Shadow Rider (12 page)

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. Right 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.