’t plastered in every tabloid for all to see. Every kidnapper and money-hungry man or woman who thought they would have an easy ride.

  “Salvatore thought he’d met a woman who really cared about him for him, not the money. They went on several dates together, and she seemed genuine. We can hear lies as you well know and everything pointed to the fact that their relationship was going in a good way.”

  “Was she a rider?” Mariko asked, looking around the table. “I thought you could only be with a woman who was a rider.”

  “Sometimes, we get tired of waiting,” Vittorio said. “It isn’t easy being alone and feeling as if you’re always going to be alone.”

  “Go on,” Francesca encouraged Giovanni.

  “She got up before he did and said she would dispose of the condom in the bathroom. She was lying, and he heard the lie. We all have had that trick played on us and nothing makes us angrier. It’s a cheap, low blow to have a woman try to get pregnant that way.”

  There was a small silence. Mariko exchanged a long look with Francesca without comprehension. “I don’t understand.”

  “You wouldn’t, farfallina mia,” Ricco said. “It wouldn’t occur to either of you, but some women, when they want to trap a very wealthy man, will try anything including putting holes in condoms, or as in this case, will try to use the sperm in the condom to get pregnant.”

  “That’s disgusting. How could he know she planned to do that?” Francesca asked.

  “She had a syringe on her, and when he questioned her, she admitted it, saying she loved him and just wanted his baby. That, by the way, was a lie as well. He heard that, too. She didn’t love him, nor did she really want his child. She wanted his money and the prestige of being his wife. It’s happened on too many occasions to all of us with a certain type of woman playing one too many tricks on us. So, yes, I invented the game, but it was only played with that type of woman. Certainly, not someone like Sasha,” Giovanni said.

  “What do you know about her?” Stefano asked.

  “She’s from Wyoming. A ranch.”

  “Are you certain about her?” Stefano continued, glancing at Taviano, which meant he wanted the investigators set on her. “Ranch means cattle that are probably artificially inseminated.”

  Giovanni shook his head. Taviano and Vittorio did the same. Still, it wouldn’t matter. Sasha would be investigated. Giovanni needed to know everything he could about her to win her. “I already sent everything that was in her work file to the investigators.”

  Stefano nodded his approval. Francesca made a face at him.

  “If I overheard the rules of the game, Giovanni, I would think you were after me on a dare or a bet,” Emmanuelle said. “I can’t imagine what you could say that would make me agree to go out with you, let alone be seen in public with you—except that. That’s the most disgusting thing I’ve heard in a long time. Poor Salvatore. He really liked her?”

  “He said so. Salvatore wants to settle down. He said he told his parents about her and that he was serious. That’s the night he found out she was after him for the money.”

  “I’d like to pay that woman a visit,” Emmanuelle said. “What’s wrong with these women? Sometimes I want to lock you all up and protect you myself.”

  “Speaking of paying someone a visit, Stefano,” Giovanni said. “I can’t do it myself, or I would.” There was a hint of bitterness in his voice. “Darby made a scene deliberately in the club after all the warnings. He had Sasha’s camisole torn open and would have exposed her on his fucking reality show. We got the footage.”

  Stefano’s face darkened. “All of it?”

  “We think so,” Taviano said. “There were a lot of paparazzi there. We needed them to film Salvatore and Geno so they had alibis while Lucca did his job. As usual, Lucca made it out of the plane and back in without ever being seen. As far as the world knows, he was in New York the entire time.”

  “I’ll pay Darby a visit. That little prick needs to be taught some respect,” Stefano said.

  “I’m with you,” Vittorio said. “I wanted to do a little exposure myself.”

  “That gives me an idea,” Stefano said. He glanced at his wife, and forced a small smile to cover the grim darkness in his eyes. “We’ll talk about it later.”

  CHAPTER FOUR

  Sasha smiled as she handed the carefully prepared and wrapped sandwich to Tito Petrov. He was flirting outrageously with her. She’d been getting that a lot since she’d moved into her cozy little apartment above the deli. She loved her apartment. She liked the people she worked with at the deli and especially the owner, Pietro Masci. He reminded her of her father.

  “Don’t just smile,” Tito complained. “Say yes. Go out with me.”

  She shook her head. “I’m sorry, but I’m busy tonight.”

  The deli suddenly went quiet, the buzz of conversation that was always present hushed.

  “Tomorrow night then,” Tito insisted, his voice overloud in the unexpected silence.

  “I’m working,” she said, as gently as possible, lifting her gaze to sweep the room, puzzled at the weird cessation of noise.

  Giovanni Ferraro stood in the doorway, his wide shoulders seeming to touch from one side of the doorjamb to the other. He wore a three-piece pin-striped suit and looked so good in it she thought he should be modeling for some high-end fashion company. He wore his hair short as a rule, but lately it wasn’t quite as neat as it usually appeared in the magazines, as if maybe he’d neglected a cut or two. He was gorgeous. There was no doubt about it.

  His eyes met hers and she couldn’t look away. His were dark and held mystery and had the capability of turning either ice-cold
or fiery hot. He had to know he was hotter than hell, and she wasn’t in his league. Still, there he was and she wasn’t going to delude herself into thinking he wasn’t there for her. He was. He was hunting. She knew all about hunting. She’d lived by hunting. Now she was the prey.

  Something perverse in her loved that. Her body came to life just looking at him. Staring into his eyes sent heat rushing through her veins. Tito half turned, saw Giovanni and slowly straightened. “Shit,” he said, under his breath. “Not again.”

  Forcing her gaze back to her customer, Sasha pressed the numbers on the pad to ring up his purchase. She turned the entire pad around so he could swipe his card. He did so, muttering to himself. She didn’t understand, but she didn’t ask what he meant.

  “You going out with him?” he asked. “Because I really would like to take you out tonight.”

  That, she heard. Before she could answer, Giovanni loomed over them. He was big. All muscle. Intimidating. He gave off an aura of danger she hadn’t realized was so scary.

  “She’s going out with me tonight,” he stated firmly, staring Tito down.

  She glared at the two men. “Tito, please sign and take your sandwich. The line is backing up. I’m not going out with anyone, I told you both, I’m very busy tonight.”Men. She was stumbling over them lately and she wasn’t certain why. She had no time for men. She’d heard somewhere that if you weren’t open to a relationship, then men knew it and didn’t bother to ask you out. Or to dance. Or to have pizza. “I’m not a bone.”

  Giovanni’s gaze drifted over her. Touched her mouth and lingered, dropped lower to drift over her body and then came back to her face. “Definitely not a bone. I appreciate that very much.” He glanced at his watch and then looked over her shoulder. “Pietro. Can I steal Sasha for just a minute? I won’t keep her long.”

  She’d felt the heat of that slow, intimate perusal. He’d managed somehow to look possessive, not lecherous. The touch of his gaze sent more heat rushing through her, raising her temperature until she felt hot and edgy. She did her best to glare at him when she really wanted to fan her face, hoping it wasn’t red. Her body felt needy, her sex suddenly damp and clenching.