Shadow Warrior (The Shadow Series Book 4)

by Christine Feehan

  “What was Stefano thinking, offering to exchange places with that woman?” she asked. “He can’t do things like that. I could have taken her place. It’s not like I’m pregnant.”

  Val made a sound that had both of them turning to look at him. His vivid green eyes were narrowed and boring into Emmanuelle. “That’s bullshit to think that way, Emme. You’re not expendable because you don’t have children. That’s your mother talking.”

  Giovanni slid between Val and Emmanuelle, a fluid, easy motion that didn’t seem intrusive but was. He kept his back to Val, while looking at his sister. “That poor innocent woman had nothing to do with whatever beef that shooter had with one of us in this room. Or all of us. As head of our family, of course Stefano would make the offer. It also allowed Vittorio the time to get to the man from our private stairway.”

  Vittorio had known, sooner or later, one of the Saldis would ask how Vittorio managed to get up to the second story without being seen. Giovanni had easily answered the question as well as cut off Val’s access to Emmanuelle.

  She never even glanced at Val, treating him as if he didn’t exist. “You’re right. I just panicked when I heard him. Francesca is so fragile right now. She doesn’t think of herself that way, but she has to be so careful. The drug they’re putting her on makes her shake night and day. It’s crazy.”

  She poured herself a cup of coffee and turned back to Vittorio. “I’m going to talk to Grace and explain about Eloisa.” She glanced in the direction of the shadows on the far side of the room where her mother was hidden and unable to reveal herself. Fortunately, the room was long and Eloisa wasn’t able to hear the conversation.

  Vittorio ruffled her hair. “There is no explanation for Eloisa, but thanks, honey. I’ve made up my mind to talk to her. The charity event is this coming weekend. We have to be on the same page by that time. It only gives me a few days to prepare. I have the feeling that Haydon Phillips will try to hit us there. It’s the first time he can really get to her.”

  All the while talking to his sister and brother, Vittorio was aware of the Saldis in a little group together talking quietly at the opposite end of the room. Val kept casting annoyed glances toward Emmanuelle, but he stayed by his father’s side. Somewhere close, Taviano hovered, blending into the background, forgotten.

  In the shadows were the cousins and Eloisa, listening to every word the Saldis had to say to one another. If they, in any way, were responsible for the attack in the Ferraro hotel, and they talked about it, the Ferraros would know. If not, their speculations might reveal answers.

  “It’s getting a little dicey,” Giovanni said. “As if Phillips wasn’t enough to worry about, we’ve got this shooter and the Saldis.”

  “Miceli was lying his ass off,” Emmanuelle whispered, her voice very low. “I think Giuseppi was very genuine, but then I’ve always liked him and Greta, so maybe I’m prejudiced. He hasn’t been paying a lot of attention to what’s going on around him since Greta got sick.”

  “Has Val been taking over?” Vittorio asked her the hard question.

  Emmanuelle’s chin went up and for the first time she looked across the room at Val. Their eyes met, but she didn’t look away. “I wouldn’t know. Since I heard him tell another woman that he’d been ordered to make me fall in love with him but really, did she think he wanted a spoiled baby who didn’t know jack about sex, I haven’t had anything to do with him.”

  Vittorio froze. Very slowly he turned his head to look at the man who had shattered his sister’s heart. Ferraros notoriously fell in love once. Right or wrong, Valentino had been Emmanuelle’s choice. To do such a cruel thing would never occur to any of them.

  “He actually said that? Those words?”

  “Vittorio,” Emmanuelle cautioned. She put a deterring hand on his arm. “I told you this before.”

  Vittorio exploded into action, throwing Saldi bodyguards out of his way to reach Valentino Saldi. He was like a fierce, destructive tornado. Trained in hand-to-hand combat, in every style of fighting, he went through the bodyguards easily, getting his hands on Val in less than a second, his fists and feet doing damage before the other man had a chance to raise a defense. He had his opponent against the wall, slamming his fist into him repeatedly before Dario reached him to try to get him off Val. Dario went flying, and Vittorio hardly had glanced at him.

  “Stop.” Giuseppi stood. An imposing figure. A voice of absolute authority. “Vittorio. Val. Stop this now. There can be no fighting between us.”

  Vittorio was always aware of everything around him, even when he was in the midst of annihilating an enemy, but nothing was going to stop him, not even Giuseppi, whom he had some respect for. He wanted to smash Val into the ground. Beat him into a bloody pulp. He wouldn’t have stopped, but Ricco caught his bloody fist in midair before it could once again slam into Giuseppi’s heir’s face.

  “Enough, Vittorio. He’s had enough.”

  “It’s never going to be enough as far as I’m concerned,” Vittorio said, contempt dripping from his voice. Holding Val up, he smashed his fist into his ribs.

  “Vittorio, he’s not worth it,” Emmanuelle said softly, laying a restraining hand on his arm. “Please stop.”

  Vittorio instantly stepped back, allowing Val’s body to slide down to the floor. Not even looking at the fallen man, he turned, taking Emmanuelle with him, to go to Giuseppi. “Forgive me, Giuseppi. It is a matter of family honor.”

  Giuseppi had to be the one to have ordered Val to seduce Emmanuelle, but he still looked puzzled as his gaze moved from his son to Emme. Dario and Angelo crouched beside Valentino.

  “Do you need an ambulance?” Ricco asked, his voice strictly neutral.

  Giovanni handed Dario a bucket of ice and a cloth.

  “No. We’ll take care of this,” Dario snapped, glaring at Vittorio over his shoulder, the promise of retaliation on his face.

  “See, Giuseppi,” Miceli said, his voice low, but carrying. “There is no peace between our families. There is no reason for this attack.”

  “There was reason,” Val said, his voice husky and edged with pain. “Just leave it alone.”

  Vittorio couldn’t give a damn what the Saldis thought or whether or not Val acted like a man and took what was coming to him. No one was going to treat Emmanuelle the way Valentino had and get away with it. As far as he was concerned, the Saldis were the enemy and always would be. In his opinion, a war was brewing between the two families and there was no reason to pretend it wasn’t.

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  Grace glanced down at Vittorio’s hands as he reached for her elbow to help her up. Her breath caught in her throat. “Vittorio.” She breathed his name, shocked at the smashed skin and knuckles as well as the swelling.

  “It’s nothing,” he said, dismissing the fact that it was clear he’d been in a fight.

  She nearly winced at the curtness in his voice. Vittorio had never been curt with her. Not once. He was always gentle in everything he did and said. She had driven a wedge between them and she wasn’t sure how to make things better. She wanted to, especially after talking with Francesca and Sasha.

  The Ferraro family was there in force, even their cousins from New York. They were astonishingly handsome men, just like those in Chicago. She figured their looks came from a long line of good genes. Eloisa was conspicuously missing.

  “He was defending my honor,” Emmanuelle said. “I think they were all spoiling for a fight, and I said something I shouldn’t have . . .”

  “Emme. Stop.” Vittorio’s voice was commanding.

  Grace had never heard him use that particular tone. The way he spoke shut down all conversation in the room.

  “I’ve got to get Grace home, so if you’ll excuse me, we’ll be taking off now,” Vittorio added.

  “You’re not staying for dinner?” Francesca protested.

  “No, honey, I’m sorry.” Vittorio softened instantly and bent to brush a kiss along Francesca’s temple.

&nb
sp; “Will you bring Grace back to visit? I really enjoyed seeing her.”

  “When I get the chance.”

  No one but Grace seemed to notice his hesitation. It was a tiny thing but one more blow she felt deeply. He looked tired and unhappy. She desperately wanted to find a way to get him to sleep better and take that look of melancholy from his face. She knew she was responsible for putting it there in the first place. She just hadn’t expected to miss him so much or that his despondency would affect her quite so completely. She actually hurt with the need to make things better for him.

  She said her good-byes and stepped into the private elevator with Vittorio. The moment the doors slid closed, she turned to him. “We watched the entire event playing out on the hotel security screens in Francesca’s room. It was really frightening. You moved so fast to save Giuseppi Saldi. I couldn’t help being proud of you but terrified for you at the same time. When you covered his body with yours, you were completely exposed to that gunman.”

  She couldn’t keep her voice from shaking or the little bite of accusation out of it. She’d been terrified for him, so had the other women, which hadn’t eased her mind. Demetrio and Drago wanted to turn off the screens, but Francesca had refused.

  Vittorio looked down at her from his superior height, making her feel small and fragile. He was a big man all over, his chest, arms and legs heavy with muscle. He was a good foot taller, easily more, and she was slight in comparison. His indigo eyes drifted over her face, making her want to squirm. She did squirm under his focused scrutiny.

  The elevator doors slid smoothly open and they were met at the Ferraro private entrance to the hotel by Emilio and Enzo. The car was right there, Enzo holding the door open. Vittorio and Emilio both looked carefully around before Vittorio helped her to slide onto the cool leather of the back seat. He slipped in beside her and Emilio closed the door. Only then did she realize that Enzo wasn’t driving. He was in the front seat and they had a driver she didn’t recognize.

  She glanced behind them to see Emilio entering the passenger side of a second car. When they pulled out of the parking lot, Grace realized they were following a lead car. That had never happened before. When she looked up at Vittorio’s set features, she decided not to ask any questions until they were home. Maybe he wouldn’t answer. Maybe she’d lost her chance to be a part of him, but she was determined that when they reached his home she was going to try—and not because his family was amazing and she’d give anything to be part of it, but because she was certain Vittorio Ferraro was the most extraordinary man she’d ever meet and she would forever regret being a coward if she didn’t give what had been growing between them a chance.

  She stayed quiet, looking down at her hand, the one on which she spent an inordinate amount of time wiggling her fingers to celebrate the fact that she could. Physical therapy was painful, but she rejoiced in the ability to finally work at getting better. More, Vittorio sat in the room with them, watching, and more than once, when she thought she might throw up because the pain was too much, he had stood up and simply snapped, “Enough.” No one ever dared contradict him and her shoulder was immediately iced, and she could breathe her way through the pain enough to let it recede.

  The more she sat there quietly on the ride back to the house, his warmth enveloping her, feeling safe and secure because he took care of her when she was unable to, the more she realized how much she wanted that. How many men would actually give her that kind of relationship without being totally controlling? Vittorio had never once made her feel as if he was controlling her. He made her feel as if she was the most precious, treasured woman in the world and he was determined to watch over her.

  Without thinking she moved closer to him, fitting under his shoulder. His body was always warm and the moment she moved close, he put his arm along the seat and then curved it around her shoulders. That felt good. He hadn’t done that in what seemed a very long while. She rested her head against his chest without looking at him. She was afraid of what she might see if she did. She didn’t want the mask he wore around others. She wanted the true intimacy he had given her, the real Vittorio, the real man. He had offered her that man and she’d been so afraid she’d rejected him.

  “What’s wrong, gattina?”

  His soft inquiry nearly stopped her heart. She hadn’t heard that voice in over a week—the one that was for her alone, the one that sent desire dancing down her spine or heating her sex to a welcoming liquid honey. He hadn’t called her his special nickname for her, either. She hadn’t realized how much she wanted either until that moment.

  He touched her face and she realized it was wet. Tears tracked down her cheeks. She turned her face into his chest and he fit the back of her head into his palm, saying nothing else until the car slowed and then stopped. That simple gesture had felt intimate and caring as well, as if he offered her silent comfort and yet didn’t want to call attention to the fact that she was crying. She detested making a spectacle of herself in front of his bodyguards, or anyone for that matter. She liked to stay out of the spotlight.

  The house was a mixture of more than one style of architecture. Its nine thousand square feet stretched out in three clearly different sections, rather like welcoming arms. At the very center of the house was a tall turret held up by the structure itself, stone and white square pillars. Beneath the high turret was an open patio with a stone floor and two sets of glass doors that opened into a dining room from one and a sitting room from the other. The tower was surrounded by long, narrow, multipaned windows that opened outward.

  Elongated arms or wings extended out on either side of the elegant turret. The drive allowed the family car to circle to a sheltered entry extending out from the right-side wing. It was covered, but more importantly, secluded, preventing anyone, even someone with a pair of powerful binoculars or a scope on a rifle, from seeing the members of the family or their guests exit the car and enter the house.

  As soon as Emilio opened the passenger door, Vittorio was out, but he reached back in to help her slide from the car. Exiting a vehicle was still difficult. Grace felt top-heavy with her arm and shoulder still so stiff and painful, preventing any real movement. As always when they walked anywhere, Vittorio had his hand on her, in this case, right on the small of her back. She felt the heat of his palm burning through the thin material of her shirt.

  Mariko had helped her shower and dress that morning, but she was getting much more adept. She still had her arm in a sling when she wasn’t doing physical therapy, but dressing one-handed was getting to be a little easier. There was more movement in her shoulder and the more she worked the fingers on her hand, the more she was able to.

  “You look tired, Grace. I’m going to take you to your suite and run a bath for you. I’ve texted Merry and she’ll have a late dinner ready for us by the time you’re out.”

  “I was hoping for the opportunity to talk to you,” she admitted. It cost her to ask, which surprised her when she was so assertive in her work. She didn’t want to say anything that would drive Vittorio further from her.

  “I’d like that, bella. Let me run your bath, get you in it and I’ll take care of my hands. I don’t want them swelling too much. We can talk over dinner.”

  She nodded, grateful there was a little more time to think about what she wanted to say. She was tense and hopefully, a bath would allow her to relax. There was a special plastic casing that fit over her shoulder and arm to prevent the bandages and sling from getting wet. It had to be fitted to her and she couldn’t do that.

  She knew Vittorio had been the one to help her in the hospital but having him help her when she wasn’t looking her best was disconcerting. He didn’t offer to call one of the female members of his family or Merry to come help her. She knew if she protested his help, he would stop instantly, but she didn’t want him to go, not even for the sake of her modesty. She hoped that by giving him this, he would understand she really wanted to fix things between them.

  She watche
d Vittorio cross the room to the elegantly appointed bathroom attached to her bedroom. The room was exceptionally large with golden faucets in the double sink as well as in the deep bathtub. Grace stood a little helplessly watching him, unsure of herself. Uncertain what to say or do. He dumped lavender and honey salts into the water, his wrist checking the temperature. He did things like that for her almost without thinking.

  “You do know, Grace, that you have every right to ask what Eloisa was talking about. You haven’t done anything wrong. I don’t want you to think you have.”

  Her heart accelerated. He looked so casual draped there on the side of the tub, one hand under the spray of water, testing it. “I could have handled things better.”

  He sent her a faint smile, but it was the first she’d had from him in a week and she wanted to celebrate.

  “We both could have handled things better. Let me help you with your clothes. I’ll get you settled and then take care of my hands. By the time I’ve showered, you should be ready to get out. I’ve had a button installed that you can push if there’s an emergency, right here beside the tub. I’ll come immediately.”

  “So will security, no doubt.”

  She got another smile, and this one made the butterflies in her stomach take wing.

  “No doubt,” he agreed. He dried off his hands and crossed to stand in front of her. His fingers found the buttons of her blouse. “I’ll admit that I’ve discovered I can be a jealous man and I don’t exactly want other men looking at your body, but if you’re in trouble, I’d rather we both have to put up with it than take a single chance on anything harming you.”

  Her entire body grew hot with every brush of his hands on her through the thin material. She had never considered jealousy a good trait, but the way he said it, that soft, low tone that seemed to find its way inside her, coupled with her growing knowledge of him, she didn’t mind in the least. Vittorio wouldn’t display jealousy unduly. She would have to really do something blatant, flirt outrageously or even go out with another man before he would react. She was certain enough that she could enjoy his tone and the way he so gently pushed the sleeve from her good arm and then, after unhooking the sling, slid the blouse off her injured shoulder.