"Emme probably did behind your back. It's something she would do. She was always getting the two of them. She likes to get back at all of us for being what she calls 'overprotective.'"
Francesca laughed at him, her arms circling his neck. "Stefano, you know full well all of you are overprotective of Emme. You probably made her teenage years a nightmare."
"Ha. She made our lives a nightmare when she was a teen. She's a rider, bambina. That means she could get out of her room whenever the mood struck her. On top of that she's a little on the wild side."
Her eyebrow shot up. "Emmanuelle is wild? I don't think so. You don't see her picture splashed in every magazine with two women hanging on her arm. That's Ricco and your brothers."
"If she had two men hanging on her arm"--Stefano couldn't keep the menace or the grim out of his voice--"they'd find those same men in the morgue the next day."
"That is so not fair," she declared. "You really are chauvinistic."
"That's right," he said without apology. "Keep that in mind when we have a daughter. You might want to warn her."
She rolled her eyes at him. "I'm sure she'll figure it out very quickly. With you for a father and her four uncles as well as cousins everywhere, she'll most likely know it by the time she's three."
"You certain you aren't going anywhere today? No fittings for your wedding dress? No looking at cakes or flowers?"
"No."
Francesca was decisive about it, so much so that he had a hard time not laughing. She wasn't thrilled with all that making wedding plans entailed, especially on the scale Eloisa and Emmanuelle were making them. There was no point in fighting his mother and sister for control of the wedding, not even for his woman.
"Emmanuelle said she'd drop by and check on Theresa Vitale today, see if she needs more soup, or anything at all in the way of medicine. I think she's on the mend, but even with her grandson watching over her, we decided not to take chances. With Emme taking care of that, I don't have a thing to do but veg out."
"All right, dolce cuore, I won't be gone too long. I'll take Emilio and Enzo with me and we'll drop by the office to collect everything I need on the way back so I can work from here for a couple of days."
"I'd love that," she agreed instantly.
Stefano changed to his three-piece suit, standard wear when outside his home. It was a drawback at times being a rider and always wearing the suit, as classy as it was. Wearing it meant he could disappear at any time into the shadows, but it also meant he was overdressed on occasion.
"Walk me to the elevator, Francesca."
Francesca reached up to straighten his tie, leaning her body into his. "Don't be long, but make certain Nicoletta feels safe, Stefano. You did that for me--even when I was a little afraid of you, you managed to make me feel safe."
He kissed her thoroughly. "I'm really sorry I have to go," he repeated.
"It's for a good cause." She wrapped her arm around him as they walked together toward the elevator. "Are Emilio and Enzo waiting for you downstairs?"
"Yes, I texted them. I'll be safe. Don't worry."
Francesca took a deep breath and nodded, watching as the elevator doors closed and she was alone again. She really didn't want him to go. She'd felt strange the last couple of days without him. The wedding preparations had become extravagant as far as she was concerned. Neither Eloisa nor Emmanuelle seemed to know how to put the brakes on when it came to the wedding, not even when she objected to things. She had envisioned a very small wedding, with just his family. She didn't have any family of her own, but suddenly there were tons of aunts and uncles who had to be invited as well as cousins. First cousins. Second cousins. And then there were the people in the neighborhood. She had wanted to talk to Stefano about it, but he was so exhausted when he'd first gotten home and then they were all over each other. Now he was gone again.
She sighed again and found her way back to the sunroom to collect the dishes off of the balcony. She liked the penthouse, but living in a hotel wasn't really her idea of a home. She'd seen his "office." It was inside the family home. His family home was extremely intimidating. It was a huge estate, even by Chicago's elite standards. Just the front door was intimidating. It was thick and wide and painted a violent red. It should have been ugly, but instead, it managed to be elegant, just like the Ferraro family.
She stood for a long time staring out over the city. The family as a whole had many respected businesses. Each business was legitimate and made them millions, some more than millions. Still, the one small branch of the family--the shadow riders--wasn't at all legitimate; in fact, their activities would be considered criminal. Within the family they were almost revered. Outside the family many people, just as she had, assumed they were part of a crime family. She was one of them. Or she would be in a couple of short weeks.
Her phone went off, a musical melody that told her Emmanuelle was calling. She sighed, considering not answering. She didn't want one more discussion of flowers or cake. Still, she liked Stefano's sister a lot, and truthfully, it was nice to have someone be excited about the wedding and seeing to all the details.
"Hey, girl, what's up?" she greeted.
"I'm on my way to see Signora Vitale. Then I'm heading to the family home. I've been summoned by Eloisa." Her voice changed from annoyance to speculation. "She sounded . . . upset. She never sounds that way. In any case, I had planned to come to see you today to discuss music, but Stefano called and said you needed the day off."
Francesca realized there was a question in there. "Yes. I'm sorry. I do. I'm just going to rest and read and try not to think too much about everything happening so fast."
"Bridal jitters. They say it happens to everyone." Emmanuelle laughed as she hung up.
Maybe she was right and the restless feeling that just wouldn't leave her alone was just that--cold feet. After all, committing a lifetime to a man like Stefano was a little daunting. She would always have to work to stand up to him. That crazy protective side of him would be difficult. He'd want to build a fortress around her and their children. She was well aware that she would have to temper that quality in him for all their sakes.
Francesca took a deep breath and let it out, sweeping her hair back from her face. She'd dressed in a pair of vintage blue jeans. They were soft and molded to her body nicely, but were very comfortable. They weren't from a thrift store and she didn't want to know what Stefano had paid for them. It seemed like her clothes multiplied on a daily basis. She never saw him put things in her drawers or hang them in her closet, but she was fairly certain Stefano had someone shopping for her.
Still. She ran her hand down her thigh. The jeans were perfect. She wore a T-shirt, equally as soft, that was more fitted than she would have chosen for herself. Her underwear was the best part of the shopaholic who seemed to never quit. The lingerie was absolutely beautiful and she loved the way it made her feel sexy, even in a pair of jeans and a tee.
She made herself a cup of tea, flooded the house with soft music and sank into one of the luxurious, overstuffed chairs to read. She lost herself in a book for a long time, grateful for the chance to just be still. It was the phone that brought her back from the grand adventure she was on along with the characters in the book. This time it was the Vitale home.
Bruno, Theresa's grandson, told her that Emme had just left and Theresa had taken a fall. She was in the bathroom and refusing to come out. He'd heard her fall but she'd locked him out and was asking for Francesca. His grandmother was crying and upset and nothing he said or did would make her budge. Francesca assured him she would come immediately.
Francesca immediately texted Enrica to let her know that she would be needed after all, and to meet her downstairs. Then she called Stefano and told him what had happened. She was very proud of the fact that she remembered already to have her bodyguard in place so her man wouldn't lose his mind. She promised she'd text him the minute she got to the Vitales' and let him know what was going on.
Enrica w
as waiting at the elevator and escorted her out to the car. "I don't like driving and watching over you. We should have a two-man team on you," she said as she slipped behind the driver's seat.
"I could drive," Francesca offered. She hadn't driven in a very long time and traffic in Chicago was intimidating.
Enrica sent her a look and Francesca grinned at her as her bodyguard started the car. "We could have walked. The house isn't that far."
"There's a big storm coming." Enrica indicated the sky. "It's supposed to be bad. Thunder and lightning. Pouring rain. I don't want to get caught in that, but more, I don't want my cousin to kill me, which he would if I let you walk around with only one bodyguard. Believe me, Francesca, he wouldn't like that."
Francesca rolled her eyes. "He has a serious problem and needs help. I think for his birthday I'm getting him a counselor."
Enrica laughed. "You're good for him. He didn't smile much before he found you. Now he's more relaxed and he laughs a lot. I love that for him. I love that he has you. We're hoping the others will find someone to love them."
Francesca thought it was a very odd way of putting it. "Why do you all guard them so carefully? They're so well trained."
"So are we," Enrica said. "Don't you understand how important they are? Not just to our family, but to the world? Things have changed so much, and the laws allow criminals to slip through the cracks all the time. The gangs keep getting more violent and claiming more territory. The cartels are recruiting our young kids and using them to assassinate anyone in their way. The riders can slip in and out of anywhere without being detected. No one knows how they get in or who they are. They can get to anyone at any time. That's important. It's important to someone whose family has been wiped out by the cartel and just as important to someone like Signora Vitale. We revere the riders."
"Every life is important, Enrica, including yours. I'm uncomfortable with having bodyguards. I'm not a rider, you know, and I never will be."
Enrica pulled the car into the Vitales' driveway. "You're not a rider, but you're going to marry one. You complete his life and can give him children. They sacrifice all choices when they're born. Their lives aren't like ours. I have a choice in what I do. I can marry whomever I please. If they don't find the one they can love, they're forced, through duty, to be with someone they don't. They don't have normal childhoods. Stefano and the others had crap childhoods. So bad. You can't imagine."
She slid out of the car and went around to the passenger door before Francesca could answer. Francesca knew enough to stay in the car until Enrica decided to open the door. She waited, contemplating the idea of having children and making certain their lives were happy and filled with love. She was beginning to realize she had no real knowledge of what Stefano and his siblings had gone through, but she knew Stefano was absolutely determined that his children wouldn't suffer the same fate. She loved him all the more for that and for the fact that he trusted her to make his life and their children's lives wonderful. She knew he was counting on her.
They hurried up to the front door, Enrica one step behind her, her gaze on the rooftops, the garage, the street itself. Francesca couldn't imagine what it would be like to be a bodyguard responsible for the safety of another human being. Bruno opened the door and he looked . . . terrible. He was pale and sweating. There was a bruise by his eye and his lip was swollen and cut. He stepped aside to let them in.
"What happened to you this time, Bruno?" Francesca asked. "Where's Theresa?"
Bruno closed the door and turned to face them. "I'm sorry, Francesca. Really sorry. I tried to refuse and they beat the shit out of me, put a gun to my grandmother's head, and Emmanuelle told me to cooperate with them."
Enrica spun around, her hand going to the gun tucked beneath her shoulder in a holster, but it was too late. A man stepped out of the coat closet behind her and struck her over the head with the butt of his gun. She dropped to the floor like a deadweight. Francesca rushed to her, but the man caught her arm in a tight grip.
"Mr. Anthon requests your presence at a very special event, Francesca," he greeted.
She recognized him immediately and her heart began to pound. She knew she went pale because the blood drained out of her face. "Harold McFarland. It appears Barry can't even come to Chicago without bringing his entire entourage. Where's Theresa?"
"The old lady? Don't worry about her. You should be worried about yourself and your new friends." He spat on the floor. "I'm going to enjoy burning down that bullshit deli you worked in. Your boss seemed to think you're some kind of saint. And the old lady thinks the same. They haven't seen the havoc you create yet." He laughed. "I'm going to enjoy showing them just what you're famous for."
He put a hand to her back and shoved her toward the bedroom. Another man--one she recognized from Barry's crew, Arnold Sumi--thrust Bruno in front of him. As he passed Enrica's crumpled body, he kicked her hard in the ribs.
Harold laughed. "You're such a prick, Arnold. Get Jimmy to tie the bitch up."
Francesca had seen the blood coating Enrica's dark, sleek hair and had been worried they'd hit her too hard and killed her, but they wouldn't tie her up if she was dead.
"There isn't any need to hurt anyone, Harold. I'll go with you."
"Damn right you'll go with me," Harold said. "You don't have any choice, not with a gun to Grandma's head. And then there's your friend. I've had a difficult time keeping the boys off of that one. You don't see bitches like that every day. We're bringing her along. She's going to be the main entertainment for us while you entertain the boss."
Francesca turned her head to see Emmanuelle slumped over in a chair, hands tied behind her back and blood trickling down her face from a laceration on her temple. There was a bruise on the side of her face and her dark gray shirt was torn beneath her pin-striped jacket, revealing the swell of her breasts.
On the floor, groaning, was another of Barry's crew, Marc Jonsen. He had pushed himself up into a sitting position and was holding his face. Blood poured from his nose and both eyes were swollen. Clearly he'd been the one to tear open Emmanuelle's blouse and she'd head-butted him.
"Are you hurt?" Francesca asked Theresa. The elderly woman was crying and clutching rosary beads. The blanket was pulled up nearly to her neck.
She shook her head. "Bruno . . ." She trailed off with a little sob.
Francesca turned to Harold. "What are you going to do with them?"
"Lucky for them the boss wants a message delivered to your boyfriend. You and the other bitch are coming with us."
Francesca glanced at Emmanuelle. Her nod was almost imperceptible, but there was no mistaking the wink she gave Francesca. She appeared nearly out of it to their captors, but clearly she wasn't as bad off as she was making herself out to be and that made some of the knots in Francesca's stomach loosen just a little.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
The wind slammed into the cars as they made their way toward the estate Barry Anthon had rented. Emmanuelle was in the car behind Francesca and that made Francesca very uneasy. She knew Stefano's sister could take care of herself far better than she could in the situation, but Barry wouldn't want Francesca killed, not until he had Cella's cell phone safely in his hands. But Emme was vulnerable.
Stefano and his brothers had humiliated Barry in front of Francesca and Emmanuelle. He wasn't a man who would forgive such an insult. He believed himself to be superior to everyone else. He felt entitled to take anything and everything he wanted. Barry would retaliate against the Ferraro family, and what better way than to humiliate Emme? His men were animals. Monsters. They destroyed lives at Barry's whim and enjoyed themselves immensely while doing so. Francesca had no doubt that those men were tormenting Emme in the car, especially Marc. He would want retribution for Emmanuelle defending herself.
As the cars drove through the heavily guarded gates under the archway, Francesca spotted at least ten more guards roaming around the property. Those were the ones she could see. Her heart sank. Fou
r guards at the gate and ten more roaming just the grounds in the front, how many more were there? Even if Stefano brought his brothers with him, the chances of all of them being able to slip through that many guards unscathed seemed nearly impossible.
They drove right up to the front door. Harold's finger bit deep into Francesca's arm as he yanked her out of the car. As she stumbled out, the dark clouds above their heads opened up and slammed them with rain. It poured down in long silvery streaks, falling from the sky to hit the ground in great splashes. Harold swore and dragged her up the two steps to the wide porch with its marble columns and overhead roof. Just those few steps out in the open had them soaked from the downpour.
Francesca looked back toward the other car. Emmanuelle was pulled out of the car and shoved hard against the hood, Marc behind her. Her hands were zip-tied in front of her and clearly he thought she was helpless. He reached around and caught her breast, squeezing hard through the open jacket, humping her from behind while the others watched and laughed.
Harold paused to watch as well, grinning and rubbing his crotch. "I get a turn at that," he announced to Francesca. "And if Barry doesn't kill you first, I'll be taking my turn with you, too."
Emmanuelle kicked up hard between Marc's legs, driving the heel of her boot into his balls and then slamming her head backward to smash his nose again. He screamed, a high-pitched shriek that had his friends howling with glee as he dropped straight to the ground. Arnold, the man who had driven the car Francesca has been in, bent over Marc to try to help him to his feet. Marc shoved at his hand and continued to writhe on the ground.
Jimmy stepped over him and grabbed Emmanuelle's arm. "Come on, wildcat. Let's get you out of here before he can move. He'll shoot you, and we've got plans."
If anything, the rain came down harder, making it difficult to see through the silvery bands. The wind howled an ominous warning, sending the sheets of rain straight at the house. It blew so hard the windows rattled and the porch itself was instantly drenched in the downpour.
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