Shadow Rider

by Christine Feehan

  Renato gestured toward the door. "He's in there. Name's Bart Tidwell. He's got a rap sheet you wouldn't believe. Inherited the building from his daddy. The daddy was just as fucked up as he is."

  "What kind of rap sheet?" Stefano asked, knowing just by his gut instinct he wasn't going to like it. He didn't need the look of utter distaste on either of his cousins' faces.

  "B and E, multiple counts. Armed robbery. More importantly, he's a sex offender. Two counts of aggravated rape. Served time on one of them. Several arrests after that, but every time since then the charges have been dropped. Stefano, each time, the alleged rape occurred in his building," Romano warned. "He fancies himself a fighter, ex-boxer, and he likes to go to bars and beat the shit out of people. Again, the charges are always dropped."

  "He have family? Someone who would put pressure on the witnesses or victim for him?" Stefano asked.

  "We're still digging. The only person in his life that appears to be constant is his lawyer." He glanced at his watch. "Facts are still coming in. Mamma e papa are still working that angle. Stefano, the lawyer is Adamo Bergenmire. He's the head lawyer for the Saldi family."

  There was a small silence. "Damn it," Enzo said softly. "We should have known that fucking family would be involved."

  Stefano shrugged. "We've already got a feud going with them. We have had for centuries. What the hell difference will it make if we piss them off again? I'm happy to stick it to them any chance we get. It's not like the old days, Giovanni, when they could wipe out all of us in one shot. We got smart. They can't get to all of us and they know it. They order a hit and someone's going to be slitting their throats right in their bedrooms."

  "We don't retaliate like they do, killing every man, woman and child," Renato said. "Don't have it in us and they know it."

  Stefano nodded. "But we've retaliated enough that the bosses fear us. They aren't going to come after us because there's a connection between Tidwell and the Saldi family. Hell, they'll probably be happy to get rid of the pain in their ass. Let's pay him a little visit." Stefano glanced at Enzo. "You have men upstairs?"

  "Do you need to ask? I called in half our crew to protect her. Ricco's watching her door personally. Had a couple of nonresidents on the floor, but they left when they saw us. We weren't trying to be invisible." He sounded as grim as Stefano felt.

  Romano knocked on the owner's apartment door. Hard. Controlled anger in the sound. Within a minute the door was flung open, the occupant cursing at them. He was a big man, bald, with roped muscles and a scowl meant to intimidate. He wore jeans and a wifebeater. There was a beer in his hand.

  Stefano stepped into him, delivering a short, hard punch into the belly, and the man folded. Stefano walked him backward into the apartment, his men coming in behind him. Enzo closed the door and stood against it while Romano prowled through the apartment to ensure they were alone.

  The room was messy, beer bottles everywhere. It stank of a combination of cigarettes and weed.

  "You're going to want to take a look at this, Stefano," Romano said, poking his head out of the room at the far end of the apartment.

  Stefano skirted around Tidwell and glanced into the bedroom. There was a bank of screens set up along one wall. Each screen showed an occupant's bedroom. A recorder displayed a green light beneath each screen, clearly spying on the women dressing, undressing, bringing in men and performing various sexual acts meant to be strictly private. Rows of labeled home-recorded DVDs were on the shelves.

  Stefano immediately suspected this was why the charges of rape had been dropped. Tidwell showed his victims tapes and threatened to put them on the Internet. The third screen from the left showed Francesca asleep on a sleeping bag in the corner of the room, her long hair spread across a pillow. There was no furniture in the room at all. His coat hung on a single hanger above her head. In the opposite corner was a small bag. He presumed her clothes were in it.

  He ran his fingers along the DVDs, finding the latest ones, the recordings labeled Francesca. He shoved one in the player and watched as Francesca walked through her door. She turned and pressed the lock and looked around the empty room. She was in his coat. His stomach settled just a little, feeling as if she at least had that protection. Very carefully she shrugged out of his coat and hung it on the only hanger. She stood in front of it, smoothing out imaginary wrinkles, her hands lingering. He liked that. Too much. His gut tightened. She looked vulnerable. Sad. His heart clenched. She pulled her blouse over her head and very carefully folded it, standing in her bra and jeans. Rage ripped through him.

  Bart Tidwell had watched his woman undress and shower. He'd violated her privacy. Invaded her home. Swearing, Stefano watched as she stepped into the shower to start the water. Her hands went to the back of her bra and he switched the video off. Gathering up everything that said Francesca, including the one still recording, he caught up one more that he was certain depicted a rape--just in case he had no choice but to prove to Francesca he was telling the truth when he took her the hell out of there. He had a feeling she'd resist, and he wasn't about to let her stay.

  Stefano bit out several ugly words, ripped the cord from the wall and slammed the screen to the floor. It shattered with a loud crash. "I want all of these DVDs collected and destroyed. Every single one of them."

  Enzo nodded. "What do you want done with him?"

  "Who inherits the building if he disappears?"

  Tidwell let out a mewing noise and frantically shook his head. Stefano glanced at him. The man was on his knees, his mouth bleeding, his nose broken and one cheek split open. Emilio had returned, and he was definitely nearly as angry as Stefano.

  "No one," Romano reported. "It will be a nightmare for the tenants. Renato checked in. He has an aunt, but she's not listed as his heir, but my guess is when it's all straightened out, she'll be the one inheriting and she's married to a . . ."

  "Saldi. Fucking building should be condemned," Emilio snarled. He took out a gun and pressed the barrel to Tidwell's head. "Pervert needs to die, Stefano. Give me the word."

  "Not like that," Giovanni said. "You're as bad as my brother. Get Vinci. We'll need his expertise. Nothing like having a lawyer in the family. Stefano, let us take care of this piece of shit and you get your woman and get her the hell out of here."

  "You take this building, Giovanni," Emilio said, "and we're going to be bleeding money into it for a long time. To include it, we'll have to expand our borders. We need a vote on that."

  Stefano glared at him. "Fuck the vote. Some of these women have been through enough. He filmed his own rapes. Did you look at those titles? We can renovate the building and give them a decent place to live."

  Tidwell tried to rise and Stefano turned and hit him. Stefano was enormously strong and the man went down as if he'd been hit with a baseball bat.

  Emilio shrugged. "I guess I can't argue with that." He pulled his cell phone from his pocket. "I'll call Vinci and have him get over here to straighten this out."

  Stefano pinned Tidwell with his eyes. Flat. Cold. Killer's eyes. "You want to sell this piece of real estate, don't you, Tidwell? It's nothing but an albatross around your neck."

  "You don't know who you're fucking with." Tidwell spat on the floor at Stefano's feet, a mixture of blood and saliva.

  Stefano raised his eyebrow. "You mean your connection to the Saldi family? We know. You get into a lot of trouble, Bart. A lot. You make Adamo work for his money, don't you? They have to continually send their top lawyer in to get your ass out of trouble. Then there's the muscle to scare the crap out of your victims and the witnesses. You're more trouble than you're worth."

  "My aunt . . ."

  "Thinks you're a piece of shit, and her husband knows you are. Selling this building would make them happy, don't you think?" Stefano's voice was softer than ever. He pushed at the soft leather between his fingers, bringing Tidwell's attention to his thin gloves.

  Tidwell licked his lips and then shook his head. "No. No. I d
on't want . . ."

  Emilio crouched low and shoved his gun under Tidwell's chin. "That's too bad. My cousin's woman is in this building and you were violating her privacy. He's not a patient or forgiving man the way I am."

  "I didn't know. I didn't know who she was. I swear, I wasn't going to touch her. I've stopped doing that. Adamo said if I did it again . . . I'm cured."

  "You want to sell, don't you, Tidwell?" Stefano asked again, ignoring his confession and declaration.

  Tidwell looked around the apartment, his gaze going cunning. "Yes. Yes. Let me up. I'll sign any papers."

  Stefano smiled. It wasn't a nice smile, but then he wasn't feeling nice. Tidwell thought himself a fighter. He was big, and most bar fights he got into were with others not his size. They didn't have his skill.

  "Let him up," he ordered softly.

  Emilio stepped back and Tidwell exploded into action, rushing Stefano, trying to wrap him up with both arms. Stefano stepped to the side and slammed his fist deep into Tidwell's ribs. He felt the satisfying give beneath the devastating punch. Tidwell grunted. Turned white.

  Stefano had trained from the time he was two years old. He'd never stopped training. His four brothers and sister had all been put through the same regimen as he had. They were pitted against the best opponents the family could find until they moved like lightning, smooth and fast, each punch or kick penetrating the body with such force, it shook up the insides, broke bones and damaged internal organs. They still trained every single day.

  His cousins, although not riders, were all proficient as well. They worked together for the good of the family. It was drilled into them from birth. There was no other way of life but that constant training of the body, turning it into a weapon, and the education of the mind.

  Stefano was fast, systematic and relentless. Tidwell didn't land a single punch. The beating was both brutal and savage. Deliberate. Inflicting as much pain as possible. Lamps were smashed, furniture overturned and beer bottles crushed as the boxer tried his best to get away from the punishing blows. Eventually, and way too soon as far as Stefano believed, Tidwell hit the floor hard. Stefano didn't end it there, but continued the vicious assault.

  "You're going to kill him," Giovanni pointed out. "He needs to sign over the building. He's already unconscious."

  Stefano stepped back immediately. In spite of his jacket, he hadn't worked up much of a sweat. "You know what to do when it's done, Giovanni," he said. "Make certain you drop a few hundred thousand into his account so it's all legit. We want the deal to be solid and to stand up under any scrutiny, especially if this fucker goes missing."

  "Stefano," Giovanni cautioned. His tone was mild.

  The two brothers locked gazes. Stared at each other while the temperature in the room seemed to go up and the air was so heavy with rage, it felt impossible to breathe.

  "Damn it, Gee."

  "I know. I feel the same way." Giovanni didn't look away.

  Stefano sighed and shook his head. "Where do I put this rage?"

  "Not here. You know that. Nothing close to us. Nothing personal. He has to be seen. We can beat the shit out of him, but that's all. We protect the family. Always."

  "Fucking call New York. I want Geno in on this one," Stefano capitulated softly. His cousin Geno from New York would have to handle the problem of Bart Tidwell. He yanked out his cell phone and dialed a number.

  "Yeah, Saldi, Stefano Ferraro. I'm standing here in this piece of shit's apartment. I understand he belongs to you."

  There was silence.

  "Tidwell," Stefano confirmed. "He was after my woman. He's got hundreds of recordings the cops would like to get ahold of. Rapes he committed. Watching the women in his building. He's got it right in his bedroom. That's how stupid this dumb fuck is."

  The explosion of foul words on the other end of the phone was loud enough for everyone in the room to hear.

  "Out of courtesy, we're going to destroy that evidence," Stefano assured, his voice soothing. "We'll leave the fucker on your doorstep. He'll be a little worse for wear, but that might be beneficial. He might listen. If not, well, that's up to you."

  More silence while Stefano listened.

  "No, Saldi, that's not what's going to happen." Stefano's voice dropped even lower. "He fucking went after my woman. He's going to pay, and he's damn lucky I feel in the mood to extend courtesy to you. He's going to hand over the building and he's going to get the beating of his life. He can count himself lucky that's all that's happening. He comes near what's mine again, I'll rip his fucking heart out. Got that? Are we clear? I hope we are, because if you really want to go to war over this piece of shit, I'm willing. That's how pissed I am right now."

  More silence while the voice on the other end soothed him. Assured him the deal was fine. Stefano snapped his cell phone shut--the cell phone that made his brothers and sister laugh at him. He had a bad habit of throwing the damn thing whenever it pissed him off, which was often. They thought he should have a smartphone, the way they all did, but he liked slamming the damn thing closed when he was annoyed with whoever was on the other end. He looked at his brother. "I want Vinci to make certain the real estate deal is airtight. Tell Geno this weekend when we're at the club. If Tidwell's in Saldi's home, all the better."

  "Sorry, Stefano. No." Emilio shook his head. "Not this one, cousin. This one's mine."

  Stefano's gaze jumped to his cousin. "I had another job in mind for you, Emilio." They didn't like any other family member other than a rider to get blood on their hands if at all possible. Emilio had a kind heart, but he was a Ferraro through and through. He didn't like men who harmed women.

  "What would that be?"

  Stefano jerked his head toward the door. Reluctantly, Emilio followed him out into the hall. "Call Vittorio and tell him you'll meet him at Joanna's house. I want her woken up tonight. Have him drag her ass out of bed and down to you. The two of you get answers. Those answers had better make sense to me."

  "Stefano," Emilio cautioned. "I know you have every right to be angry. No way did Joanna know that Francesca would be spied on by the owner of this dump."

  "You and I both know Tidwell was setting up to fucking rape Francesca. Joanna sleeps good at night, and so does her family because of us. We give them that. The moment she knew Francesca was my woman she should have gotten her out of this shit hole. Tidwell saw Francesca undressing. Showering. He looked at her without her consent. He's a fucking dead man, but Joanna needs to answer to la famiglia. You tell Vittorio that I don't like the answers, it will be me conducting the next interview and I won't be polite."

  "Stefano . . ." Emilio cautioned.

  "You like Joanna. You're friends with her family. So am I, but Emilio, right now, I don't trust myself. By now, Vittorio knows what is happening here. He'll be as pissed as I am. I need you to do this right."

  There was a long silence. Emilio sighed. "You're not sending me away because . . ."

  "No. I need to make certain none of us do anything stupid tonight. If I was the one questioning her, I have no idea what I'd do. I need you to do this for me, Emilio."

  "Go get your woman, Stefano," Emilio advised, capitulating. "Everyone's going to feel a whole hell of a lot better when she's safe."

  "Vinci has to make certain the deal is done a couple of days earlier. Can he get the papers filed with the correct dates?"

  "That's his department, and he's never let us down. He's really good at what he does, Stefano. You can't micromanage this. Just go get her," Giovanni advised. "I'm holding on by a thread, too. One of us has to be sane here, and I'm going to lose it if you don't get her out of this place."

  Stefano took a deep breath and clapped his brother on the shoulder. Famiglia. This was how it had worked for centuries. They had developed into a single entity. One stepping up when another needed them. Stefano was always the leader, but his brothers were more than capable of leading. They were every bit as dedicated and trained as he was. He was grateful for Giovanni. R
ight then, his temper had no outlet and he was thinking with his emotions, not his brain. Ordinarily, if it was personal, he would never have touched the mark, but he couldn't stop himself from going after Tidwell. He'd never had such a loss of control. He needed to get Francesca out of there as much as his brother and other family members needed him to do so.

  He turned on his heel and made for the stairs. Ricco waited at the top. Their men were shadow figures, spread throughout the building, keeping Francesca from harm. The stairs were dark in several places, dangerous for anyone, let alone single women. The rage smoldering in the pit of his stomach grew with every step he took.

  He was angry with Joanna, who had to have known this apartment building was worse than substandard. Most of all, he was angry with himself for not checking on Francesca's living conditions before he went out of town. He had assumed she was staying with Joanna until she got on her feet. It was a very misguided presumption. A mistake. Stefano didn't like making mistakes.

  He was a protective man. He had been born that way. Every rider was. The need to protect and control was bred into every single one of them. Those two traits were so ingrained in them, there was no getting either characteristic out. No getting around them.

  "One incident I didn't like," Ricco said. "Earlier, Enzo reported that a man, not a resident of the building, had twice come up to this floor. He actually walked right up to Francesca's door, paused, looked around, and when he spotted Enzo, took off. A few minutes ago, he actually came back into the building. There aren't any security cameras and he wore a hoodie. No one got a good look at his face, but from Enzo's description, I'm guessing it was the same man."

  Stefano took a deep breath. What the hell was going on? Everything around him was spinning out of control when he was all about control--when control was absolutely necessary. He was taking control back. Francesca was just going to have to deal with the truth about him and the life she would lead with him as her man.

  "Anyone sees him again, scoop him up and take him to the warehouse. I'm getting her out of here tonight. I'll take her to my penthouse suite at the Ferraro." Their hotel was a study in sheer luxury. He had several homes, scattered around the country and overseas as well, but when he was in Chicago, which was most of the time, he stayed at the hotel in the penthouse.