Stefano stood between his brothers, searching out the best shadows that would lead him to his chosen destination, the Bronx. He had a very bad feeling about this particular job. Something inside him kept urging him to move faster, to get it done. A shadow rider couldn’t afford to make one mistake. He was the protector of his family–the entire family in every city or town around the world. He was their key to survival.
Each move was planned carefully and meticulously. They never cut corners and they never hurried. They never made anything personal. If anything happened to a member of their family, they called in cousins–investigators and riders–from another city. That way, there was never any blowback or suspicion. Still, if he weren’t so disciplined, if it wasn’t so ingrained in him to check and recheck every single fact before entering the tube for the ride to the final destination, he would have given in to the urgency pushing at him so hard.
“I’m not feeling good about this one,” he confessed to his brothers. He stood just behind Giovanni and Taviano as they blocked him from the possibility of prying eyes as well as any cameras the paparazzi might have on them.
Below them, their New York cousins had arrived, music blaring, ready to take Stefano’s two younger brothers to several clubs, where the members of Salvatore’s family would be gathered publicly so there was no way, come morning, anyone would suspect them of having anything at all to do with any deaths in the city. No one would ever be able to connect the New York family, even in the event the social worker who had originally gone to the Ferraro greeters in New York and had laid out the problem of the seventeen-year-old girl changed her mind and went to the police. The chances of that happening were slim, but still, the Ferraros paid attention to every possibility and planned for it.
“I can get ‘sick’ or drink too much and have to go to my hotel room, or back to Salvatore’s,” Taviano offered, frowning straight ahead. They didn’t make amateur mistakes like looking over their shoulder while talking to their brother. “I’ll meet you there and back you up. The gang her uncles belong to is one of the bloodiest in New York.”
There was worry in his voice and Stefano couldn’t blame him. Not once had he ever admitted to the feeling of urgency and that something might be wrong, because it had never happened before. He hesitated, wondering if he should have his brother come along. The feeling in his gut was very, very strong. He’d never once ignored his built-in warning system. Still, the high-profile visibility of his family members partying with local family members was what kept their family safe from suspicion.
“We stick to the plan,” Stefano said after a moment’s pause. “I’ll contact you the minute I’m clear and back on the plane.”
“We’ll be waiting,” Taviano murmured. “Have you chosen your ride?”
“It’s a go. I’ll be slipping out right behind you. Franco will take care of the plane so we’re ready to get back home as soon as possible. I don’t like leaving Francesca with Anthon in town.”
Giovanni smirked at his cousins as they hurried toward the plane, waving their arms and shouting to hurry up. “Anthon bit off more than he could chew. He’s not going anywhere for a few days.”
“Ricco, Vittorio and Emmanuelle will make certain she’s safe,” Taviano added.
Stefano knew that, but they weren’t going to be in bed with her when the nightmares came. He didn’t like her being alone. He also didn’t like being away from her whether Anthon was in town or not. He wasn’t about to admit that to his brothers. He’d never hear the end of it.
“Let’s get this done,” he said, signaling his brothers to descend the stairs to the tarmac below.
He’d chosen his shadow. It was one that was wrenchingly fast. He would begin the ride into the city, heading toward the Bronx as quickly as possible. His gut feelings had always proven to be true and he wasn’t about to ignore this one. He had a sense of urgency that told him something wasn’t right and he needed to move.
He stayed close behind Giovanni until his shadow connected with the one he needed. The stripes in their suits, so thin as to be barely discernible, helped to camouflage the brothers as they stepped off the plane onto the stairs. The specially made suits blended with every shadow so that the Ferraro riders disappeared, making them indistinct.
Stefano stepped into the mouth of the tube and allowed it to absorb him. The pull was tremendous, that terrible pulling and twisting as his body was literally wrenched into the shadow. Then he was moving, sliding fast, thinking of Francesca. He didn’t want this for her. She was capable. Her shadow proved that, but he didn’t want her to be a rider. He wanted her to be safe. He wanted a life for her. Most of all he wanted her to make a home for him and his children.
New York City flew by. He didn’t try to see the events happening around him as he moved from shadow to shadow. He couldn’t save the world. That wasn’t his job. He could only help a select few. Only when asked. Only when they were certain. He was certain about this girl, and on some level, Francesca had recognized that the situation was dire. She didn’t flinch when he kissed her good-bye and left her, knowing Barry Anthon was in town.
His mother had been born a Ferraro, a shadow rider. She was trained from the time she was two, just as he had been, just as his children would be. She hadn’t found the man she could love and her marriage had been arranged. Her partner had been a rider as well, from Sicily, but he’d never been trained. The moment he found out about his wife’s legacy, he thought riding the
shadows was glamorous, a powerful skill he was determined to acquire.
Phillip took the Ferraro name, caring nothing for the strict code they were taught. He had no intention of building a home with Eloisa. He married her thinking to acquire power and money. Eventually, he came to understand what the family was about, but that didn’t make him want to stay home with his children or participate in their lives or training in any way. The shadows allowed him to keep his affairs discreet, although Eloisa knew what he did.
Their marriage deteriorated even more after their youngest son, Ettore, died while riding a shadow. Phillip spent less and less time at home, and Eloisa wrapped herself up in charity events and stayed away from everyone but her sisters and brothers.
Stefano couldn’t understand why her children never interested her. She always demanded a report the instant they returned from a job. She made certain she was involved in every aspect of the family business and she and Phillip had taken over the job of greeters after her parents died.
Neither Eloisa nor Phillip wanted a divorce. In their world, once two shadows were connected and totally interwoven, breaking those shadows apart was a frightening prospect. The riders would lose all ability to ride the shadows and the departing non-Ferraro partner would lose all memory of the family and what they did.
It was imperative that Stefano have Francesca’s full commitment. If she left him after finding out what they did, if they were already connected, their shadows tightly interwoven, she wouldn’t suffer because she wouldn’t remember loving him. But he would. He would never ride again–something he was born to do–and he wouldn’t forget her and the love he had for her. He wouldn’t forget what it was like to ride inside a portal. Interwoven shadows couldn’t just be ripped apart without consequences, once they were joined together. Stefano was born a rider. It was a hard life, but it was who he was. What he was. He couldn’t imagine living a half-life, remembering, but without the ability. He knew the few riders who had lost their partners that way had suicided or disappeared, unable to stay around the family.
Stefano changed tubes again, this time in the Bronx, finding the one that would get him closest to the home of Diego, Alejo, and Cruz Gomez, the uncles of Nicoletta. Nicoletta’s mother and father were both from Sicily. Nicoletta’s father died when she was two and her mother remarried when she was four. Her husband, Desi Gomez, adopted Nicoletta. When she was fifteen, her parents were killed in a car accident and she was sent to live with her three uncles. Her life had turned into a nightmare.
Diego, Alejo, and Cruz were all members of a very violent gang. The gang was notorious among law enforcement for running drugs, prostitution and human trafficking. They fought turf wars continuously, always looking to expand and to swallow other gangs. A young, innocent girl from a completely different way of life had no business being thrown to the wolves.
The sad part was, he knew he was already probably too late to really save her. Nicoletta had been living a nightmare for two years. That would take its toll and there was no going back from those kinds of scars. The investigators’ report had been long, listing the numerous beatings, the suspected rapes and abuse the girl had received at the hands of her three stepuncles. How was she supposed to recover from that?
The tube brought him nearly to the very side of the house where a narrow strip of weeds separated the Gomez home from the one next door. The houses all along the street were run-down, paint faded and chipped. The front steps were sagging. There were bars on all the windows and bullet holes in the siding. The front porch had old, worn furniture covered in sheets and blankets on it. A couch. Two chairs. A lawn chair.
Stefano took a careful look around, up and down the streets. The overhead streetlamps had long since been shot out. No cop was going to be patrolling the street. Debris swirled in the gutters and rushed down the street in little eddies. Several men were gathered on various porches, talking, drinking, and in one case, shooting up with a needle.
He could hear them talking, and one of them said the name Nicoletta. He chose a shadow that would bring him close to the group of men he knew were members of the same gang the Gomez brothers were in. He recognized the big man sitting on the stairs, his hand wrapped around the neck of a bottle of whiskey, his eyes on the Gomez house.
“They’d better fucking bring her out soon, or I’m going in after her,” he snarled, wiping at his mouth with the back of his hand. “I told Diego to turn her over to me or the three of them are dead men.”
The man was Benito Valdez. He was all muscle and scars from the years he’d spent in and out of prison. A great brute of a man, he scared most people just by looking their way. Even in prison he’d remained the leader of the notorious gang, running it from his prison cell. No one crossed Benito Valdez and remained alive. He had four brothers who were just as brutal as he was.
It didn’t surprise Stefano that Nicoletta had caught Benito’s eye. Even at seventeen she was beautiful. Every single picture clearly showed her physical beauty, the full, lush curves of a woman rather than of a girl. Every report had included the word beautiful in front of girl. Evidently Benito had waited long enough, or he was worried the Gomez brothers would eventually kill her. There was no doubt that Benito wanted the girl for himself. It was no wonder he had a feeling of urgency.
Stefano rode the tube back to the Gomez house and studied the layout in front of him. He couldn’t rush, no matter the growing sense of apprehension. He slipped out of the tube into the shadowy depths between the two houses and used the burner phone. “In position.” His gut churned. Anxiety burned through his nerve endings, the sense of urgency increasing. For the first time, he had to take some deep breaths to restore his normal calm. The wait seemed as if minutes ticked by slowly while in reality it was no more than a few seconds.
“You have a go.”
He snapped the phone shut, knowing he would have entered the house to check on the girl even if the answer had gone the other way. There was no payment on this one. A favor in return, but no payment. The social worker had no money, but she was willing to provide information when needed to the family. Stefano knew the New York family probably would never need to collect, but it didn’t matter. The problem had been brought to them and they had taken it on, investigated and sent for riders out of Chicago. The family charged their criminal clients enough to compensate for all those they didn’t ask monetary pay from.
Stefano looked the shadows over and found one that ran up the front steps, beneath the door and into the house. There were lights on, but not a lot, not overheads, which meant there would be shadows inside the house. Movement caught his eye and he whirled to face the threat. Taviano stood just inside the shadows beside him.
“What the hell are you doing here?” Stefano didn’t know whether to be relieved or angry. No one went against his decisions, yet there was his younger brother.
“I had the same bad feeling, Stefano,” Taviano said. “It’s getting worse and there’s no ignoring it. Don’t worry. I covered my tracks. I’ll tell you about it back on the plane when we have this done.”
Stefano nodded. He wasn’t about to waste time arguing. He found he was grateful for Taviano’s presence. If his younger brother had the same bad feeling, something was definitely off.
Stefano had already chosen his tube and he stepped into the shadow, allowing it to carry him inside. Taviano rode the shadow next to the one he was riding. The moment they were in, he knew they might be too late. He heard voices. Three men, very distinct. Taunting. Amused. Cats playing with a mouse.
“Put it down, Nic. You wave that thing at me, I’ll cut your throat with it.” Low. Furious. Didn’t mean what he said, but capable of great violence. Stefano was certain that was the one called Diego. He had a reputation for enjoying his kills.
“Stay away from me.” A sob. Nicoletta sounded young and very scared.
“I told you, bitch, you don’t cooperate with Benito, he’ll sell you. You’ll end up living the rest of your life flat on your back, chained to a bed, fucked by every man sent up to you. Better Benito than that. You choose.” That voice rang with honesty. With authority. He was the leader of the three. That one had to be Cruz. Cruz knew if he didn’t turn over the girl to the leader, he was a dead man.
“Nicoletta, put the knife down,” the third voice, probably Alejo, said. Coaxing. Amused that she thought she could defy them. A worried undertone that Benito was already going to be angry because they hadn’t brought Nicoletta to him immediately.
“I can’t do this anymore.” The desperation in the girl’s voice caught at him.
Stefano took the shadow right through the house directly to the room where all four Gomezes were grouped. Taviano rode his shadow completely across the room. Both shadows instantly connected to the shadows playing throughout the room. The men felt the jolt of connection. Small feeler tubes ran from Nicoletta’s shadow to merge with theirs. They could feel every emotion. Her terror. Her determination.
Nicoletta pressed herself against the window. Her clothes were torn. Her face was swollen and bruised. Blood trickled down her cheek from a cut over her eye and more dripped from her cut lip. There were bruises on both arms. Fingerprints around her neck. She’d been beaten repeatedly, but she’d fought back. He could see defensive wounds on her arms and hands. Even her knuckles were bruised. She had fought them hard.
“Nicoletta.” Cruz stepped closer. He was worried, his eyes on the knife. “You can’t fuck around with Benito. Put the knife down and just come with us. Alejo packed some of your favorite clothes. In a few days, Benito will let you come get the rest of your things. Put the knife down.”
She made a single sound. Despair. Horror. Desperation. Stefano knew it was too late to stop her. He wasn’t close enough to her. She lifted the knife, turned it toward her own body, ready to plunge it into her chest. Stefano’s breath hitched. He read the determination on her face. The three men must have seen it as well. Alejo reached toward her imploringly, as if he could stop her that way. Cruz, the leader, leapt for her. Diego remained absolutely still, a look of horrified fascination on his face. If she died, all three of the brothers knew Benito would kill them.
Taviano got to her first. His shadow had taken him behind her and he emerged, catching her wrist from behind, fingers ruthlessly finding pressure points so that she had no choice but to drop the knife. She cried out and struggled, fighting desperately as Taviano subdued her, trying not to hurt her. He was completely exposed, out of the shadow and all three of the brothers saw him clearly.
Stefano burst from the tube behind Diego, catching his head between both hands and wrenching hard, in the most basic kill move he’d been taught since he was a child. He dropped the body on the floor and entered the tube to slide up behind Alejo. He killed him in the same manner. Quick. Without mercy. Completely impersonal, although he had to work to keep himself under control.
Cruz heard the bodies fall. It had only taken seconds to kill both men while Cruz’s attention was centered on Nicoletta and Taviano. He whipped out a gun and pointed it at Nicoletta’s head even as he looked frantically around the room. He’d caught flashes of the intruder, but only that, a shadowy figure that moved too fast to see.
“I’ll fuckin’ kill her,” he snarled, meaning it.
Taviano shoved Nicoletta behind him, using his body as a shield. She let out a soft little cry, a protest maybe, a shocked gasp that anyone would stand up to her uncles and deliberately put their body in front of a gun for her.
“Who the hell are you? How’d you get in here?” Cruz demanded, the gun rock steady. His eyes kept darting to the two bodies on the floor. Neither moved. Neither made a sound. They looked dead, but no one else appeared to be in the room. He’d watched Taviano struggling to keep Nicoletta from killing herself. They’d both been right in front of him so who had killed his brothers?
Stefano came up behind him, emerged from the tube and locked onto his head. The moment his hands fastened on Cruz’s skull, the man pulled the trigger, but Taviano had already dove for the floor, taking Nicoletta with him, covering her body with his own.
Cruz tried to fight back, to turn the gun on the opponent he couldn’t see, but Stefano had been practicing the move since he was two years old. It was as easy for him as breathing. He snapped the man’s neck and dropped the body. “Justice is served,” he murmured.
Silence fell, broken only by Nicoletta’s ragged breathing. Taviano rolled off of her and stood up, reaching down for her. She cringed away from him, lifting her hands defensively. He caught her wrists in a gentle grip and pulled her to her feet. Her horrified gaze went to the bodies on the floor.
“Don’t look at them,” he ordered softly. “Look only at me.”
Her eyes jumped to his face. She stood, her body trembling, breathing labored, her gaze caught and held by his. The light from an overhead bulb, dim now from age, threw out shadows. He could see hers, a dark shape on the wall and floor, tubes running from it to connect with every shadow in the room, including theirs.
His heart slammed hard in his chest. He could feel her every emotion. Fear was uppermost, but there was relief, not commendation. Mostly, she was confused. Disoriented. In shock. Very, very painful.
“She’s a rider,” Taviano whispered aloud.
She was a rider, a woman capable of riding shadows, of bearing children who could ride shadows.
“It changes everything,” Stefano said. The plan had been to leave without her ever seeing him. She would call the social worker and the family’s responsibility in the matter would be over.
“We can’t leave her behind.” Taviano’s voice was firm. Absolute.
Stefano frowned at him. “Damn it, what the hell are we going to do with her?”
“She has to come with us. We have to make certain they can never find her.”
Nicoletta began to inch toward the door, back flat against the wall. She made herself as small as possible, as if by pressing against the wall they wouldn’t be able to see her. Had they not been riders, they might not have. The move on her part was instinctive. She’d become part of the shadows.
Taviano stepped in front of her, blocking her path. “We’ll get you out of here, angioletto,” he said softly. Talking as if she was a wild animal, trapped in a corner and about to bolt–and maybe she was. “Benito and his crew are close by. Just give us a minute and we’ll have you safe.”
She shook her head but she halted, clearly terrified.
There was no leaving her. Staring at her, Stefano pulled out the burner phone and punched a number. “She’s one of us. Hurt. We’re bringing her home. L and A will take her in. Make the arrangements tonight.” He made it an order, no room for arguments. “Doc. Counselor. They’ll need money for her needs. Arrange that as well. I’ll take responsibility for her.”
Nicoletta shook her head, her tongue touching her swollen lip to ease the ache. “Not for me. I’ve got to go before the others come.” She took a step back, away from Taviano as Stefano put his phone away.
“We’re not going to hurt you,” Taviano said softly. “We were sent to get you away from them.” He indicated the bodies.
She drew in air and shook her head. “They belong to a gang. They’ll never stop looking for either of you . . . or me.”
“They won’t find any of us,” Stefano assured her.
No one could be brought into the tube unless they were a rider. Nicoletta didn’t need to know how to ride, not if one of them was carrying her, but she couldn’t be aware. She wasn’t a Ferraro. No one had claimed her. He was doing something completely unprecedented, but it didn’t matter. She had to be saved. Somewhere in the back of his head, he had known, unless they got her all the way out, her uncles’ gang members would track her down and kill her. To save her life, this was the only way.
He signaled to Taviano and moved to check the window. He’d known they were in trouble all along. Benito was making his move. He flung the whiskey bottle against the side of the house and stood up, staring at the Gomez house, the others standing immediately to join him.
“They’re coming, Tav,” he announced.
“I know you don’t know me,” Taviano said softly, stepping close to Nicoletta. “But I also know you’re capable of feeling the truth when you hear it. If you stay here, even contacting your social worker to relocate you, you’re going to die. If she helps you to try to disappear, she and her family are going to die. That’s a fact. You know it and I know it. You have one chance and in taking that chance, you’ll be giving your social worker a chance at life as well. She contacted us to help you. This is me helping you.”
Tears ran down Nicoletta’s face, but Stefano was fairly certain she wasn’t aware of the fact that she was weeping. She just kept shaking her head. Still, she didn’t take her eyes off of Taviano.
“We can’t take you with us without your consent, but if you want to live, say the word and we’ll get you out of here. They’ll never find you–or us. You’ll have a new life with a wonderful couple who will treat you like a princess. My family will watch over you and protect you for the rest of your life. But you have to choose now. Right this minute. I can hear your uncles’ friends coming up the front steps to the porch.”
Her face visibly paled. She jammed her fist into her mouth, her gaze darting from the bodies to his face and then to Stefano’s. She nodded. Barely. The movement almost imperceptible. Taviano moved fast, not waiting for her to have second thoughts. She had to be terrified. Stefano had just killed three people in front of her. They were total strangers. Still, they had to look like a better bet than her uncles’ friends. He had the syringe all of the riders carried in the event they had to cope with an innocent civilian to get them out of their way. He had the needle in her neck in seconds, his arm around her waist to keep her from falling as the drug hit her system.
Her fingers clutched at his suit jacket, terror on her face, but the drug was fast acting, a good thing, as loud voices and pounding on the front door announced they’d run out of time. “Okay, angioletto, let’s get you the hell out of here.”
Stefano took her from his younger brother, lifting her slight body, cradling her tightly against his chest, wincing a little as he looked into her bruised, swollen face.
“I’ll take her, Stefano.”
Stefano shook his head. It wasn’t that easy riding wit
h another person, one unknowing. He wasn’t taking a chance with Taviano or the girl. The one and only other time he’d ridden a shadow with another rider in his arms, it had been his brother Ettore, already lost to them, so far gone there was no bringing him back. His chest tightened. He couldn’t go there.
He held a young girl. A child really. She was important to all Ferraros and she’d been hideously violated. That alone went against everything he believed in. He was taking her home to the best parents he knew. The most loving. The ones that needed a daughter when they’d lost so much. They would give her the understanding and compassion she needed to overcome what monsters had done to her.
“Let’s get the fuck out of here, Tav,” he snapped.
Stefano held Nicoletta tighter. He wasn’t losing her. Not to the shadows, not to the gang members breaking through the front door and not to the shame and despair she felt. He stepped into the portal and let it take them both. He flew past the men rushing through the house toward the bedroom, and out the open front door. He’d chosen a larger tube, one that connected with the shadows in the streets and he rode it as far as it would take him, blocks away from the Gomez house and the angry mob gathering there. He felt Taviano moving in the shadowy tubes parallel to him.
They jumped easily from one portal to the next, heading back toward the airport and the safety of the private jet waiting. Franco had the door open, lights spilling on the stairs so that they had shadows to ride all the way to the interior of the plane. The moment they emerged from the shadows, Franco closed the door and turned toward them.
“Emmanuelle called and told me to be prepared. She’s alerted Giovanni. He’ll return as soon as possible. He has to play his role out, though, just to be safe.” Franco pulled the medical kit out and handed it to Taviano. “I have the bedroom ready.”
On the private jet, there was a small room they kept for the family members who needed to sleep. The seats were comfortable and laid all the way back to provide more space if necessary, but the room had a double bed inside of it. It was kept made and ready for their late-night escapades.
Stefano carried Nicoletta into the room and laid her on the bed. “She’ll wake soon. We have to clean her up before that happens. She’s not going to want a bunch of strange men touching her after her ordeal.”
“I’ll do it.” Taviano made it a statement. “Franco, I’ll need warm water. Washcloths and towels. Did Emme leave any clothes on the plane? If not, I have a couple of flannels in my go bag. Bring me one of them.”
“Tav,” Stefano said. “You don’t want to invest too much in her. We’re turning her over to Lucia and Amo. Our family will watch over her, and we’ll provide for her, but we can’t stay involved with her. You know that. It’s too dangerous. Especially you. She knows our faces. She saw me come out of the shadow and kill her uncles. She could burn us. Bury us. If she goes to the cops . . .”
“She won’t,” Taviano said. “You’re afraid for me, not you.” He took the bowl of water Franco handed him, dipped a cloth in it and sank down on the bed beside Nicoletta. “You connected with her. She’s too afraid of Benito Valdez to ever do something as foolish as going to the police. She can take the name Fausti and be Amo’s niece come to live with them. We can give her a new identity. She’s not going to turn on us.”
Stefano watched Taviano dip the cloth into the water and gently dab at the blood on Nicoletta’s face. His youngest brother wasn’t nearly as easygoing as he liked to appear to the world. In spite of trying to bring his brothers and sister a little joy in their childhood, all of them bore the scars of absentee parents as well as whatever vicious handling had taken place during training overseas. Their father was gone most of their lives, doing whatever he chose to do, while their mother became a brutal trainer, snapping orders, demanding perfection and snarling coldly at them when they weren’t perfect.
Each of them had been sent away for a year at a time to train elsewhere in the world. Ricco had come back scarred, tough and cold as ice. He lived on the edge all the time and Stefano regarded him as a ticking time bomb. Vittorio was a peacemaker, but something burned bright and savage under all that cool. Giovanni was the most volatile. One moment he was rational and the next his temper burned out of control. Taviano appeared to be gentle. Kind. He had a sense of humor. But he wasn’t any of those things as a rule. Stefano had tried to find out what had happened to each of them in those years they’d spent with other trainers, but none of his siblings would answer him.
He’d managed to keep Emmanuelle home by insisting on training her himself. When his mother insisted she go abroad, he went with her. He stayed glued to her. It was too late to stop whatever was happening to his brothers in their training, but not what might happen to her.
Stefano had been too strong, too ruthless even as a teenager, to put up with any of the trainers putting their hands on him. He’d earned the reputation of being dangerous before he was fifteen. His brothers were every bit as dangerous as he was now, but it had taken those years away to shape them into the killers hiding behind their handsome faces.
“She belongs to us,” Stefano said. “We’ll look after her, Tav.” It was a concession to his brother, and they both knew Taviano would have defied Stefano’s authority and just done what he thought was right. “I wouldn’t have put her with Lucia and Amo if I hadn’t meant to put her under our direct protection.”
“I know that,” Taviano said. “I’m going to get rid of her clothes and I would appreciate both of you leaving the room.”
“You want me to do that? I have Francesca and I’m not in the least bit looking at her like a woman,” Stefano said. “She’s a child that needs help.”
“I know what she is. Just go.”
Stefano shook his head but didn’t protest. He needed to hear Francesca’s voice, but he couldn’t call her. He’d gotten rid of the burner phone. They never kept them once they reached the airport. There was no talking to her, not even from Franco’s phone. He needed her tonight. The things done to that child. She was a beautiful girl who would forever bear the scars of three sick, very brutal men. Had they not gotten there in time, she would be in the hands of Benito Valdez. The social worker who had contacted them thought she owed them, but in fact, Stefano knew it was the other way around. They would be forever in her debt. Nicoletta was a shadow rider just as Francesca was. She was invaluable to his family. That included the various extended family they had.
It seemed to take forever for Giovanni to get back to their private jet. By that time the girl had awakened and she was very scared. He’d tried to go into the cabin to help Taviano with her, but that only agitated her more. He couldn’t blame her. The gang her uncles had run with had prostitution rings, and it was rumored they were involved in human trafficking. She clearly thought she was being transported to some foreign country where she’d never be heard from again.
Taviano was patient with her, his voice low and gentle as he continually reassured her. He clearly was afraid to leave her alone, afraid of what she might do to herself.
“We’ll need a doctor waiting,” he told Stefano.
“Already done. Emme has already talked to Lucia and Amo and explained things. They’re willing for her to live with them and they’ll share their last name. Emme said Vittorio is working on the papers tonight. We’ll have a new identity for her and a background no one will be able to shake within a few days. Benito Valdez will never find her.”
“He’ll keep looking,” Taviano said, looking down at Nicoletta. She was exotic looking, with thick, luxurious hair and very large, heavily lashed eyes and a generous mouth. She would haunt Valdez. He’d seen her, watched her blossom into a woman. He’d acquired a taste for her, and he would keep looking.
“Let him look. She’ll be safe, Tav. No one will find her in our neighborhood, especially not Benito Valdez.”
That small exchange seemed to comfort Nicoletta. Stefano couldn’t imagine what she was going through. They were perfect strangers to her. She’d seen them emerge from the shadows and kill her uncles. They’d been fast and just as brutal as the gang they’d taken her from, no matter how elegantly they were dressed. She had no idea what they were
going to do with her.
“You’ll be all right,” Stefano assured her from the doorway when her gaze jumped to his face. She looked pale and defeated, so bruised it hurt to look at her. “You’re never going to have a normal life, not with what you’ve gone through, but you’ll know love. Lucia and Amo are two of the best people we know. I know you’re afraid, but we’ll see you through this. And we’ll watch over you. That I can promise you.”
