Shadow Keeper

by Christine Feehan

  Cursing, he took the stairs two at a time, ignoring Meredith's frantic call after him. Already, he had his phone out and was texting their Hollywood contacts. All of them. Every producer the family knew and all those they didn't have relationships with. Money talked. He had tons of it, and Meredith was going to be hit where it hurt. No producer was going to get behind her films. He would make certain if she was being considered for a part, he would take it away from her. Had she kept her revenge to him, he wouldn't have done a thing, but she knew better than to fuck with his woman. The Ferraros had a certain reputation. She thought herself out of reach.

  Sasha stood at the top of the stairs, waiting. She'd seen the kiss. The flashes. Meredith's arms entwined around his neck. He could tell by the look on her face. Flashes continued to go off. Several photographers tried to follow him. He didn't know why since they all had zoom lenses, and they had to know security was going to stop them. He ignored that little byplay, too, his eyes on Sasha's, willing her to keep looking at him and nowhere else.

  He held out his hand. She stared at it a beat too long, and his heart clenched so hard in his chest he feared he might be having a heart attack. He kept his hand out, waiting. With great reluctance, she put her smaller one in his. He closed his fingers around hers and pulled her to him as they moved together back to his table.

  He pulled out a chair for her and then sank down into the one closest, dragging her chair right up to his, arms caging her in just in case she tried to escape him. "That woman ..."

  "A former lover?"

  The words bit deep. Fuck. Fuck. What the hell could he say but the truth? "It was a fuckin' one-night stand. Stupid of me hooking up with a shark, but I was having a pity party because the doc told me at least six more months on playboy duty and I hated it."

  "So, fucking Meredith Benson, the hottest actress in Hollywood right now, was part of your little pity party."

  He raked his fingers through his hair. The hurt in her voice nearly destroyed him. He didn't want to see himself through her eyes. He looked bad. Maybe he was. Hell, he didn't even know anymore. It all came back to that game that never seemed to go away. "Baby, I know that hurt, to see that on the dance floor--"

  "That? You mean you kissing another woman? Not just kissing her, but your tongue down her throat?"

  He shook his head. "My tongue was nowhere near her throat. She kissed me, Sasha. For revenge. Because Meredith likes to dump her lovers publicly for the publicity. She craves the camera and the drama. She thrives on it. This was all about revenge. She set me up with the paparazzi, and like an idiot, I fell for it. I'm sorry. I know this is going to be a firestorm and every time you go into a grocery store or see a magazine, or watch television, it's going to be in your face, but you have to know, I wasn't a party to that."

  "Giovanni." She sounded tired, and his gut tightened in alarm. "Your world is so far removed from mine. These games you all play so casually are beyond me. I don't understand them, and quite frankly I don't want to. Maybe you weren't kissing her back. Maybe that dance with your bodies all over each other didn't mean anything to you, but it did to me. I suppose if I was a woman in your world, I'd just grab Aaron and dance with him like that. Kiss him like that and smile for the cameras. It isn't my world no matter how much I want to fit in for you."

  "Don't. Baby, don't do this. You're tired and scared and I understand that. I do. But you know damn well I didn't betray you. I've had a lot of one-night stands. I can't pretend I didn't. Hell, I think they're all pretty much documented. You hear lies. Am I lying when I tell you I love you and I'm not capable of being unfaithful? I'm not. I told you about my life. I need you, Sasha. You think your brother needs you, and he does, but not like I do. Not in the same way. I've never had one fucking thing for myself. I've done my duty and played my part for the family. You're everything to me. Don't let a vindictive, petty woman rip us apart."

  He hated the tears turning that beautiful sapphire to liquid. He caught her chin and leaned in to brush her mouth with his.

  She jerked back. "You still have her lipstick on your mouth, Giovanni."

  The accusation was harsh, but he wasn't about to let that stop him. "Wipe it the fuck off, Sasha. Right now. Use the water in the glass if you have to, but get her off me."

  Sasha responded to the command in his voice. She dipped a napkin into the water and rubbed off Meredith's lipstick. He despised the woman all the more. Leaving the evidence behind had obviously been part of her plan. He'd tried to wipe it off, but apparently, she'd made certain it was smeared everywhere.

  "Thank you. I want you to take a deep breath and really look at me, Sasha. I could never give you up. I don't care what the circumstances were, I couldn't. If you were dancing with Aaron and he kissed you, I might go to jail for beating the holy hell out of him, but you, you I love, I wouldn't touch you, nor would I break up with you. I'd try to figure out what I wasn't giving you that you needed. Meredith Benson was looking to fuck me up with you. Don't let her succeed."

  Sasha hung her head, shaking it. "I have to step back, catch my breath and figure out what I'm doing. I need Sandlin safe, but I also need to think about us realistically. I can't do that when I'm with you. I can't do that with people around us every second. I want to go back to my apartment by myself and really have time to think."

  He shook his head. "It isn't safe and you know it."

  "Then make it safe. Surround the place with a million guards. You have to give this to me, Giovanni. I need to figure out what I'm doing. If you can't give this to me, I'm going to say we're done, because right now, I can't get rid of the image of you and that woman kissing on the dance floor with all those cameras going off. It's burned into my mind for all time." She held up her hand when he would have protested. "It doesn't matter that it was all about revenge. It's your world. It's how you live. She represents a good many of the people populating your world. I need space, and I'm asking for it."

  He knew he had no choice. The only play he had left was to comply. That gave him a night to fuck up Meredith's life even more than she could ever conceive of him doing. What was the use of having billions of dollars at one's disposal if they couldn't ruin an enemy? He hated that Meredith had hurt Sasha, especially on the heels of someone trying to kill her brother. He brought her hand to his mouth, kissed her knuckles and conceded with a nod.

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  The problem with pity parties and crying one's eyes out, Sasha decided, wasn't the red, puffy face or the swollen eyes. It was the headache. She didn't get headaches as a rule and tended to be a baby when she got one. She took a couple of over-the-counter pills that did nothing for it and lay down with every curtain pulled. She'd pulled them to keep out anyone like a nasty stalker who probably was lying in wait with binoculars. She wasn't giving him or anyone else a show.

  The paparazzi could be out there, too, hoping to catch her reaction to Meredith Benson kissing her man so they could put it in front of the world. She didn't like crying in front of anyone and she wasn't going to do it where her picture could be taken for display on a rack in a grocery store.

  Still, she was too restless to lie down. She was up and pacing through the small apartment, making a slow circuit, trying not to think about anything because her head was so crowded with everything that had been happening she couldn't think straight. After an hour of a wild storm of weeping, fifteen minutes of trying to sleep and another fifteen of pacing, she threw herself into a chair and tried to sort through things the way she always did--she made a list.

  Compiling problems was ridiculous, but the way her mind worked, she needed to see them, figure out the most pressing and how best to handle it. Number one always, always, was her brother. His care and safety. The Hendrick Center was the best that she could find, and the surgeon was renowned. She wanted Sandlin to stay there. The moment Goodman had made noises about removing him for the safety of the other patients, she'd panicked and couldn't hear much after that.

  Granted, she'd wante
d to break down and cry right then. It had been such a relief to have Giovanni and Stefano talk to Goodman in their calm, quiet voices. She could listen to those voices all day. They sounded reassuring and safe. As long as Giovanni was around, she felt Sandlin was safe. He had provided the extra security and the bodyguard. Her stalker had still gotten in--and she was certain he had been the one to rig the explosives, although Giovanni had pointed out to Goodman that they didn't know that for certain yet.

  She had checked out of the conversation for a few minutes, but now, thinking it over, she knew they had quietly offered him more money for Sandlin's care. For the extra trouble of security and bodyguards. For more background checks. In return for allowing her brother to stay there, they had been willing to add another desperately needed wing onto the Center and to fund the equipment for that wing as well.

  Her breath caught in her throat. She hadn't been paying attention. She'd stood by the window in that stuffy little office, shaking, terrified she'd have to remove her brother, and all the while, Giovanni had been negotiating on her behalf. He'd taken care of it without hesitating. He hadn't asked permission from his family, nor had Stefano balked, treating her as if she'd been born into the Ferraro family solely because she was engaged to Giovanni.

  A small groan escaped. She'd been so prideful, insisting she take care of Sandlin herself. She couldn't afford extra security for him. It wasn't Giovanni's fault that someone was stalking her, and he certainly didn't have to continually provide her with protection or pay for her brother's protection--yet he did. She wasn't even certain if she'd thanked him. She'd been so busy resenting him for even offering because Sandlin was her brother and she wanted to be the one to take care of him.

  What in the hell was wrong with her? Loving Sandlin meant utilizing whatever she had access to in order to give him the best possible care available. Was it her ego that dictated to her that she not use Giovanni's money? She rubbed her temples, put her head back and stared at the ceiling. It was the fact that she didn't want Giovanni or anyone else to think she was with him for his money. Everyone used him. They used his family. They wanted something from them.

  She'd seen the women in the club throw themselves at every family member in the hopes of hooking one, not because they liked them, but for their money. What would that be like? She didn't want Giovanni to think she wanted his money, not for her and not for Sandlin. She wanted Giovanni. He made her laugh. He made her feel safe in an unfamiliar world. He seemed to value her opinions. He listened carefully to every word she said, as if it was terribly important to him.

  She let out another groan and wrote down "stalker." How had she managed to catch the eye of some insane person? The detectives had told her it could be someone who passed her on the street and she'd absently smiled at them. She worked at the deli in the daytime. She smiled at a lot of customers. She worked at the club at night. She'd worked the floor at first, and who knew how many customers she'd served?

  Giovanni thought the problem had started when she took over for Nancy that first night of serving on the top tier. She was afraid he was right. It felt right, but how did one explain that to a cop? The Ferraro family was doing their own investigations and she'd gone along with them, not telling the police everything. She knew why. She couldn't deny that she knew if Giovanni and his family figured out who was threatening her and those around her, they would send for their cousins and the man would disappear or be found dead. What did she think about that?

  She began to pace again, thinking about the way the light structure and a portion of the ceiling had fallen on the couch where her brother always sat to read. Everyone knew he sat there. That light fixture had been deliberately rigged to fall on him. She knew the stalker was escalating his behavior. He'd threatened Giovanni. He'd targeted her brother. What was next? Who was next?

  Was any of that Giovanni's fault? Of course not. She would have the stalker and the threat he presented hanging over her head without being engaged to Giovanni. If anything, Giovanni had tried to make both her and her brother safe.

  She had been targeted by John Darby and his college frat boys for an ugly prank so he could boost his reality show ratings. Was that Giovanni's fault? Nope. She had taken that job because it paid so much money. West had told her about the dangers of drunken celebrities and how they often felt very entitled. He'd even told her about the specialized training servers got before they worked the top tier and told her he was worried because she hadn't had it yet.

  She'd insisted she could do the job. She wasn't involved with Giovanni at the time. The incident would have happened no matter what. Even her picture in the tabloids might have happened without her name being attached to his because Darby would have tried to get mileage out of his prank.

  She picked up her cell phone, needing to call Giovanni. She just wanted to hear his voice, but she knew if she did, he'd want to come to her--or have her go to him. That told her something right there. She had confidence that it was her he wanted, not someone like Meredith. She believed him when he told her he would be faithful to her. She believed he had a code and he would always live by that code.

  She pressed the cell phone to her forehead and continued to pace. Why was she so angry at him? His world? He was born into it. He'd had no more choice in who gave birth to him than she'd had--she'd just gotten luckier. Was she really going to throw him over because he had far too much money? Because he lived life in a completely different lane than the one she was used to?

  She was a fighter. She'd always been a fighter. Her mother told her she came out of the womb kicking and screaming. As a toddler, she never let anything defeat her when she wanted to learn something. She could be defiant, go her own way, be stubborn until she got what she wanted. Was she going to let Giovanni's lifestyle defeat her? Why? Pride? Ego? Worry about what the rest of the world would think of her because she was becoming part of a very wealthy family? Fear that she'd have to constantly battle the paparazzi and what was written about her?

  She'd never cared before. Never. Why had it suddenly become important now? There was a sound outside her door. It sounded like something had hit her balcony rail. Everything in her froze, driving out her inner dialogue. She went to the front door, but she wasn't about to open it. Nobody knocked. She took a breath and slowly pushed aside her curtain.

  She'd left the light on so that it shone on the small porch just outside her door. It wasn't much more than a landing, really, but she called it a front porch. Had she sat out there, she'd be staring into the alley, and at the surrounding buildings, but still ... Right now, she was looking at the wooden railing, obviously broken. Something had hit it and it was pushed outward. Outward. Someone had stood just outside her door and shoved that railing, or hit it with something. She knew a bodyguard had been sitting out there. Where was he now?

  She pressed Giovanni's number and prayed he'd answer immediately. A crack sounded so loud she jumped. Simultaneously, the glass around her porch light shattered and the light went off. Her heart thudded and she stepped back from the window. It was a good thing she did, because the glass in the large pane splintered apart in hundreds of small pieces, flying into her house. With it, liquid sprayed in every direction, as the thrown bottle spun through the air, releasing the fluid inside.

  "Sasha?"

  Giovanni's voice was so calm, she sagged with relief. She equated him with safety. "He's here," she said. "I think he hurt the bodyguard. He broke out one of my windows."

  Even as she said it, the second window exploded, glass hurtling through her residence. Again, whatever had been thrown spilled a liquid all over. She could smell accelerant and knew the next thing coming through the window would be fire.

  "He's burning the place. Call the fire department. Hurry, Giovanni."

  He was swearing now. Not so calm, but she could tell he was on the move. "Get out of there, baby. You can't stay in there. Where the fuck are your bodyguards?"

  "I think he did something terrible to them."

>   "That's impossible. Too many. Get out of there. I'll find out where they are."

  She had no choice. Already the next cylinder came hurtling through the window, and she saw this bottle was stuffed with a fiery rag. Instantly, it was as if her apartment exploded with flames. She didn't have time for anything but grabbing her pictures of her parents and Sandlin as she raced to the front door. When she tried to open it, it wouldn't budge.

  Her heart nearly stopped. There was a back way out, but it was a small balcony off her bedroom--nothing more than a fire escape. It was even smaller than the front landing and the stairs were really a fire ladder. If she didn't go now, she wasn't going to make it. Flames were licking up the walls to the ceiling, climbing the drapes, racing across the floor toward her bedroom.

  She ran. The heat was intense. Fear was worse. Her heart beat out of control as she slammed the bedroom door closed and tried to open the one to the fire escape. Her fingers were shaking so badly, it took a few moments to unlock the door. As she did, a Molotov cocktail was thrown through her bedroom window and landed on the floor on the opposite side of the bed.

  Sasha shoved the door open and jumped out, grabbing for the railing. The window was on the opposite side of the apartment so she figured there was a good chance her attacker couldn't make it around to this side of the building before she could make it to the ground. She nearly fell down the metal ladder and hit the pavement. She screamed when arms came around her.

  "You're safe." It was Stefano's voice. "We're here now. Giovanni's on the way. The bodyguards were pulled off duty. I'm killing Cosimo for falling for an order like that. They left behind a new guy, and he was beaten senseless." There was distaste in his voice, although he still sounded matter-of-fact.

  All the while he talked, Stefano had swirled a long trench coat around her, covering her. She was wearing pajamas and little else. Her pajamas tended to be very skimpy because she liked feeling feminine after a long day in jeans and a tee when she'd been riding horses and working cattle. Also, she was the type who was always too hot. Going naked in bed or wearing a minimal amount of clothing was always what she preferred.