Shadow Warrior (The Shadow Series Book 4)

by Christine Feehan

  “Grace.”

  One word. Her name. He could say a multitude of things just by his inflection alone. Always soft. Always low, but so much meaning. This was a clear warning.

  “I feel strong and worthy of you most of the time. I do. You give me confidence all the time and you do show me that I’m important to you.”

  “I show you that you’re the center of my world, Grace, because that’s exactly what you are. I don’t like you to question that because it means I’m failing you in some way.”

  Horrified, Grace shook her head. “Vittorio, no. It isn’t you. You’re amazing, truly wonderful. Every single day I wake up I’m astonished that I could actually fall asleep. You gave me that ability. I can’t remember a time when I felt safe, and you’ve given that to me as well. I lived my life in total terror, now it’s a form of paradise. Believe me, I’ll never take you or how we live here for granted.”

  She ducked her head for a moment, afraid how he would take the rest of what she had to say. “There’s always going to be a part of me that is that little girl no one wanted. Not my parents, not grandparents, not a foster family. No one came forward to adopt me after the first family when there was an accident that killed the father and the mother turned to drinking.” She’d been young, but she remembered the pain of being taken away and put in another home. It had been wrenching and frightening and she’d felt as if something was wrong with her that no one wanted her.

  He moved then, kneeling between her legs on the thick woolen rug. His fingers curled around the nape of her neck and he kissed her so gently there were tears in her eyes when he lifted his head.

  She loved him. Beyond anything, she loved him. She didn’t know when it had happened, but she knew how. He was so good to her, it was impossible not to love him. When he touched her as he was doing, his hands on her body, fingers caressing her skin, giving her comfort and yet letting her know she was not only loved, but desired as well, she couldn’t help but fall hard for him.

  His arms slid around her waist and he laid his head in her lap, as if he was the one who needed solace, and she was coming to think he did. Her heart melted, and her fingers tangled in his hair. He was scaring her just a little bit. What could be so bad that he was reluctant to tell her? She stroked caresses through his hair and over his temple, waiting. She knew he would tell her eventually, so she stayed quiet, reveling in her ability to just touch him the way she was doing.

  It took a few minutes and then he sat back and looked up at her. “I want you to remember that I love you. I not only love you, Grace, but I need you in my life. I know you don’t yet realize how much, or even comprehend it’s the truth, but I can assure you, I need you far more than you’ll ever need or want me. I want you to keep that in mind.”

  She took a deep breath and let it out, suddenly worried. He was serious. He stood and went across the room, his body totally fit. Totally naked. He was confident in his body and had every reason to be. She could tell he’d all but forgotten he wasn’t wearing clothes. He didn’t need them—like she did—for armor.

  Vittorio crossed to the small bar on the opposite side of the room from the fireplace. “Do you want a drink?”

  He poured straight Scotch into a crystal glass. She noted he didn’t use ice. The amber liquid swirled in the glass when he put it to his lips. He shocked her a little when he drank the contents.

  “Water would be good.” She didn’t think it would be a good idea for both of them to be drinking, at least not if Vittorio kept it up. Inside, she began to coil tighter and tighter, the tension making her wish she was wearing something other than her sex kitten lingerie.

  He handed her a glass and went back to the bar. “What have you heard about my family?”

  That was getting into very dangerous territory. Everyone knew of the Ferraro family. They seemed to live their lives out in the tabloids. Their exploits were legendary. Her tongue touched her upper lip and she rubbed her palms over her thighs. “There are rumors,” she conceded. “But your family is famous, Vittorio, and shrouded in mystery. People make up things because they either want to tear you down or live through you vicariously.”

  “You’ve been around my family a few times.”

  It was the first time she’d heard a hint of bitterness in his voice. He finished off the Scotch in the glass and poured himself more.

  “You must have formed opinions regarding the rumors.”

  “You’ll have to be more specific. Which of the ten thousand rumors are you referring to?” She didn’t want to have this conversation. Her heart already was accelerating. She wished she hadn’t agreed to come inside. There had been a cool breeze coming off the lake. She moistened her lips again. “Can you open the door?”

  He sent her one all-encompassing look, his gaze dwelling on her bare breasts. “I don’t want you to get cold, Grace. It won’t do your shoulder any good.”

  “I’ll keep that side to the fireplace,” she promised. “I like the breeze on my body.”

  “I like it on your body, too.” He stepped around her chair to go to the glass wall. As he did, he reached out and stroked her left breast, fingers tugging her nipple as he slipped past her.

  Grace felt the jolt of lightning all the way to her toes. A single touch from him was all it took, his fingers flicking her nipple. His eyes dropping below her waist to dwell on the tiny triangle of leather, split by the lacing so her fiery curls could be seen. Instantly, she went damp and needy.

  He folded the thick glass of the pocket door back to allow the night into the room. She inhaled deeply, drawing the night into her lungs, hoping the air would clear her head enough to let her listen with an open mind to whatever he had to say.

  “Let’s not do this dance, bella. Everyone knows the Saldi family is a family of criminals. They pass that legacy from father to son.”

  She watched as he paced restlessly across the room and then went back to the bar to pour himself another drink. She opened her mouth to protest, thought better of it, and remained silent.

  Vittorio pressed the glass to his forehead. “Our family contends with those same rumors. In fact, we’re investigated on a regular basis. Because of the incident at the hotel, we will most likely come under scrutiny again.”

  She would hardly call what had happened—a woman being shot to death—an incident. That seemed a little disrespectful, although she didn’t know how she would refer to the death. Again, she remained silent, just watching him. He was mesmerizing as he paced back and forth, the crystal glass pressed to his forehead, his body fluid, prowling across the floor like a feral tiger, caged and restless.

  “People come to us, to my family. They have for hundreds of years, to fight against families like the Saldis. When they can’t get justice, or they’re threatened, they seek an audience with those we refer to as greeters.”

  She frowned. That wasn’t what she’d been expecting. “Greeters?” She echoed the term, knowing it was important.

  “The things I’m telling you, Grace, can’t go out of the family. We’re tied together. You’re one of us now and you need to know, but no one else can know, not your closest friend, not your business partner. No one. The things I tell you can’t go beyond this room. When I say it’s life or death to keep our family legacy secret, I’m not being dramatic.”

  Katie was the only friend she had, and they weren’t yet that close. Grace didn’t dare, even now, show her a close friendship, although Vittorio had her guarded and the family had put her up in the Ferraro Hotel, so Haydon couldn’t get to her. She knew better. Haydon was patient and eventually his potential victims dropped their guard, then it was only a matter of time.

  Grace nodded her head to show Vittorio she was listening. She narrowed her eyes when he took a small drink of the Scotch. She didn’t know enough about alcohol to know if that was a lot he drank, or a small amount, but either way, it was more than she’d ever seen him drink.

  “Remember the ‘criteria’ my mother went on about that got
you so upset?”

  “Of course.” She still was a little upset about it. A woman didn’t want to think a man wouldn’t even look at her unless she met some standard the family had set.

  “Have you ever noticed your shadow?”

  She sat up very straight. Of course she’d noticed her shadow. It was strange. It had always been strange, and as she’d grown, she’d come to terms with it. Unlike others, her shadow had strange arm-like appendages shooting off of it everywhere. Like tentacles. An octopus. Those feelers would reach toward other shadows to connect them. Sometimes, when that happened, she could almost feel what another person was feeling. Most of the time it was nothing. Sometimes she could hear lies. With Vittorio, every single time it happened, she would get a very physical reaction. A huge physical reaction, a surge of greedy need so strong it could shake her.

  “Yes.” She answered in a whisper, because he clearly expected a verbal answer and her voice wouldn’t climb above that low, husky sound.

  “Have you noticed my shadow is the same as yours? As is Stefano’s and all of my brothers’ as well as Emmanuelle’s?”

  She had only noticed Vittorio’s shadow. She hadn’t been paying attention to his brothers’. She was glad she wasn’t the only one with a peculiar shadow, but she hadn’t thought that much about it. She glanced at it now, thrown from the light from the flames dancing in the fireplace. Her shadow and Vittorio’s were connected. More than connected. The tubes had intertwined to the point that it appeared to be one shadow, not two.

  “Yes.” She wished he’d just say whatever it was he needed to say, but she couldn’t help staring at their shadows, thrown on the wall across from her.

  “If I tell you a lie, or someone else does, can you hear that lie?”

  Grace frowned and rubbed the bridge of her nose. “Most of the time. I don’t rely on it, but a red flag goes up if I think I hear a lie.”

  “I can hear lies. My family members can. Greeters are usually older family members who can hear lies. By the time they become a greeter, they are adept at telling the difference between a lie and the truth.”

  “I don’t understand.” She frowned, trying to figure out where he was going with his revelation. She half expected he would tell her the Ferraro family was as immersed in crime as the Saldi family. Or that he traveled the world on family business, sitting on boards for banks or hotels, and she would have to stay in their home alone. She was prepared for almost anything but the direction he went.

  “If you came to us and petitioned for a meeting for help, you would first see two greeters. They would serve you tea or coffee, whatever your preference, and they would make small talk with you. Just have a light conversation.”

  She knew immediately why. By conversing about the weather, a job, just everyday things, whoever was listening would be able to ascertain a rhythm to a voice. The way a person breathed. Their heartbeat. That would help indicate if they suddenly told a lie.

  “When they were ready, the greeter would ask you why you have come to see them. At that point whoever has petitioned for help would lay out their problem. It can be anything from as trivial as a lost purse to what you are dealing with. If you were the petitioner, you would tell them about your first meeting with Haydon Phillips and everything that happened after that. You would tell them about your suspicions—that he is a serial killer, but you have no real proof. You would supply whatever you do have—names, dates, cities. And then you would tell them about how he terrorizes you and how he lives in other people’s attics and spies on innocent families.”

  Her breath caught in her throat. Where was he going with this? She found herself very tense and couldn’t quite relax no matter how much she told herself to. Maybe it was because for the first time in her relationship with him, she knew he was tense. He didn’t take his eyes off her as he talked, but every now and then he sipped at the Scotch.

  She had been around Little Italy for a while, and even at times had entered the Ferraro territory, but the only thing she’d heard was that there was little crime there and it was dangerous to cross a Ferraro. Everything else she’d heard on the news or read in tabloids or magazines.

  “At the end of the interview, without telling you whether or not they will accept the job, the greeters rise, indicating the meeting is over and they will contact you. Little is said because there is always danger of someone attempting to record the interview, or perhaps an undercover cop will try to slip through. We’re very careful. Cell phones aren’t allowed in the interview room, although the room looks like a very cozy sitting room.”

  She was intrigued in spite of everything. “What happens next?”

  “If the greeters determine that the petitioner is telling the truth as he or she knows it, and they believe there is a valid case, the petition with all details is turned over to two teams of investigators. One will investigate the actual crime or crimes. When necessary they call on another team that can handle anything on the Internet. The second team of investigators does a complete workup on the petitioner. Until both teams and the greeters are satisfied, no one touches the case.”

  Private investigators? They supplemented the police detectives? She couldn’t imagine the sophisticated Ferraro family getting down and dirty in the trenches. She frowned, trying not to jump ahead with her imagination.

  “Investigators are also members of our family. They can hear lies as well. That is a requirement in our family if you want to be a greeter or investigator, but they can also persuade people to talk to them with their voices. Those they speak to about any crime find they want to tell the investigators as much as possible. Both teams take their time and investigate thoroughly. No one wants to make a mistake. Sometimes, things are let go because one person isn’t absolutely certain and all parties, both teams and the greeters, have to agree the crime or crimes were committed and someone has been wronged.”

  “You have the ability to persuade others to do what you want, don’t you?” His voice. That beautiful, compelling voice. Black velvet. Magical. He soothed an entire room. He could calm anyone down.

  “I have an ability. It’s a little different than the investigators’, but yes, if you want to call it persuasion, I guess you could use that description. I think of it as energy and I keep mine low and hopefully soothing in a bad situation, one that is escalating. I want to defuse it.”

  Grace stood up and wandered over to the open doorway to stand in the midst of the breeze so that it cooled her suddenly heated skin. He had persuaded her to wear the leather corset. To marry him. To give herself into his keeping. She had wanted to wear the daring lingerie for him, something she never would have considered on her own.

  Vittorio came up behind her, his body tight against her back, his arms coming around her. She reached up and took the nearly empty glass of Scotch out of his hand and drained the contents, nearly choking when the burn slid smoothly down her throat to settle in her belly. He buried his face against her neck, his teeth scraping gently, his lips sliding over the pulse there while his hands cupped the soft weight of her breasts.

  “What are you thinking?”

  “That you’re very good at persuading me with that voice of yours. You speak to me and I would do almost anything to please you.”

  “Is that my voice, or because of the way you feel about me?”

  Was there disappointment in his tone? Hurt? Her stomach knotted in protest. She leaned her head back against his chest, letting him lift her breasts, the pads of his thumbs brushing caresses over her nipples. There seemed to be a direct line from her nipples to her sex, because every stroke sent darts of fire streaking through her body, sizzling through her veins so that the blood pooled hotly. He could do that so easily.

  “I believe it is because of the way I feel about you. I like making you happy. You always manage to make me happy and I like to give that back to you.” It was more than that. She loved giving back to him. She knew she was a pleaser. It was in her to give and she was perfectly fine with wh
o she was. That trait made her very, very good at her job. She hoped it would make her an excellent partner as well. “But, I am susceptible to your voice.”

  She turned in his arms to look up at him. “Tell me the rest. It’s very intriguing.” She had no idea where he was going with it. She still didn’t believe, not for one moment, that his family helped the police in their investigations. She had seen interactions between the Ferraros and the detectives. It was a very uneasy alliance.

  He hesitated and then pressed his forehead to hers, looking into her eyes. “Once you know this information, you have committed fully to me. We don’t divorce. Not ever. It isn’t done, not without severe repercussions to both of us. Understand that, Grace.”

  She couldn’t see how she could understand unless he told her, but she didn’t have plans of running away from him, so she nodded. Vittorio dropped his arms and straightened abruptly. He stepped outside onto the patio and looked up at the stars as if he could find an answer to whether or not he wanted to trust her further. Abruptly, he spun around and stalked her when she backed away from him. He looked like a tiger about to pounce on his prey.

  Vittorio caught her hand and drew her back to the chair. She sat down at his silent command and looked up at him expectantly.

  “When everyone has absolutely agreed and there is no possible margin of error, the reports are turned over to what is known in our family as a rider. A shadow rider.”

  Just the way he said it, or maybe it was the title itself that made her heart plunge, but whatever it was, she was suddenly afraid.

  “There are portals in the shadows. Have you ever slipped into a shadow and realized no one noticed you there? Has that ever happened to you?”

  It had. Multiple times. There had been a strange sensation, one she didn’t care for, as if her body had been wrenched apart, her chest flying away from her and her body scattered in molecules throughout the shadows. It was just a weird sensation she couldn’t account for, but every time it happened, others would walk right by her and not realize she was standing there. Once, Haydon had almost walked into her.