Shadow Rider (40 page)

There was silence in the room. Waiting. Stefano was patient. His revelation came as no surprise. She'd known all along what kind of man he was. He controlled his world and would expect to control his household—especially his wife. A million objections ran through her mind, but she really didn't feel them. She knew Stefano now and she knew him to be a fair man. He wouldn't be a tyrant or dictator, but he would definitely expect her to follow his lead in their marriage.

Her eyes searched his. His gaze was steady. He didn't even blink. She had no doubt that he would take care of Barry Anthon, but he would do it safely. Much safer than she could ever manage.

“I hear you, honey,” she said softly. “Tell me what you want me to do.”

“Sit between Ricco and me. Keep your hand in mine. No matter what he says or what any of us say, you stay quiet. Try not to look at him triumphantly, or with anger. If you can't do that, and I don't expect you to be a great actress, then just keep your eyes down. Barry would never buy a change of heart from you, but don't go as far as open hostility. We aren't quite ready to take him down. If things are too difficult, look to Emmanuelle. She'll pull you out.”

Francesca took a deep breath. Inhaled Stefano. She feared once Barry entered the room she wouldn't be able to breathe properly. She didn't want to take the chance of drawing him into her lungs. He was in her nightmares; he didn't get anything else from her.

She took a slow look around her at Stefano's siblings. All
of them stood as still as statues. Beautiful, gorgeous specimens of human beings, tough and dangerous, waiting for her signal, completely prepared to protect her at any cost. Her gaze drifted back to Stefano's face. The angles and planes could have been immortalized in stone. She saw everything there, everything she ever wanted.

“Okay.” She hesitated and then was compelled to issue a warning. “Barry Anthon is a monster. He'll give you his innocent face and all the while plan to stab you in the back.”

“We have a lot of practice at this, Francesca,” Emmanuelle reassured. “We've been playing to the public for years. We cultivate the paparazzi, feeding them the stories we want them to publish, giving them the pictures and images so we're controlling everything for our own purposes. We've got this.”

“Barry is on the racetrack, trying to throw his weight around frequently,” Ricco added, his voice low, contemptuous. “He likes to be the big man, but let me just say this, little sister: that poor excuse for a human being has nothing on us when it comes to manipulation or playing to the camera. He'll believe us. Just follow our lead and look to us if you get in trouble. You're
famiglia
. Sacred to us.”

She was finally getting that the entire Ferraro family actually felt that way and it gave her a very much needed warm feeling. She smiled at them all, rubbing her hands up and down her arms, grateful to them. “I really appreciate you all.”

The cold, frozen place inside of her that knew Barry Anthon would try again to destroy her was beginning to thaw a little. “I don't actually believe he's that afraid of me or the evidence I have against him. That's one of the reasons I didn't take Cella's phone to the FBI or another law enforcement agency. There's evidence of wrongdoing, but nothing really connects him other than his handwriting. Any competent lawyer would get him off if that's all they had against him.”

She pushed a hand through her hair. “I think Barry likes terrorizing people. It gives him a feeling of power. He likes
destroying lives just because he can. Just like he wants women to fall in love with him so he can destroy them that way.”

Ricco and Stefano exchanged a long look. Ricco grinned. “You're correct, Stefano. She's not only beautiful—she's a gift.”

Francesca had no idea what that meant, but it was sincere and made her blush.

“That's exactly right, Francesca,” Stefano agreed. “He's a sociopath. He can be charming to get his way, but anyone who crosses him is going to be mowed down one way or another. He's been destroying others ever since he was a little boy. I think his own mother is afraid of him. If he hadn't been born into the Anthon family with their money, he'd already be in jail.”

The elevator
pinged
a warning and Stefano's arm swept around her, bringing her front to his side, locking her there under the protection of his shoulder. Francesca pressed her hand to his rock-hard abdomen. She could feel his heat and the reassuring muscles beneath the thin tee. Her throat went dry and her heart pounded when she heard Emilio's voice announcing Barry Anthon. She couldn't look. She didn't dare. She did trust Stefano and the others to take care of Barry—eventually. That didn't mean she didn't have the compulsion to jump on him and beat him with her fists. It would hurt like hell, but it would be satisfactory.

“Barry,” Stefano greeted. “What a surprise. I had no idea you were in town.”

Stefano's voice was calm, matter-of-fact, not at all as if just minutes earlier he had been assuring Francesca that he would be taking care of a murderer in a very permanent way. Keeping his arm tightly around her, he walked into the foyer to greet their guest.

“Good timing,” he added. “The family's here tonight.”

“I didn't mean to interrupt your dinner,” Barry said.

Her stomach lurched. She would know that voice anywhere. He sounded so normal. Genial even. She knew evil
lurked under that first layer in his tone because she heard it. The snide contempt for everyone around him. She wondered if the others could hear it as well. Cella hadn't been able to, and in the end she paid the ultimate price.

Stefano's fingers bit into her waist hard enough to hurt. She forced her lashes to lift and found herself looking directly into Barry's eyes. There was speculation there. A watchful, sardonic smirk for her alone. She refused to rise to the bait. She didn't smile in welcome; she couldn't manage even a sarcastic smile and he would never believe it anyway.

“I believe you know my fiancée,” Stefano said.

Barry inclined his head. “I do. I was in love with her sister, Cella, a beautiful woman. I'm afraid Francesca didn't approve of the match. I had hoped, over time, to win her over, but unfortunately Cella was murdered and Francesca had to place blame somewhere. It fell squarely on my shoulders. I'll admit I was surprised that you two had met, let alone gotten engaged. Francesca and her sister didn't exactly run in our circle.”

There was no faulting anything he said, or even his tone of voice, but he still managed to reduce her to the jealous, younger sister who refused approval of her older sister's relationship for petty reasons. He also had subtly pointed out that Francesca and Cella weren't members of the elite upper echelon and she didn't have his money or education. She didn't belong.

That did make her smile. She belonged to Stefano. With Stefano. She felt the others moving closer, taking her back. She belonged to the Ferraro family, and no one fucked with a Ferraro. She lifted her chin. “There is some truth in there. My sister and I certainly never have run in your circle, Barry. As for blaming you, I blame the man who murdered my sister so viciously and I always will.”

Stefano's fingers bit down again. He waved toward the great room. “Come sit down and tell us what you're doing in town.”

Barry followed Stefano and Francesca into the spacious
room and, after greeting the other Ferraros, took the armchair closest to Emmanuelle. Of course he would choose the one female Ferraro. Barry believed himself to be irresistible to women. He would flirt with Emmanuelle and try to get an ally in the enemy's camp. Francesca wondered if that was what Valentino Saldi was doing and if that was what made Emmanuelle so angry with him whenever they met. No one wanted to be used.

Stefano directed her to the long sofa. He sat close to her, keeping her tightly against him, her hand pressed to his thigh. Ricco sat on the other side of her, almost as close as Stefano. She could feel his body heat and the wave of menace pouring off him. It was tangible enough that Stefano sent him a quelling glance. Secretly, Francesca wanted to hug Ricco. He didn't like Barry's subtle attack on her.

“What brings you to town?” Ricco asked, sounding every bit as pleasant as Stefano. He gave Barry a shark's smile, all white teeth and politeness.

“There's a company in town I was looking into,” Barry admitted. “It might be worth my time to either turn it around or sell it off piece by piece. I heard about the engagement and saw some of the really nasty articles written about Francesca. I thought I might speak on her behalf so none of you would jump to the wrong conclusions about her. After all, she could have been my little sister.”

It took every ounce of discipline she had not to launch herself at Barry. Her fingers curled into claws, nails digging into Stefano's thigh. He didn't wince, but he did smooth caresses over the back of her hand. The nerve of Barry Anthon, to act like he would or ever could “speak on her behalf.”

Vittorio laughed softly. “No one has to speak on Francesca's behalf, Barry. We're all in love with her. How could anyone help be anything but in love with her? The things the paparazzi dug up are all in the past. It's just enough to feed the frenzy and to be interesting, but not enough to be a huge scandal, although we've never shied away from that.”

The siblings all laughed. Francesca managed a faint smile. Stefano grounded her with his absolute confidence. The family helped with their unconditional support.

“That's good then. Great,” Barry said. “Such a relief. Francesca is a great girl. I had hoped we'd become good friends since we shared the love of her sister.” He lifted his eyebrow at Francesca. “Perhaps one day. Have you set a date for the wedding, Stefano?” Clearly he didn't believe for a moment that Stefano was really marrying her. It was there in the subtle sneer.

Emmanuelle clapped her hands together. “I've been seeing to all the details. Francesca feels a little railroaded, I'm sure, but my mother and I are following Stefano's orders to the letter. He wants to marry his lady immediately and since we're all in total agreement, we can't put the wedding together soon enough.”

“Do you feel railroaded, Francesca?” Stefano asked, his eyes meeting hers. Voice soft. Low. Intimate. He brought her fingertips up to his mouth and nibbled, looking for all the world as if he might devour her right there in front of everyone.

She shook her head, allowing Barry to see the truth—that she was absolutely mesmerized by Stefano, completely in love with him. Barry would never have that kind of devotion and love from anyone because he couldn't feel it himself. He could never sustain his interest long enough for a woman to find herself completely and utterly in love. He needed power over and then the destruction of his pretty toys long before true devotion ever happened.

“Will you be in Chicago long, Barry?” Taviano asked.

“Enough that I rented an estate for the month. I'd like to close this deal.” He winked at Emmanuelle. “Plenty of time to hit the clubs and maybe have a dinner or two with your sister.” His voice held complete confidence.

“Barry, you're such a flatterer.” Emmanuelle batted her eyelashes at him. “And so brave with all my brothers sitting around you like a bunch of hawks. The last man who tried to take me out ended up in the hospital for two weeks. He
had thirty-seven stitches in his head and no one was altogether certain if he would ever be able to function properly, if you know what I mean.”

Barry's smile slipped. Her voice was very bright, almost as if she was teasing him, but she sounded serious enough. Francesca looked up at Stefano. He grinned, as if the memory was a happy one. Ricco cracked his knuckles.

Giovanni sighed. “We're not taking the blame for that one, Emmanuelle.” He shook his head at Barry. “She did that one all on her own.”

“Seriously?” Barry looked Emmanuelle up and down. She was small, almost slight. She had a good figure, but she was much smaller than her brothers. “I can't see that happening.”

“It's true,” Emmanuelle said with a casual shrug.

“He attack you or something?”

“He did that, he'd be dead,” Stefano said.

“Then what?” Barry insisted.

Emmanuelle rolled her eyes. “I was PMSing, okay? No big deal. I told him to back off a couple of times and he wouldn't. He should have listened. I warned him twice.”

Barry looked around at all her brothers and then he laughed nervously. “Good one, Emmanuelle. I almost believed you.”

“Where are you staying, Barry?” Giovanni asked.

“The Mardsten estate. It's very private. I brought my own security with me. I've had a few threats lately. Someone's been after my design for a new racing engine.”

“That's right,” Stefano said. “Your company has been in the developing stages for a few years now for a new engine. Is it finally finished? Are you ready to debut it on the track?”

“Not quite yet, but we're close.”

“You stole Martin Estee away from Aeronautics, didn't you? That was quite a coup. As a designer, he's the top in the business,” Ricco stated. “You got lucky, especially if he manages to design you something new. We've been working on our own for a while now.”

Vittorio nodded. “We'd give anything to be able to lure Martin away from you.”

“Although you, Taviano and Emme have done a good job for us,” Stefano pointed out to his brother. “Our last cars have kicked ass.”

Barry shifted forward, his brows coming together. “You three designed your engine?”

“Mostly Taviano,” Ricco said. “He's our ace in the hole.”

Francesca watched Barry's face closely. His facial expression had frozen, his eyes going killer cold. She shivered and wanted to protest, to do anything to draw attention away from Taviano. Didn't they all realize they were painting a target in the middle of Taviano's forehead? Barry didn't like to be bested, and the Ferraros were winning races. Ricco was an excellent driver. He'd won race after race and more than once he'd left Barry's car in the dust.