Stefano rode the shadows to Francesca’s apartment building, his gut in knots, his rather famous temper held in check by a mere thread. He was furious. Beyond furious. Emilio had been tense, quiet, and very upset when he’d described the apartment Francesca resided in. He’d bit out the ugly description between clenched teeth, a muscle working hard in his jaw. There was a storm of fury gathered in his eyes.
The Ferraro neighborhood stopped just two small storefronts before her building. Their block ended and they paid little attention to the state of properties bordering them. They couldn’t monitor the entire world, so they were careful not to interfere, other than to warn any criminal coming into their territory not to come back.
Why the hell had Joanna allowed her friend to get an apartment outside their territory? He wanted to pay her a visit, yank her ass out of her comfortable bed in her safe home and demand the reason. It was fucking bullshit to allow Francesca in harm’s way while Joanna was taking advantage of the Ferraro protection.
Joanna knew where the borders were. Francesca didn’t. Joanna knew that anyone living in their neighborhood was protected inside their borders and would be watched over and
avenged if anything happened outside of them. Francesca was vulnerable where she was. Joanna knew that. The moment she heard Stefano claim Francesca as his, she should have insisted her friend move within the borders or at least come to him and tell him the situation. Anything could have happened to her.
Emilio had been very uneasy just entering the apartment building. Everyone in the Ferraro family was born with a psychic gift. Most weren’t shadow riders, but they were sensitive to the world around them. If Emilio said something was wrong in that building, there was no question that he was right.
Stefano stepped from the tube and waited until the car glided up, hovering at the curb, Taviano behind the wheel. He could have caught the ride with his younger brother, but he had needed to be alone. He was far angrier at himself than he’d ever been in his life. His first duty was to Francesca. He should have ensured her safety before anything else–even a job. Without her, there would be no future generations.
The Ferraro family needed her to survive. He needed her. Now that he knew of her existence, it was all he could think about. His own woman. He’d never really believed he would find her. To have her just show up, walk right through his territory, her shadow reaching for his, connecting so strongly with his that the jolt had felt like a lightning bolt flashing through his entire body.
He took a deep breath and tried to let some of the anger go. He would need to keep his foul temper under control to get her to cooperate. If Emilio lost his temper looking at this place, Stefano was fairly certain he’d lose his mind. She wasn’t staying–and there was going to be retribution.
There was no keypad on the outer wall beside the door. Anyone could enter, not just the residents. No safety features whatsoever. His gut tightened and his jaw clenched. With controlled violence, Stefano yanked open the door and stepped inside the building. He stopped just inside, taking a deep breath as he looked around him. The lighting was very dim, only a few of the overhead lightbulbs actually working. The elevator was to his left. It looked like a death trap. The stairway was to his right, and that didn’t look much better. Again, the lighting was poor. Half of the stairs appeared to be in the dark.
Enzo slid out of the murky darkness, coming from around the corner. Renato and Romano Greco, in their distinctive dark suits, the dark purple ties indicating to their family they were investigators, possessing the ability to hear lies, lounged near the door to the first apartment. Giovanni approached from the far corner. He didn’t look happy.
Renato gestured toward the door. “He’s in there. Name’s Bart Tidwell. He’s got a rap sheet you wouldn’t believe. Inherited the building from his daddy. The daddy was just as fucked up as he is.”
“What kind of rap sheet?” Stefano asked, knowing just by his gut instinct he wasn’t going to like it. He didn’t need the look of utter distaste on either of his cousins’ faces.
“B and E, multiple counts. Armed robbery. More importantly, he’s a sex offender. Two counts of aggravated rape. Served time on one of them. Several arrests after that, but every time since then the charges have been dropped. Stefano, each time, the alleged rape occurred in his building,” Romano warned. “He fancies himself a fighter, ex-boxer, and he likes to go to bars and beat the shit out of people. Again, the charges are always dropped.”
“He have family? Someone who would put pressure on the witnesses or victim for him?” Stefano asked.
“We’re still digging. The only person in his life that appears to be constant is his lawyer.” He glanced at his watch. “Facts are still coming in. Mamma e papa are still working that angle. Stefano, the lawyer is Adamo Bergenmire. He’s the head lawyer for the Saldi family.”
There was a small silence. “Damn it,” Enzo said softly. “We should have known that fucking family would be involved.”
Stefano shrugged. “We’ve already got a feud going with them. We have had for centuries. What the hell difference will it make if we piss them off again? I’m happy to stick it to them any chance we get. It’s not like the old days, Giovanni, when they could wipe out all of us in one shot. We got smart. They can’t get to all of us and they know it. They order a hit and someone’s going to be slitting their throats right in their bedrooms.”
“We don’t retaliate like they do, killing every man, woman and child,” Renato said. “Don’t have it in us and they know it.”
Stefano nodded. “But we’ve retaliated enough that the bosses fear us. They aren’t going to come after us because there’s a connection between Tidwell and the Saldi family. Hell, they’ll probably be happy to get rid of the pain in their ass. Let’s pay him a little visit.” Stefano glanced at Enzo. “You have men upstairs?”
“Do you need to ask? I called in half our crew to protect her. Ricco’s watching her door personally. Had a couple of nonresidents on the floor, but they left when they saw us. We weren’t trying to be invisible.” He sounded as grim as Stefano felt.
Romano knocked on the owner’s apartment door. Hard. Controlled anger in the sound. Within a minute the door was flung open, the occupant cursing at them. He was a big man, bald, with roped muscles and a scowl meant to intimidate. He wore jeans and a wifebeater. There was a beer in his hand.
Stefano stepped into him, delivering a short, hard punch into the belly, and the man folded. Stefano walked him backward into the apartment, his men coming in behind him. Enzo closed the door and stood against it while Romano prowled through the apartment to ensure they were alone.
The room was messy, beer bottles everywhere. It stank of a combination of cigarettes and weed.
“You’re going to want to take a look at this, Stefano,” Romano said, poking his head out of the room at the far end of the apartment.
Stefano skirted around Tidwell and glanced into the bedroom. There was a bank of screens set up along one wall. Each screen showed an occupant’s bedroom. A recorder displayed a green light beneath each screen, clearly spying on the women dressing, undressing, bringing in men and performing various sexual acts meant to be strictly private. Rows of labeled home-recorded DVDs were on the shelves.
Stefano immediately suspected this was why the charges of rape had been dropped. Tidwell showed his victims tapes and threatened to put them on the Internet. The third screen from the left showed Francesca asleep on a sleeping bag in the corner of the room, her long hair spread across a pillow. There was no furniture in the room at all. His coat hung on a single hanger above her head. In the opposite corner was a small bag. He presumed her clothes were in it.
He ran his fingers along the DVDs, finding the latest ones, the recordings labeled Francesca. He shoved one in the player and watched as Francesca walked through her door. She turned and pressed the lock and looked around the empty room. She was in his coat. His stomach settled just a little, feeling as if she at least had that protection. Very carefully she shrugged out of his coat and hung it on the only hanger. She stood in front of it, smoothing out imaginary wrinkles, her hands lingering. He liked that. Too much. His gut tightened. She looked vulnerable. Sad. His heart clenched. She pulled her blouse over her head and very carefully folded it, standing in her bra and jeans. Rage ripped through him.
Bart Tidwell had watched his woman undress and shower. He’d violated her privacy. Invaded her home. Swearing, Stefano watched as she stepped into the shower to start the water. Her hands went to the back of her bra and he switched the video off. Gathering up everything that said Francesca, including the one still recording, he caught up one more that he was certain depicted a rape–just in case he had no choice but to prove to Francesca he was telling the truth when he took her the hell out of there. He had a feeling she’d resist, and he wasn’t about to let her stay.
Stefano bit out several ugly words, ripped the cord from the wall and slammed the screen to the floor. It shattered with a loud crash. “I want all of these DVDs collected and destroyed. Every single one of them.”
Enzo nodded. “What do you want done with him?”
“Who inherits the building if he disappears?”
Tidwell let out a mewing noise and frantically shook his head. Stefano glanced at him. The man was on his knees, his mouth bleeding, his nose broken and one cheek split open. Emilio had returned, and he was definitely nearly as angry as Stefano.
“No one,” Romano reported. “It will be a nightmare for the tenants. Renato checked in. He has an aunt, but she’s not listed as his heir, but my guess is when it’s all straightened out, she’ll be the one inheriting and she’s married to a . . .”
“Saldi. Fucking building should be condemned,” Emilio snarled. He took out a gun and pressed the barrel to Tidwell’s head. “Pervert needs to die, Stefano. Give me the word.”
“Not like that,” Giovanni said. “You’re as bad as my brother. Get Vinci. We’ll need his expertise. Nothing like having a lawyer in the family. Stefano, let us take care of this piece of shit and you get your woman and get her the hell out of here.”
“You take this building, Giovanni,” Emilio said, “and we’re going to be bleeding money into it for a long time. To include it, we’ll have to expand our borders. We need a vote on that.”
Stefano glared at him. “Fuck the vote. Some of these women have been through enough. He filmed his own rapes. Did you look at those titles? We can renovate the building and give them a decent place to live.”
Tidwell tried to rise and Stefano turned and hit him. Stefano was enormously strong and the man went down as if he’d been hit with a baseball bat.
Emilio shrugged. “I guess I can’t argue with that.” He pulled his cell phone from his pocket. “I’ll call Vinci and have him get over here to straighten this out.”
Stefano pinned Tidwell with his eyes. Flat. Cold. Killer’s eyes. “You want to sell this piece of real estate, don’t you, Tidwell? It’s nothing but an albatross around your neck.”
“You don’t know who you’re fucking with.” Tidwell spat on the floor at Stefano’s feet, a mixture of blood and saliva.
Stefano raised his eyebrow. “You mean your connection to the Saldi family? We know. You get into a lot of trouble, Bart. A lot. You make Adamo work for his money, don’t you? They have to continually send their top lawyer in to get your ass out of trouble. Then there’s the muscle to scare the crap out of your victims and the witnesses. You’re more trouble than you’re worth.”
“My aunt . . .”
“Thinks you’re a piece of shit, and her husband knows you are. Selling this building would make them happy, don’t you think?” Stefano’s voice was softer than ever. He pushed at the soft leather between his fingers, bringing Tidwell’s attention to his thin gloves.
Tidwell licked his lips and then shook his head. “No. No. I d
on’t want . . .”
Emilio crouched low and shoved his gun under Tidwell’s chin. “That’s too bad. My cousin’s woman is in this building and you were violating her privacy. He’s not a patient or forgiving man the way I am.”
“I didn’t know. I didn’t know who she was. I swear, I wasn’t going to touch her. I’ve stopped doing that. Adamo said if I did it again . . . I’m cured.”
“You want to sell, don’t you, Tidwell?” Stefano asked again, ignoring his confession and declaration.
Tidwell looked around the apartment, his gaze going cunning. “Yes. Yes. Let me up. I’ll sign any papers.”
Stefano smiled. It wasn’t a nice smile, but then he wasn’t feeling nice. Tidwell thought himself a fighter. He was big, and most bar fights he got into were with others not his size. They didn’t have his skill.
“Let him up,” he ordered softly.
Emilio stepped back and Tidwell exploded into action, rushing Stefano, trying to wrap him up with both arms. Stefano stepped to the side and slammed his fist deep into Tidwell’s ribs. He felt the satisfying give beneath the devastating punch. Tidwell grunted. Turned white.
Stefano had trained from the time he was two years old. He’d never stopped training. His four brothers and sister had all been put through the same regimen as he had. They were pitted against the best opponents the family could find until they moved like lightning, smooth and fast, each punch or kick penetrating the body with such force, it shook up the insides, broke bones and damaged internal organs. They still trained every single day.
His cousins, although not riders, were all proficient as well. They worked together for the good of the family. It was drilled into them from birth. There was no other way of life but that constant training of the body, turning it into a weapon, and the education of the mind.
Stefano was fast, systematic and relentless. Tidwell didn’t land a single punch. The beating was both brutal and savage. Deliberate. Inflicting as much pain as possible. Lamps were smashed, furniture overturned and beer bottles crushed as the boxer tried his best to get away from the punishing blows. Eventually, and way too soon as far as Stefano believed, Tidwell hit the floor hard. Stefano didn’t end it there, but continued the vicious assault.
“You’re going to kill him,” Giovanni pointed out. “He needs to sign over the building. He’s already unconscious.”
Stefano stepped back immediately. In spite of his jacket, he hadn’t worked up much of a sweat. “You know what to do when it’s done, Giovanni,” he said. “Make certain you drop a few hundred thousand into his account so it’s all legit. We want the deal to be solid and to stand up under any scrutiny, especially if this fucker goes missing.”
“Stefano,” Giovanni cautioned. His tone was mild.
The two brothers locked gazes. Stared at each other while the temperature in the room seemed to go up and the air was so heavy with rage, it felt impossible to breathe.
“Damn it, Gee.”
“I know. I feel the same way.” Giovanni didn’t look away.
Stefano sighed and shook his head. “Where do I put this rage?”
“Not here. You know that. Nothing close to us. Nothing personal. He has to be seen. We can beat the shit out of him, but that’s all. We protect the family. Always.”
“Fucking call New York. I want Geno in on this one,” Stefano capitulated softly. His cousin Geno from New York would have to handle the problem of Bart Tidwell. He yanked out his cell phone and dialed a number.
“Yeah, Saldi, Stefano Ferraro. I’m standing here in this piece of shit’s apartment. I understand he belongs to you.”
There was silence.
“Tidwell,” Stefano confirmed. “He was after my woman. He’s got hundreds of recordings the cops would like to get ahold of. Rapes he committed. Watching the women in his building. He’s got it right in his bedroom. That’s how stupid this dumb fuck is.”
The explosion of foul words on the other end of the phone was loud enough for everyone in the room to hear.
“Out of courtesy, we’re going to destroy that evidence,” Stefano assured, his voice soothing. “We’ll leave the fucker on your doorstep. He’ll be a little worse for wear, but that might be beneficial. He might listen. If not, well, that’s up to you.”
More silence while Stefano listened.
“No, Saldi, that’s not what’s going to happen.” Stefano’s voice dropped even lower. “He fucking went after my woman. He’s going to pay, and he’s damn lucky I feel in the mood to extend courtesy to you. He’s going to hand over the building and he’s going to get the beating of his life. He can count himself lucky that’s all that’s happening. He comes near what’s mine again, I’ll rip his fucking heart out. Got that? Are we clear? I hope we are, because if you really want to go to war over this piece of shit, I’m willing. That’s how pissed I am right now.”
More silence while the voice on the other end soothed him. Assured him the deal was fine. Stefano snapped his cell phone shut–the cell phone that made his brothers and sister laugh at him. He had a bad habit of throwing the damn thing whenever it pissed him off, which was often. They thought he should have a smartphone, the way they all did, but he liked slamming the damn thing closed when he was annoyed with whoever was on the other end. He looked at his brother. “I want Vinci to make certain the real estate deal is airtight. Tell Geno this weekend when we’re at the club. If Tidwell’s in Saldi’s home, all the better.”
“Sorry, Stefano. No.” Emilio shook his head. “Not this one, cousin. This one’s mine.”
Stefano’s gaze jumped to his cousin. “I had another job in mind for you, Emilio.” They didn’t like any other family member other than a rider to get blood on their hands if at all possible. Emilio had a kind heart, but he was a Ferraro through and through. He didn’t like men who harmed women.
“What would that be?”
Stefano jerked his head toward the door. Reluctantly, Emilio followed him out into the hall. “Call Vittorio and tell him you’ll meet him at Joanna’s house. I want her woken up tonight. Have him drag her ass out of bed and down to you. The two of you get answers. Those answers had better make sense to me.”
“Stefano,” Emilio cautioned. “I know you have every right to be angry. No way did Joanna know that Francesca would be spied on by the owner of this dump.”
“You and I both know Tidwell was setting up to fucking rape Francesca. Joanna sleeps good at night, and so does her family because of us. We give them that. The moment she knew Francesca was my woman she should have gotten her out of this shit hole. Tidwell saw Francesca undressing. Showering. He looked at her without her consent. He’s a fucking dead man, but Joanna needs to answer to la famiglia. You tell Vittorio that I don’t like the answers, it will be me conducting the next interview and I won’t be polite.”
“Stefano . . .” Emilio cautioned.
“You like Joanna. You’re friends with her family. So am I, but Emilio, right now, I don’t trust myself. By now, Vittorio knows what is happening here. He’ll be as pissed as I am. I need you to do this right.”
There was a long silence. Emilio sighed. “You’re not sending me away because . . .”
“No. I need to make certain none of us do anything stupid tonight. If I was the one questioning her, I have no idea what I’d do. I need you to do this for me, Emilio.”
“Go get your woman, Stefano,” Emilio advised, capitulating. “Everyone’s going to feel a whole hell of a lot better when she’s safe.”
“Vinci has to make certain the deal is done a couple of days earlier. Can he get the papers filed with the correct dates?”
“That’s his department, and he’s never let us down. He’s really good at what he does, Stefano. You can’t micromanage this. Just go get her,” Giovanni advised. “I’m holding on by a thread, too. One of us has to be sane here, and I’m going to lose it if you don’t get her out of this place.”
Stefano took a deep breath and clapped his brother on the shoulder. Famiglia. This was how it had worked for centuries. They had developed into a single entity. One stepping up when another needed them. Stefano was always the leader, but his brothers were more than capable of leading. They were every bit as dedicated and trained as he was. He was grateful for Giovanni. R
ight then, his temper had no outlet and he was thinking with his emotions, not his brain. Ordinarily, if it was personal, he would never have touched the mark, but he couldn’t stop himself from going after Tidwell. He’d never had such a loss of control. He needed to get Francesca out of there as much as his brother and other family members needed him to do so.
He turned on his heel and made for the stairs. Ricco waited at the top. Their men were shadow figures, spread throughout the building, keeping Francesca from harm. The stairs were dark in several places, dangerous for anyone, let alone single women. The rage smoldering in the pit of his stomach grew with every step he took.
He was angry with Joanna, who had to have known this apartment building was worse than substandard. Most of all, he was angry with himself for not checking on Francesca’s living conditions before he went out of town. He had assumed she was staying with Joanna until she got on her feet. It was a very misguided presumption. A mistake. Stefano didn’t like making mistakes.
He was a protective man. He had been born that way. Every rider was. The need to protect and control was bred into every single one of them. Those two traits were so ingrained in them, there was no getting either characteristic out. No getting around them.
“One incident I didn’t like,” Ricco said. “Earlier, Enzo reported that a man, not a resident of the building, had twice come up to this floor. He actually walked right up to Francesca’s door, paused, looked around, and when he spotted Enzo, took off. A few minutes ago, he actually came back into the building. There aren’t any security cameras and he wore a hoodie. No one got a good look at his face, but from Enzo’s description, I’m guessing it was the same man.”
Stefano took a deep breath. What the hell was going on? Everything around him was spinning out of control when he was all about control–when control was absolutely necessary. He was taking control back. Francesca was just going to have to deal with the truth about him and the life she would lead with him as her man.
“Anyone sees him again, scoop him up and take him to the warehouse. I’m getting her out of here tonight. I’ll take her to my penthouse suite at the Ferraro.” Their hotel was a study in sheer luxury. He had several homes, scattered around the country and overseas as well, but when he was in Chicago, which was most of the time, he stayed at the hotel in the penthouse.
Ricco nodded and trailed after his brother. Stefano knew his brother wasn’t protecting him so much as protecting anyone who might try to stop him. The second flight of stairs was almost completely dark, lit only by one dull bulb, which gave off little light. The carpet was filthy and threadbare. Anyone could trip and fall with the holes in it. His temper rose another notch.
The long hallway was totally without light, other than what managed to spill in from the dirty windows at either end of the hall. Francesca’s door was midway between the two windows. Stefano wondered if Tidwell had deliberately given her that apartment. Probably. He had to put the single women in apartments where cameras were already set up, although it was possible he had them in all the rooms.
He raised his hand, fingers in a tight fist and controlled his impulse to pound on the door, demanding entrance. Instead, he knocked quietly, his other hand automatically dropping to the doorknob. To his shock, the door inched open. He hadn’t turned the knob. Just his gloved knuckles knocking so politely had been enough to spring the door open. What the hell was wrong with her? He glanced back at Ricco’s face. It was set in stone, just the way, he was sure, his was.
Before he could jerk open the door and confront her, something made him crouch low and examine the lock. He could see the thin piece of tape placed over the mechanism–a simple but very effective method of preventing Francesca from locking the door.
“Fucker,” he spat out, stepping back to show his brother.
“Let’s get her the hell out of here, Stefano. Even if you have to carry her out like a caveman. Taviano’s waiting in the car. Just get her and go before a bunch of us decide to burn this place to the ground with Tidwell in it.”
Ricco’s voice was strained. Stefano cursed again. The entire family was affected because he hadn’t done his job. He hadn’t taken charge of Francesca. He wanted time to court her. To give her that. To let her get to know him before he had to come clean about the shit life he was going to have to ask her to accept. He closed his eyes briefly. He knew it wasn’t about asking her. He had to find a way to get her to accept not only him, but his life and his family, because there was no other choice. Worse, he wasn’t just asking her to accept it for herself; she had to accept it for their children as well. He detested that.
He stood slowly and pushed open the door. His heart stuttered in his chest. The door opened into a very small room–so small the closet in his master bedroom was larger. There wasn’t a single stick of furniture. No chairs. No tables. Nothing at all. The room included a miniature kitchen with a single stained sink and tiny refrigerator. He detested that Francesca–or any woman–would have to stay alone in a place like this. Why hadn’t he checked before he left for his job?
He walked into the next room to find her lying on a sleeping bag, her hair spread out over the pillow. The room was freezing. There was no heat coming from the old radiator and she shivered continuously in her sleep. She would have done better to have his coat covering the sleeping bag, but instead, it was hung carefully on a hanger a few feet from her head.
She looked very small under the thin sleeping bag. Her face was turned toward him and he thought she was the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen. Her lashes were exceptionally long and turned up on the ends. Black, like her hair. He crouched down beside her. Close.
“Bambina, wake up.” He kept his voice low. Soothing. Not wanting to scare her. He should have taken better care of her. None of this was her fault. He had to remember that when he wanted to put his fist through a wall–or through Tidwell–and rage at the world in general.
Her body jerked. The lashes fluttered. Lifted. He found himself staring into sea-blue eyes. Almost turquoise. Beautiful. The sight hit him low, a wicked punch to his groin. He took a breath. Fear crept into the startled blue of her eyes.
“Stefano.” Francesca breathed the name. The room was dark, but enough light came through the curtainless window to illuminate Stefano Ferraro’s very masculine features. His brooding eyes were on her face and her stomach did a slow roll. Her heart pounded so hard it actually hurt.
She couldn’t just lie there with him staring down at her with his incredible eyes. Eyes that saw everything. Eyes that saw her shabby room with no furniture. Saw that she had nothing. Color crept into her face. She swept back her hair and struggled into a sitting position, holding the sleeping bag over her chest. She wore an old threadbare T-shirt and lacy boy-short underwear, the only thing she had bought new.
“What are you doing in my bedroom?” She tried to make it a demand, but her voice wasn’t working correctly. She winced at the word bedroom, wishing she had just said apartment. God. He was scary. He didn’t move a muscle. He didn’t blink. He was hot as Hades, and every single cell in her body responded to him. Was aware of him. Her breasts felt swollen and achy and she was very, very glad for the sleeping bag she had pulled up over her chest so he couldn’t see her nipples getting hard.
No one had ever made her body come to life like he did. Just looking at him. Just smelling his cologne. It was humiliating. She knew she should be outraged that he was there in her apartment, but something was wrong. She could see it in his eyes. Her hand flew defensively to her throat.
“Joanna,” she whispered. “Did something happen to her?” She would never forgive herself. Never. She shouldn’t have come. She thought she’d covered her tracks, but money talked and if someone was still looking for her, they’d eventually find her–and anyone who helped her.
“She’s fine, Francesca. You need to get up and come with me now.”
She glanced beyond him to the door of her bedroom. Someone was in her front room. She couldn’t make out who, but she saw a shadowy male figure.
Shoving back her hair with one hand, she held tightly to her sleeping bag with the other. “Just tell me, Stefano.”
“You can’t stay here.”
Her heart stuttered at his expression. Grim. Implacable. His jaw tightened as though anticipating her argument–and she was going to argue.
“Well. No. This is where I live.”
Something dangerous flickered in the depths of his eyes. He suddenly looked feral. Predatory. In that moment she could almost believe he was some sort of crime lord. He wasn’t the kind of man to take no for an answer.
“Bambina, you’ve got two choices. You can walk out of here dressed, or I’m carrying you out just the way you are. You fucking decide, because I’ve had it with this hellhole.”
She swallowed hard. He wasn’t joking. She held up one hand to ward him off. “How did you get in here?”
“Are you fucking kidding me? Your fucking door wasn’t even locked, Francesca.”
He was really furious to throw so many F-bombs at her. “No. It was. I locked it.” She narrowed her eyes at him. “I’m not stupid, Stefano. I locked the door. How did you get in here?”
“I raised my hand to knock and the door opened on its own. There’s a piece of tape over the mechanism to prevent it from locking.”
There was the ring of truth in his voice and she felt panic rising. Her gaze skittered across the room toward her bedroom door. That door didn’t lock. Only the main apartment door locked. “Who would do that? That doesn’t make sense.” Fear made her heart pound and put a strange taste in her mouth. “Just tell me what’s going on.”
“I’ll tell you after I get you out of here and to somewhere I know you’re safe. Come on, dolce cuore, get up.” His features softened.
She moistened her lips. His eyes were so beautiful they took her breath away. She would do anything to see that look on his face. Anything at all for him. With the exception of getting up and allowing him to see the shirt she wore. She couldn’t just go with him without an explanation. That wasn’t even reasonable. She found it far worse that he could see how little she had. The last thing she wanted was for him to pity her. Sheesh. This was so humiliating.
“I want you to leave. We can talk about this in the morning.” She forced decisiveness into her voice. He couldn’t really force her to go with him. No one would actually carry out such a ridiculous threat.
His entire expression changed. His extremely
masculine features went from soft to stone in the space of a single heartbeat. She knew immediately she was in trouble. He reached for her, hauling her into his arms, sleeping bag and all.
“Ricco, get my coat and her things. We’ll be at the penthouse.” Stefano tossed her easily over his shoulder and stood up as if she didn’t weigh more than a sack of rice.
She caught at his shirt, upside down, staring at his backside. Clutching his jacket, she struggled against the iron band across her thighs. He ignored her and strode right out of the bedroom, past Ricco, who, when she lifted her head, smirked at her. Clearly, Ricco was another brother. They all looked alike, smug and full of arrogance.
“Put me down right this minute,” she demanded. Breathless. Her belly was over his shoulder and he felt a little like an oak tree with no give.
“Too late, Francesca. Be still.”
He stalked down the hall, and she caught glimpses of men falling into step behind him. Good God. Maybe he was part of a human trafficking ring and he was kidnapping her. What was wrong with her? She screamed. Loud.
His hand came down hard on her butt. She felt the sting right through the sleeping bag, although it didn’t really hurt, but it did shock her into silence.
“I told you I’d get you to safety and then tell you what’s going on,” he snapped, his voice grim. “Just be still. I don’t give a damn if you want to scream, but it’s rather pointless. Do you really think in this apartment building anyone is going to stick their neck into our business?”
He was moving fast now, taking the stairs effortlessly. She felt a little dizzy and she clutched at his jacket harder.
“You’re scaring me, Stefano,” she admitted, hating that her voice trembled, but she was frightened.
“I know, bambina, but you’ll be fine. I’ve got you now and I’m going to keep you safe. Which you weren’t in this rattrap. Just trust me for a few more minutes and then I’ll explain everything. Can you give me that?”
She laid her head against his back, feeling his muscles ripple as he moved into the foyer of the apartment building. It wasn’t as if she had much choice. The door to the owner’s apartment was open and as they passed, she glimpsed men inside. The place was a wreck. Then they were out in the open air. He reached out and yanked open the door to the backseat of a town car. He was very gentle as he deposited her on the backseat, still cocooned in the sleeping bag. He slid in beside her, reaching to buckle her in.
The driver turned and tossed a cocky grin over his shoulder at her. “I’m Taviano, Stefano’s brother. Nice to meet you, Francesca.”
