Shadow Rider (28 page)

Stefano shook his head. “No one touches you, Francesca. Not ever. The three of them won't have a fucking thing left when we get through with them.” His hands ran over her, as if inspecting for damage. “Fucking bitches. They knew the score. They wanted publicity, and they got it. They'll be getting more than they can ever handle now.”

He looked at his cousin Enzo and nodded. Just once, but Francesca was certain Stefano was giving his cousin an order. Enzo walked a distance away, punched in a number and put his cell phone to his ear.

Stefano curled his palm around the nape of Francesca's neck. “I haven't been with any of them for over a year.”

“But they kept trying,” Francesca pointed out. “The first night I was in your apartment, they called you. Sent you pictures.”

“Mostly Janice. She was the worst of them. I should have known it was a mistake to hook up with her.”

Francesca winced and looked down at her hands. This was all too much for her. Life in the fast lane wasn't for her. She wasn't in their league with their fast hookups and casual sex.
She didn't work like that. The music pounded a beat in her head. The lights moved in a variety of colors throughout the room. Bodies swayed or danced to the beat while the sound of conversation and ice clinking in glasses felt like shards of glass pressing into her head. Why had she ever thought she had a chance with a man like Stefano Ferraro? It hurt to think of him with women like Doreen, Stella and Janice. It didn't lessen the hurt because the encounters were casual.

“
Il mio piccola bella amore
, I can't change the past as much as I'd like to,” he said softly. “I can only tell you that you have my future. Only you.”

He said it out loud. Right in front of his family. His blue eyes held hers captive and she couldn't help but read the sincerity there or hear the honesty in his voice.

“I'm sorry these women tried to hurt you,
dolce cuore
. I'll take care of it. You need a female bodyguard to accompany you into dressing rooms and restrooms, Francesca. I'll get on that immediately. Emilio and Enzo have a sister, Enrica . . .”

“No.” She shook her head. “I'm not going to have a bodyguard. I won't, Stefano, and there's not a single thing you can say that will change my mind.”

His eyebrow went up and his mouth settled into a hard line. “It's a matter of your safety, Francesca,” he reminded quietly.

He didn't argue, she remembered. She sighed. “Let's just drop it, Stefano. The three of them are hiding out in the restroom and probably will remain there until we leave.”

Stefano shook his head, looked to Emilio and Enzo, who was back. “The police have been called.”

She went white. She knew she did. She felt the color draining from her face and she shook her head adamantly. “No. I don't want to make out a report or bring charges against them. I won't talk to the police, Stefano, not ever again.”

Salvatore's white teeth flashed and he nodded approvingly. “Good girl. This is a family matter. We don't talk to the police—not ever.”

She didn't understand what he meant by that, because already she could hear sirens above the music, which meant the police were right outside. Enzo must have called them on Stefano's orders.

“You aren't going to press charges, Francesca,” Stefano said gently. “The police have been notified that the attendant in the ladies' room observed three women using and selling cocaine in large amounts. The police will find plenty of evidence to back this charge up. No one will mention an assault, especially not Janice, Stella or Doreen. They can kiss their careers good-bye.”

Her hand went defensively to her throat as bouncers escorted six police officers along the edge of the dance floor back toward the ladies' room. Ricco, at Stefano's nod, followed Emilio and Enzo, she guessed to represent the Ferraro family as owners.

“Stefano, actresses and actors and singers tend to do better whether publicity is negative or positive.”

“Not in this case. My family has an investment in several entertainment fields, including their record label. Every contract has a clause for certain types of behavior. It's never exercised, but it's there in case it's needed.”

She frowned, realizing he was serious. He'd have the women arrested on drug charges. She knew they were guilty of using and if they had a large supply, they very well could be guilty of selling. “Shouldn't being arrested and having to defend themselves in court be enough karma for them?”

“No.”

Every brother and cousin as well as Emmanuelle replied at the same time. She could see the paparazzi were already moving into position to get pictures of whatever scandal was happening at the club. The circle of men tightened around her and Emmanuelle as the police brought out the three singers and flashes went off like mad. Most of those dancing on the floor turned to watch the three women being escorted out.

Janice, Stella and Doreen looked terrible. Their makeup was smeared all over their faces and they looked as if they'd
been partying for hours, vomiting and sleeping on the bathroom floor, plus they looked bruised, with swollen faces from Emmanuelle kicking their asses. The photographs that would appear in the magazines were not going to be flattering in the least.

Francesca couldn't help the little pang of pity. “Maybe we should . . .”

“Enough,
bambina
. They're getting what they asked for. They would have forced drugs on you and painted you in a light that was far from flattering.”

“I've been painted in that light for a long time, Stefano.”

He took her hand and tugged her close to him. “I believe I owe you a dance or two.”

“Uh-oh, Stefano,” Ricco said. “At your five o'clock.”

Beside her, Francesca felt Emmanuelle stiffen. She reached out without thinking and took Stefano's sister's hand. She had no idea why. Emmanuelle oozed confidence and poise. Nothing seemed to shake her—until now. The tension surrounding the brothers and cousins shot right back up until it stretched to a breaking point. Carefully, mostly because Emmanuelle's fingers tightened around hers as if she was a lifeline, Francesca turned her head in the direction of five o'clock.

A tall, very handsome man emerged from the crowd, striding toward them. He had broad shoulders and very dark, nearly black hair spilling down his forehead into vivid green eyes. He wore a white shirt and expensive dark slacks. A second man kept pace with him, a little shorter and clearly arrogant. He moved with the fluid motion of a boxer and the crowd parted for him.

“Valentino Saldi and his cousin Dario Bosco,” Vittorio identified. “Son of a bitch, what would they be doing here?”

Stefano shrugged. “Apparently Tidwell got his throat cut tonight right in the middle of Giuseppi's home. Giuseppi must not have believed me when I told him we were having a celebration tonight and I was nowhere near his house.”

The brothers grinned at one another, exchanging smug
looks with their cousins. Francesca's heart gave another hard jerk. She was missing something important, but already the men had schooled their faces into their expressionless masks.

“Who the hell is Tidwell?” Salvatore asked.

“He was Francesca's landlord,” Emmanuelle explained. “I told you about what a pervert he was, remember?”

“Pure slime. He was staying at Giuseppi Saldi's house. Giuseppi's nephew is married to Tidwell's aunt. They both were staying there for protection—can you believe it—from us,” Stefano explained. “She claimed she was swimming in the pool and he was in a lounger right beside it. The pool is indoors and right smack in the center of Saldi's house. When the aunt emerged from the pool, there was her nephew dead, throat cut and no one heard or saw a thing. I guess they sent Valentino to the club to check our alibis.”

“That's horrible,” Francesca said. She couldn't really conjure up much distress, not when the man had raped women and had planned to rape her. Still, she felt sorry for his aunt.

Stefano swept his hand down Francesca's back in a caress meant to comfort. “If you prefer not to endure the stench of all things Saldi,” he said to his cousins from New York, “you don't have to stick around for introductions.”

“We'd prefer to stay,” Salvatore declared.

Francesca expected Emmanuelle to drop her hand, but she didn't. If anything she moved a little closer to Francesca as if for protection. Francesca didn't get it, not with all her brothers and cousins towering over them, but she shifted her body subtly to bring herself just in front of Emmanuelle, partially blocking her from the newcomer's sight.

“Stefano,” Valentino said, walking right up to the group, showing no fear or hesitation. “My uncle told me you were having a party, but he didn't say what you were celebrating tonight.” His sharp gaze took in the strangers from New York as well as Francesca, before coming to rest on Emmanuelle. “I see you even let the little princess out tonight. I wouldn't have thought she was old enough for a nightclub.”

“Bite me, Val,” Emmanuelle snapped.

“Anytime, Emme.” Valentino ignored the way her brothers shifted closer. “Just say when and where.” Even in the dark it was easy to see the way his gaze drifted insolently from her head to her toes, taking in every detail. “I can see you're hurting for money, babe. You couldn't afford an entire dress tonight? Stefano, you should help the poor girl out.”

“Are you always so rude?” Francesca demanded, mostly because Emmanuelle's fingers bit so deep into her hand she was afraid her bones would break. She would never have guessed that anyone could upset Emmanuelle with a few nasty comments.

Stefano instantly shifted his body, thrusting Francesca behind him. The brothers closed in from either side and behind her, forming a solid wall between the two women and Valentino Saldi.

“Why do you do that, Val?” Stefano asked. “Why pick on a woman? I don't get it, but then I never have.”

Valentino shrugged. “Emme always rubs me the wrong way. I don't know why, but I'll apologize if that's what you want.”

“Not me,” Emmanuelle said. “It wouldn't be sincere anyway, so what's the point? Just go away. We're celebrating my brother's engagement.”

The bottom fell out of Francesca's stomach. Right. To. The. Floor. She was suddenly on a runaway train with no way to jump off. Valentino's gaze jumped to her face. He looked genuinely shocked. “Engagement? Stefano?” He recovered quickly enough, smiling gallantly. “Congratulations, Stefano. I'm happy for you.”

Strangely, in that moment, Valentino Saldi sounded sincere. His voice rang with honesty. There was no mistaking it.

“Francesca, Valentino Saldi and his cousin Dario Bosco,” Stefano introduced with more than a little charm, but he didn't move, preventing the two men from getting close to her.

Dario nodded abruptly. Valentino's smile crept into his eyes. “I'm sorry I made you uncomfortable, Francesca, and that's a genuine apology. Stefano's a lucky man. Emmanuelle,
one dance before I go.” It wasn't a request. He sounded every bit as arrogant and bossy as Stefano.

Francesca was certain Emmanuelle would tell him to go to hell. Her brothers and cousins all bristled, making it clear from the swell of anger vibrating around them that they weren't happy with the order. Emmanuelle hesitated, but then her fingers loosened the death grip around Francesca's hand and she stepped out from behind her family.

Valentino held out his hand. Francesca inhaled sharply as Emmanuelle put her much smaller hand in his and allowed him to lead her onto the dance floor. Dario followed his cousin, keeping pace right behind him, clearly acting the part of a bodyguard.

“Why the hell does she do that?” Taviano demanded. “Every. Damn. Time. She lets that bastard order her around.”

“She's defusing the situation,” Vittorio said. “It works.”

“It only works because he has our sister in his hands and we can't beat the holy hell out of him,” Giovanni said.

Stefano tugged at Francesca's hand and she went with him onto the dance floor. The others followed, each catching up the hand of a woman as they passed her. Francesca felt sorry for the ladies dancing with the Ferraro family. The women were thrilled, but she knew the brothers and cousins had only taken to the dance floor to surround Emmanuelle and Valentino in a show of strength. Emmanuelle had her head resting against Valentino's broad chest, her eyes closed as they moved in perfect rhythm to the music.

Francesca
loved
dancing. She'd always felt the music intensely, heard every instrument individually and then together to form, with her body, a perfect harmony. Adding Stefano to the equation only amplified the feeling. She'd danced with partners, but none felt a perfect match in the way she felt with Stefano, as if the two of them shared the same blood running through their veins, shared their skin and bones. Desire rose, sharp and intense, until she drifted, caught in his spell—caught by the rising tide of lust and passion that surrounded her, that consumed her.

Francesca nuzzled Stefano's chest, breathing him in, that scent unique to him that filled her lungs and surrounded her heart. She wasn't certain how he'd managed to penetrate her armor and gain her trust, but he had. She had questions, but the answers didn't seem to matter when she was close to him. She had to believe that he was real, that he was innately good, because it was already too late for her. If he wasn't as he seemed, if what was building between them wasn't real for him, she wasn't certain how she would survive.

His hand slid down her back, following the curve of her spine along the seam of her dress. She was acutely aware of his body, pressed so tightly against hers. His erection was hard and unashamed, a long, thick reminder of his need to possess her, burning a brand against her ribs, nearly nestling between her breasts. She shivered as his hand caressed her through the thin material of her dress. She felt every tiny movement, his muscles rippling beneath his elegant clothes, his breath against her hair, when he turned his head, the way his lips brushed against her temple. His hand slipped lower, to her thigh and his fingers began to write his name on her bare skin, branding her—his.