Ricco kept up small talk throughout their breakfast, and as they rose to walk out, he put his hand on the small of Mariko’s back again. She moved slightly, an indication that she was uncomfortable with the familiarity, but she had to get used to his touch. There was no doubt in his mind that Mariko Majo was in fact Mariko Tanaka from the legendary Tanaka family.
He knew his cousins Renato and Romano Greco were already conducting their investigation into Mariko, but this information was vital. He pulled his phone from his pocket and texted Romano one-handed. He kept the other firmly on Mariko. She could pull away if she wanted, but she would have to make that decision on her own.
Anyone could come to the Ferraro family and get an audience with the greeters. His mother, Eloisa, and father, Phillip, had acted as greeters since the death of his grandparents. They were former riders and could hear and compel the truth. Once in a while someone slipped through that shouldn’t, but it was rare. Whatever the problem that needed to be heard, at first the visitor merely talked about his life, mundane things that allowed the greeters to get a feel for his voice, respiration and heartbeat. Once that was done, the greeters would ask the visitor to state his reason for contact. They would listen with no response and then stand up, dismissing the visitor without comment. That way, if they were under investigation by law enforcement, nothing could be recorded or said that might confirm anything illegal was going on.
The greeters would turn their findings over to the investigators if they felt the visitor had a legitimate claim against someone. There were two teams of investigators. One would study the crime and the person or persons accused, while the second set of investigators would examine those making the request and look into everything about them. They didn’t want any mistakes made in their business, so there were checks and balances every step of the way protecting the family as well as those making requests.
If Mariko was a Tanaka, and her brother was in trouble, then Ricco was in far more danger than he’d first considered. Could someone blackmail a shadow rider? Shadow riders were human and they could make all kinds of mistakes, so yes, they could be blackmailed. They were born with serious flaws, just as everyone else was. He added that to the text informing his cousins. Find her brother immediately. Get everyone on it.
Ricco glanced down at Mariko as he guided her out of Biagi’s cafe and down the sidewalk so he could show her the neighborhood. He loved their community and the people in it. He wanted her to feel that same sense of camaraderie he always felt. If Mariko was a Tanaka, she might not have been better off with her own family. He’d met her father, a shell of a man, but then, he was no longer capable of riding shadows and carrying out their work.
Ricco had a small taste of what it was like to be sidelined. He found himself restless and moody, edgy even. Not that he wasn’t like that most of the time, but he was even more so without being able to do what he was born to do. He couldn’t imagine what it would be like to be a rider unable to ride permanently.
Tanaka had married a woman who had eventually destroyed him. She’d left, and in doing so, she’d torn the shadows apart, rendering Mariko’s father incapable of riding the shadows and carrying out justice for his people. The price her mother had paid was forgetting she had ever been married and had children. She remembered nothing about the Tanaka family or what they did. It was a heavy price for making a mistake in choosing one’s life partner–or being forced to take one for the sole purpose of having children like his own parents had done.
“Ricco.” Lucia Fausti waved at him from the doorway of her shop, Lucia’s Treasures.
Ricco immediately picked up the pace. Lucia was the perfect person for Mariko to meet. There was no one he knew sweeter than Lucia other than, possibly, his sister-in-law, Francesca. Lucia stepped onto the sidewalk, holding hands with Nicoletta, the teen she’d taken in when the Ferraros had asked her. Lucia and Amo hadn’t even hesitated. They’d lost their daughter to cancer when the child was three. Their son was murdered after coming home from serving in two wars and countless hot spots around the world, coming out of a theater with a date. Instead of being made bitter, the couple were closer than ever and truly wonderful human beings.
“Lucia, Nicoletta. This is Mariko.” He deliberately put his arm around Mariko’s shoulders, wanting everyone watching them to know she was under his protection.
“Ricco, so good to see you,” Lucia greeted.
He kissed both of her cheeks. She was always warm and soft. A good woman. He smiled at Nicoletta. “And you, tesoro, how are you doing?” He leaned down to brush both cheeks with his lips. Lightly. Making certain not to touch her anywhere else.
Nicoletta took a breath, but she didn’t step back until he straightened, and when she did, she stepped to the very edge of the sidewalk. “I’m good.”
Two words, but at least she spoke. Up until that moment, Ricco had never heard the teenager say a single word. She still didn’t quite meet his eyes, but her head was up instead of down. Her hair was glossy and thick, a beautiful, shiny color, so black it was nearly blue where rays of the sun hit it. He wanted the world to know this girl was also under Ferraro protection. They would shield her fiercely from any trouble.
“It’s so lovely to meet you, my dear,” Lucia said, reaching with both hands for Mariko’s. Her eyes were alive with true happiness. She smiled from Ricco to Mariko. “Nicoletta is a treasure to my husband, Amo, and me. She just took a job at the flower shop helping out Signora Vitale. Her grandson, Bruno, needs help. The shop is thriving but he can’t make the arrangements and the deliveries, and they lost their helper.”
Ricco sighed and glanced at the girl, who looked a little defiant. The Ferraros wanted her in school. The teen was extremely intelligent and needed to know that. She hadn’t been to a school since her parents had died and she’d been given to her step-uncles.
Deliberately, Ricco turned his back just a little on Lucia, knowing that if he gave her visual cues, her maternal instincts would have her answering for Nicoletta, and that wasn’t the best for the girl. The teen needed discipline and training. She needed to recover enough to face the world. Enough that she would have confidence in herself to do whatever was necessary to protect herself and those she loved.
“Nicoletta, I believe you gave your word to my family that you would go to school. Where in your plan, helping Lucia here and working at the
flower shop, does that give you time to work with tutors to catch up with your education?”
Mariko, probably sensing the girl’s discomfort, shifted slightly out from under the hand on her back, that one physical connection between them. He caught her hand, enveloping her smaller fingers and holding her still, although he kept his attention on the younger girl.
“Nicoletta?” he insisted when she remained silent, looking to Lucia to answer for her. He kept his voice low, but the note of authority couldn’t be denied.
“I want to work,” Nicoletta said, looking more scared than nervous. “I don’t want to be a burden on Lucia and Amo.”
“You could never be that,” Lucia said immediately. “We love having you. We want you to think of our home as yours always.”
Ricco heard the ring of truth in her voice and for a moment wondered if they’d made a terrible mistake. Amo and Lucia had suffered so much loss already. If they grew to love Nicoletta and she didn’t return their feelings and left immediately, he didn’t know how the couple would be able to cope with another loss.
“I know, Lucia,” Nicoletta answered immediately. “I already think of you and Amo as my home, you’ve been so kind to me.”
Listening to her voice, there was no mistaking that she meant every word, and deep inside, Ricco breathed a sigh of relief. Lucia and Amo were magic. The epitome of a loving couple going through life together. They were the perfect couple for a lost teen like Nicoletta.
“I still need an answer, tesoro. That you want to pull your weight with your family is admirable, but it doesn’t tell me how you plan to keep up with your education.” He was firm. Insistent. Nicoletta needed care, and gentle handling, but she also had to get an education. She needed her high school diploma and she had to catch up. She’d always feel inferior to others if she didn’t, and she had enough trauma to contend with.
Nicoletta toed the crack in the sidewalk, staring down at it as though it might give her answers. “I’m doing four hours with a tutor in the morning before work,” she said in a low voice. “After work, another two hours. Amo said he’d help me as well.”
“Were the tutors vetted before they were hired?”
“Your family is doing that now,” she mumbled.
He heard the resentment in her voice. He couldn’t blame her. She couldn’t turn around without stumbling over a member of his family. They guarded her carefully, knowing she truly was tesoro–treasure.
“It’s to keep you safe,” he said gently. When she didn’t respond he used a soft, commanding tone. “Nicoletta. Look at me.”
She raised her gaze to his reluctantly.
“It’s for your safety. Yours, Amo’s and Lucia’s. You understand that, don’t you?”
She nodded, color sweeping up her flawless complexion. She had Italian skin. A beautiful girl, one he knew would give his family trouble.
“What is it then?”
She opened her mouth twice, glanced at Mariko and Lucia, who were talking in low tones, clearly trying not to look as if they were eavesdropping.
“Nicoletta, you have to be able to talk to us. We’re the ones that keep all of you safe. We need to know what’s going on.”
She shrugged. “Do you think the Demons are still looking for me?”
He refused to lie to her. “I know they are. We’re watching them. They have no idea how you disappeared or how your step-uncles were killed. Unfortunately, you caught the eye of Benito Valdez, their president, and he’s determined to find out what happened to you. They’ve reached out to all the various clubs saying they’ll owe a favor for information leading to your whereabouts.”
She swallowed hard. “He’s the worst of them.”
“I know. You’re safe here. No member of the gangs or clubs come into our territory. They’re in New York. You’re here in Chicago. They have no idea.”
“I don’t want to take a chance with Amo or Lucia. They’re . . . wonderful.” She blinked rapidly and looked away from him.
“We would never take a chance with them. We consider them family.”
She moistened her lips. “I don’t know how your brothers saved me. I don’t remember very much.”
She never talked about the night her step-uncles died, not to anyone, not even her counselor. They knew, because Emmanuelle had been assigned to stay in the shadows just to make certain Nicoletta didn’t make the mistake of revealing to anyone how she had been rescued. The girl was young, an unknown, and traumatized at that. They’d taken a huge risk rescuing and giving her to nonfamily members, but she needed constant care and love. Lucia and Amo were the two people the Ferraro family could trust to do right by the girl.
Nicoletta may have been born capable of riding shadows, but if she wasn’t properly trained, her body would be torn apart by the energy field they entered. Riders were trained from the time they were infants. A few had learned later in life, but they were never fast at it. Ricco’s father didn’t take jobs unless Eloisa went with him; mostly he used the shadows to visit his mistresses. Still, Nicoletta could produce children capable of riding the shadows, and very few could do that. Nicoletta was truly the treasure Ricco called her.
There was no sound. Nothing at all to warn him. Instinct had him looking up to see a truck barreling straight at them. Someone screamed as he pushed Mariko into Lucia and caught Nicoletta around the waist. He took several steps to try to get them out of the path of the truck but it moved with them, engine roaring, coming so fast he was certain they wouldn’t make it. Still running, he tossed Nicoletta away from him, uncertain if she was the target or if he was, but he had to get her clear.
Something hit the windshield with deadly accuracy, hitting the driver’s side, head high. Ricco was so close he could see the glass spider-webbing. Without Nicoletta to hinder him, he leapt onto the hood to keep from being run over and to keep the driver’s focus on him. It was impossible to tell if the man was trying to kill the teen or him, but it wasn’t a random accident.
The driver spun the wheel, intending to send him flying. The truck barely missed Nicoletta. Emilio dragged her away from the tires as the truck lurched back onto the street. Ricco hung on grimly as the truck pitched violently from side to side, jumped the curb again, swiped two trees planted on the sidewalk and bounced into the street again.
He was about to leap off when he glimpsed a gun through the cracks in the windshield. The driver seemed to be trying to shove it out the side window, but again, Ricco couldn’t tell if he was aiming for Nicoletta or for him. He slammed his fist repeatedly into the windshield in order to keep the driver’s attention centered on him and away from the teenager.
Cars had pulled over seeing the truck so out of control, but one, directly in its path, was hit, spinning it around. The impact jolted Ricco’s body. The force felt as if someone had hit him in the head with a sledgehammer.
“Gun, gun,” Enzo shouted as he ran along the sidewalk, trying to get a clear shot at the driver. “Everybody down. Get down.”
Instinctively, Ricco rolled across the hood and landed hard in the street. Emilio was on him in moments, covering his body with his own, both bodyguards returning fire. Blood spattered the windows and the seat as the driver was hit. The truck lurched to a slow roll. Emilio leapt off Ricco and ran to the truck just as Enzo tore open the door to steer it to the curb.
Ricco was slower sitting up than he’d like. He’d hit hard, and his body was still healing. His head hurt the worst, every movement sending what felt like shards of glass piercing his skull. It took every single bit of discipline he had to set his teeth and just sit there in the street without keeling over. Sweat beaded on his forehead and trickled down his chest.
It took him a few moments to orient himself and understand what had happened. He’d managed to shove Mariko into Lucia and both had gone flying, but they were safe. He could only send up a short prayer that Lucia hadn’t broken a hip or done worse when she hit the ground. He knew he’d gotten Nicoletta clear, but the driver had fired off several shots before one of his cousins had stopped him. He had no idea if anyone had been hit.
A cool hand swept back his hair. Mariko crouched beside him, her body between his and the sidewalk where half the village was watching. If anything told him she was a shadow rider, that instinctive need to protect a fellow rider said it all. His gaze moved over her face, examining her for injuries.
“Lucia?”
“She’s good. I rolled under her and she didn’t even hit the sidewalk. Nicoletta’s fine as well. He fired several shots into the crowd but no one was hit, thanks to Enzo shouting for everyone to get down. Can you get up?” As she gave him all the pertinent information, her hand wiped away the beads of sweat.
She’d rolled to keep Lucia from hitting the pavement. Fast, fast reflexes. He’d shoved her hard to get her clear, deliberately making the choice to send both flying to get them out of harm’s way. Even with a shove like that, hitting Lucia and going down, she had the presence of mind to roll before they struck the sidewalk. Definitely a shadow rider. Had he still been considering that he was wrong about her, the way she was guarding him from interested eyes and her astonishing reflexes said it all.
He had to get up. There was no choice. “Were they after Nicoletta? Or me?” he asked. “Could you tell?”
“I’m sorry, no. But it was deliberate.”
He gave her a small smile. His head hurt just making the little movement to look fully at her. Damn, but she was beautiful. He could look at her forever. He planned to do just that, and sitting on his ass in the middle of the street wasn’t helping his cause. He took a breath, steeled himself and forced his body into a standing position. Waves of nausea crashed through him instantly, but he made it to his feet.
Mariko slipped her arm around his waist. “Where should we go?” She was asking him how to get him out from under the eyes of the public.
The sound of sirens was loud. The police would want to question him. He couldn’t just leave, no matter how much he wanted to. Ricco straightened his body, ignoring the painful protests. “The deli. Masci’s. They’ll have chairs and I need to sit. Francesca will be there.”
Mariko blinked up at him. Francesca will be there. She was helping him, but he thought Francesca could do a better job. She was quite capable of looking after his injuries without another woman interfering. She forced her mind away from jealousy. That horrible tiny flare of resentment couldn’t be called anything else.
Ricco Ferraro didn’t deserve death. Whatever crime he had supposedly committed to be on someone’s hit list, there had to be extenuating circumstances. Mariko had been delivering justice to criminals since she was fourteen years old. She knew criminals and she knew good.
The moment Ricco had realized there was a truck barreling down on them, he’d shoved her into Lucia, moving both out of its path. He’d had to turn and catch Nicoletta up, running with her to get her clear. He could have saved himself and left the others to their fate, but he’d risked his life to get them all clear–especially the teenager. He had placed himself in jeopardy.
The driver had been determined to kill them. Or one of them. Mariko honestly didn’t know which one. It stood to reason that the intended victim had been Ricco, but only because she’d been ordered to kill him. Even after he’d thrown the girl from him, the truck had continued on its course to crush her. Mariko had managed to throw a rock at the windshield to obscure the driver’s vision and hopefully slow him down. He’d pointed a gun out of the driver’s side window, but it was impossible to tell if he was firing at anyone in particular.
Ricco moved with his fluid, flowing walk, although she could tell he was really hurting. She was fairly certain no one else could. Emilio and Enzo moved in on either side of them. She kept her arm firmly around his waist, helping to support him without looking as if she were.
He went straight to Lucia and the teenager, who were pressed against the side of the building. He took Lucia’s hand and bent to brush a kiss across her cheek. “Are you both all right?”
Nicoletta, her arms around Lucia, nodded. “I texted Amo. He’s on his way. I’m going to take Lucia to the deli and get her something to drink. I’ve already locked the store.”
She appeared suddenly very grown-up, not at all the young, uncertain teen Mariko had been introduced to. She was transformed, somehow, by the crisis, but she looked scared and resigned. She looked like a girl hunted–and haunted–yet standing up now that whatever the trouble was had found her.
“Nicoletta.”
Ricco’s voice was so gentle it turned Mariko’s heart over.
“We don’t know what this is about yet. We’re going to wait and see before jumping to conclusions. We’re heading to the deli as well, so we’ll walk with you. Emilio and Enzo are with us, and my family will be here any moment.”
So would the police. The sirens were louder than ever, and clearly that made Nicoletta nervous as well. Still, the girl’s hands on Lucia were steady and she nodded, turning the older woman toward the deli. Ricco and Mariko walked behind them, and as they did, Mariko for the first time could see the shadows on the teenager. She threw tubes out, tubes that sought connections with other shadows. Her breath caught in her throat. The girl was more of a mystery than ever. Clearly she was a shadow rider.
Ricco walked upright, making every effort not to lean on her, but she kept her arm firmly around his waist, fitting under his shoulder when she never would have walked so intimately with a man. Strangely, she didn’t mind. In fact, she liked thinking of him as hers to take care of and she dreaded getting to the deli where Francesca would take over. She wondered why he’d had to advertise for a rope model if he had Francesca.
Instinctively, she knew Ricco wouldn’t want her to ask him if he was all right. They both knew he wasn’t and he wouldn’t want to acknowledge the truth of that, or let anyone else know. She was well aware he was still recovering.
Looking up at him, at his handsome, rugged features, one couldn’t tell that every single step was agony, but she could. She was connected to him through their shadows and she felt his pain. He was stoic, as every shadow rider had been taught to be, but she didn’t like that he was so exposed. Out in the open. Every eye seemed to be on him.
She knew the impression they were giving to the watchers. She appeared to be his current girlfriend, something that didn’t sit well with her. She didn’t like the idea of being one of so many. His women never lasted long, most no more than a night, and the idea of the paparazzi getting ahold of her picture with him was distasteful. Still, she couldn’t let go of him or move away.
“Thank you.”
He said the words so softly she almost didn’t hear. She glanced up at him again and found his eyes fixed on her face. He knew what she was feeling. As she was growing up no one could read her, not even her beloved brother. She kept a serene mask in place despite every humiliation, every beating. She scrubbed floors and trained harder than every male rider, uncaring how sore she was and never allowing anyone to see how much she hurt. She had more practice than any other rider that she knew of in hiding how she felt, yet Ricco read her.
“You’re welcome.” What else was there to say?
A beautiful woman with Italian flawless skin, lots of generous curves, and a wealth of black hair stood holding open the door of the deli. Instinctively, Mariko knew this was Francesca. Francesca put her arms around Lucia and drew the older woman and teen inside the store, but her eyes were on Ricco, assessing the damage to him. Mariko knew it looked bad. His clothes were torn and bloody from the fall off the hood of the truck to the street.
“No gunshot wounds, cara,” Ricco assured her. “It looks worse than it is.”
That was such a lie. Surely she wouldn’t believe him, but Mariko could see the relief in her eyes as she turned away to help Nicoletta with Lucia. Ricco didn’t let go of Mariko. If anything, he held on to her tighter. His touch all at once seemed possessive, although what had changed, she didn’t know.
“Mr. Ferraro.” A shorter man, clearly the owner of the deli, hurried toward them. “Is everything okay? What can I do? What do you need?”
“It’s Ricco, Pietro,” he corrected and pulled out a chair for Mariko.
She was afraid to let go of him, but he stood stoically, his face a little pale. There were beads of sweat on his forehead, but she knew anyone seeing him would put it down to the wild ride on the hood of the rampaging truck.
Pietro bobbed his head and watched anxiously as Ricco sat down at the table with Lucia and Nicoletta.
“We’d appreciate as much privacy as possible, Pietro,” he said. “The police will be in asking questions soon. I imagine my family will show up as well. Emilio and Enzo must talk to the cops. I’ve texted our lawyer and he’ll be here soon. We’ll pay you for the loss of business, of course.”
Pietro waved his hand to dismiss such a notion, but Mariko knew the Ferraro family would insist. Pietro clearly knew it, too. He rushed over to the door and locked it, turning the sign to closed, and then hurried back behind the counter. Francesca returned from the back with a washcloth and towel. Ricco took both and just held them.
“Lucia, should I call the doctor to look you over?” he asked.
“No, no, I’m just shaken. I thought I would lose Nicoletta, and I can’t lose another child.” She clung to the teenager. “Already Amo and I think of her as our family.” She leaned into Nicoletta heavily.
The girl wrapped her arm around the older woman. “You aren’t going to lose me. Did you see Ricco? He moved like lightning.” The teen managed a small laugh, and Lucia responded with a smile, blowing him a kiss.
“Mariko, you hit the ground hard. Do you need a doctor?” Lucia asked.
“Thank you,” Nicoletta added, looking at Mariko for the first time. “Lucia told me you saved her from the truck as well as a very bad fall.”
“It was actually Ricco saving both of us from the truck,” Mariko corrected. “He shoved me into Lucia hard enough that we both were cleared from the path. He did that before he grabbed you and ran.”
A man emerged from the hallway behind Pietro. She knew immediately he had to be a Ferraro. He came striding out from behind the counter, his gaze moving first over Ricco, taking in the blood, torn clothes and beads of sweat, then moving on to Nicoletta, Lucia and finally to her. He was every bit as intimidating as Ricco. He looked younger, but no less lethal.
“Ricco?” One word. He injected more into that single name than she could imagine anyone doing.
“I’m fine, Giovanni. This is Mariko. She took care of Lucia for me.”
She took the wet cloth from his hand, very annoyed at his darling Francesca for not bothering to try to clean up the wounds. It would be a wonder if he didn’t get an infection. She glared at him when he tried to pull away. To her shock, he allowed her to dab at the blood and sweat on his face.
“Mariko,” Giovanni said.
She was beginning to think just saying a name was a language in itself; she just didn’t know the family well enough to know what the inflections meant. She nodded, noting Giovanni bent to brush Francesca’s cheek first and then Lucia’s and Nicoletta’s. Nicoletta went stiff, but she didn’t pull away.
Giovanni toed a chair around and straddled it, sitting across from his brother. “Was it deliberate?”
Nicoletta made a small sound of distress and instantly Francesca and Lucia put an arm around her. Mariko wished she knew where the girl fit in and what had happened to her, why someone might be after her.
“Yes.” Ricco’s voice was clipped. “But we don’t know who. It looked as if they were trying for either Nicoletta or me, but it could have been Mariko as well.”
“Or Lucia,” Nicoletta said, her voice tight.
Mariko was aware of another brother. He emerged from behind them, where the deeper shadows were.
“Bullshit,” the newcomer said. “No one would ever want to harm Lucia, would they amore? Well, not unless you stole some woman’s man. Or ran off with one of your ten thousand admirers.”
“Taviano,” Lucia said softly. “You know if Amo throws me out, I will run to the Ferraro family. No other men can compare.”
Taviano bent down to brush a kiss across her cheek, touched Nicoletta on the top of her head and hugged Francesca. “What trouble are you in now, Ricco?”
Mariko noticed that Nicoletta avoided Taviano’s gaze, as she did Ricco’s and Giovanni’s. Taviano smiled at Mariko. “I’m Taviano,” he announced. “One of Ricco’s many brothers.”
“Mariko,” she said, concentrating on getting the blood off of Ricco’s head. He’d hit the side of it fairly hard. The road had shredded his suit down one arm and part of his thigh. Blood seeped through the material. He sucked in his breath when she laid the cloth on his arm over the torn flesh. “Ricco, I don’t think you need stitches, it’s mainly surface, although there are a couple of spots that are deep.”
“It’s fine,” he said abruptly and pulled away from her.
She knew immediately he was embarrassed in front of his brothers and the other women. He didn’t want them to know he was hurt, although how he could hit the street like that and not get hurt, especially after the car crash, she couldn’t see.
“Don’t be a dick, Ricco,” Giovanni said.
“I’m not being a dick,” he objected. He took the cloth from her and tossed it on the table. “I’m being brave. Can’t you tell the difference?”
He said it straight-faced and it was all Mariko could do to keep from laughing.
“Amo is at the door, Pietro,” Francesca said, already hurrying to allow Lucia’s husband inside. “Vinci is with him.”
“Our lawyer,” Ricco told Mariko. He caught her hand, curling his fingers around hers and bringing it to his chest as he leaned into her. “I’m sorry for being a dick. Sometimes I just am, but I’ll watch it.”
Giovanni snorted his derision. “Sometimes? Don’t believe a fucking thing he says, Mariko. It’s all the time.”
She could hear the affection in their voices. They included her in their circle, and it made her feel ashamed. She should have pulled her hand from Ricco’s but she told herself she didn’t want to embarrass him. If she was strictly honest with herself, that had nothing to do with it, but she just couldn’t go there yet.
As Vinci and Amo entered through the front door, two more men came from the back of the store. Mariko knew immediately that these were also Ricco’s brothers and one of them was definitely Stefano Ferraro, head of the Ferraro family. The family was legendary around the world, known to other riders, respected and admired. He strode in, his gaze taking in everything, the minutest detail, but mostly he was centered on his brother, noting every detail, every road burn, his color and breathing.
She had the strangest need, almost a compulsion, to shield Ricco from his brother’s scrutiny. From all of them. She sensed he detested appearing weak in front of anyone, but especially his family. He didn’t relax; if anything, he became much more tense. She moved closer to him, not understanding her need to shield him, but determined to do so all the same.
From the back, a woman hurried into the room. She was dressed in the same pin-striped suit her brothers were wearing, and there was no mistaking she was Emmanuelle Ferraro. She was absolutely gorgeous with her blue eyes and her thick dark hair. “Ricco!” She rushed right up to him and flung her arms around him, practically dragging him out of the chair. There were genuine tears in her eyes.
“I’m all right, Emmanuelle. A little truck can’t hurt me,” he assured.
“No, but the fall on top of your car going into a wall might,” she objected. She hugged him again.
Mariko wanted to tell her that just touching him had to hurt him, but she kept silent, wondering when the last time she hugged her brother had been. Had she ever showed him the love she felt? Told him? She’d let Osamu Saito stamp out every joy in her, every bit of personality. As she’d grown, she moved through life in silence, hoping not to be noticed, afraid of drawing attention to herself.
She was big. Clumsy. Ugly. She’d brought shame on her family with her American looks and her undisciplined passion, which clearly meant she followed in the footsteps of her whore of a mother.
She was surrounded by Ferraros. They were shadow riders. Americans. Their reputation was impeccable. They weren’t considered undisciplined; they were almost revered. They freely showed affection to one another, and concern. It was clear they loved one another. She couldn’t imagine that they would go very long without expressing that love. She loved her brother–loved him with everything in her–yet she couldn’t remember telling him, not since they were very little and she’d whisper it to him, afraid of being overheard.
Suddenly she could barely breathe. She was always calm, yet now, in the face of the knowledge that she might never find her brother, never be able to tell him that she cared, she couldn’t breathe. Couldn’t find a way to catch her breath. She wasn’t being fair to Ricco, contemplating killing him when she knew she never would. He was too good of a man. But she’d come with the vague idea that she might, and now she was using him to hide while she figured out her next move. That wasn’t fair, either.
She’d tried to live a life of honor, but practically overnight she’d become the very person Osamu Saito had pounded into her night and day–that person she’d always told herself she wasn’t and could never be. Her throat closed and it seemed impossible to draw in air. Around her, the talk continued, the brothers reassuring themselves that Ricco, Lucia and Nicoletta were all right. They thanked Emilio and Enzo as well as her.
She felt a fraud. A terrible fraud. If they all knew that she had come to kill Ricco Ferraro, that she was willing to harm a fellow shadow rider, none of them would want to sit in the same room with her. She had to go. Right then. She knew the police were coming to question everyone; she heard the lawyer assuring them that the cameras in the street would have picked up the action. Still, she couldn’t stay. She had to leave.
She made one small move, a simple shifting of her feet. Ricco leaned back in his chair and wrapped his arm around her, drawing her close to him. At the same time, his head turned until his mouth was close to her ear.
“Stay with me, Mariko. I want you to stay.”
