Shadow Rider (19 page)

Francesca took a deep breath. Joanna had known about the owner and hadn't confided any of the information to her, only that it wasn't a good place to stay and bad things happened there. Francesca had lived on the street for a short while. She knew bad things, but she associated most of them with drugs. It hadn't occurred to her that the owner of the building had raped women. Still, to be fair, had she known, she might have stayed there anyway rather than risk the street while she worked to find the money to get a decent place.

“I should have told you,” Joanna said. “If I had told you, maybe you would have stayed with me until you got on your feet.”

Francesca had to concede that she might have, but she wouldn't make Joanna feel any guiltier than she already did by admitting it aloud. She shrugged. “It's over now. I'm staying
with Stefano . . .” Joanna gasped and a huge smile brightened her face. “In his
guest
room, you crazy woman.”

“How far from his bedroom is the guest room?” Joanna asked. “Because seriously, you might consider sleepwalking.”

“I don't want to be one of ten thousand women who have been in his bed. I read all the magazines you gave me, and he's a hound dog. He was with a different woman in every picture at every event.” Just admitting the truth out loud made her stomach churn.

“That's the point, Francesca. It was always a different one and no one ever went to his penthouse. Not ever. Believe me, like all the other women around here, I've been on Ferraro watch since I was thirteen. Stefano has never seriously dated anyone. If he was sleeping with them, he didn't do it in his own home.”

“Oh, he definitely had sex with them,” Francesca confirmed. “Because his kisses need to be outlawed. I didn't think anyone could kiss like that.”

Joanna's eyes got wide and her mouth formed a perfect round
O
. “He
kissed
you? Oh. My. God. This is so cool, Francesca. My best friend with Stefano Ferraro.”

“I am not
with
him. He's doing what he always does, taking care of everyone in his neighborhood. He's the white knight and I'm the damsel in distress. When I'm all fixed up, he'll move on.”

Joanna burst out laughing. “You tell yourself that, girlfriend, if it makes you feel better. The rest of us know the truth.” She glanced at her watch. “I have an hour to make myself presentable and go to work.”

“And I'd better get moving, too, before your uncle fires me.”

“There's zero chance of that happening,” Joanna assured her and leapt up. She gave Francesca a quick hug and then blew kisses to her uncle before rushing out of the store.

Francesca put an apron over her clothes, for the first time worried about getting anything on them. She helped Pietro
put fresh food in the refrigerated cases. She could see the crowd, already beginning to line up on the sidewalk, waiting for her boss to open the doors. The number of people coming to the store definitely seemed to grow from one day to the next over the days she'd worked there. She was happy for Pietro, but it also made her nervous now that she knew part of the reason for the booming business was her association with the Ferraro family.

She spotted both Emilio and Enzo in the crowd. Emilio leaned one hip lazily against the wall, while he flirted with a young woman who kept tossing her blond hair from one side to another and then winding it around her finger. Emilio had angled his body so that he could watch the street and yet keep an eye on Francesca. He winked at her as he continued to talk to the blonde. Francesca burst out laughing. She was becoming very fond of Emilio. He might be flirting, but his attention wasn't centered on the woman—he was totally alert to everything around him.

Enzo was in line, but standing at an angle that kept changing. He didn't look into the shop, but was studying the street, the buildings across the street and the crowd around him. She realized immediately that between the two men, the street, buildings and sidewalk were covered all the time. She found herself impressed with them because clearly no one else seemed to be aware of what they were doing.

A sudden chill ran down her spine and she straightened from where she'd been arranging inside the cases the special Italian meats imported from various regions in Italy. A sharp prickle of awareness had her gaze sliding away from Emilio and Enzo to search the crowd. She'd had feelings like this before and they were always dead-on, and never boded well.

Her mouth went dry. Surely Barry Anthon hadn't already found her. She hadn't even gotten established. There was no way to build a reputation enough that he couldn't tear it down. She took a deep, calming breath and forced herself to look through the crowd. Her gaze slid through the sea of faces until it rested on a man staring straight at her.

He wore aviator-type sunglasses and had a ball cap pulled low over his eyes. His jacket was old and stained and very rumpled, but bulky so it was nearly impossible to tell his weight. He wasn't six foot, because Enzo was close to him and she knew Enzo was at least that tall and the man was shorter. He looked vaguely familiar and she tried to place him. She'd seen him somewhere, but from a distance, just like now. He stared right at her, his mouth drawn into a thin frown of dislike. When he saw her staring back, he drew a line across his throat. He did it so fast and then turned and walked away, hands in his pockets, shoulders slumped, head down, that she almost wasn't certain he'd really made the gesture. He walked rapidly and disappeared from her sight within moments.

Francesca stared after him, her heart beating fast, lungs seizing. Barry had to have sent him with that message. They'd already found her. She was going to have to decide whether to run or stay. She had no money and nowhere to go if she ran. If she stayed, she would be putting her friends in jeopardy. She stared after the man for a long time, long enough that Pietro had opened the doors and people were already crowding in, forcing her to go on automatic pilot and work.

F
rancesca spent most of the morning and early afternoon looking over her shoulder and watching the traffic through the plate glass window. She was nervous and edgy, but kept her smile in place with the customers. Time went fast because it was very, very busy, so much so that they had to call in another worker in order to keep up. Pietro, normally in the back, stayed out front to work the cash register while Francesca and Aria, a young woman working part-time and going to school, took care of the customers.

Francesca ate lunch in the back room, rather than out front with the customers as she had done the day before. She was eating late, most of the day having slipped by with such a constant stream of steady customers. She was grateful to get off her feet in spite of the new, comfortable boots.

She thought a lot about her options—which weren't many. The truth was, she wanted to stay, but it wasn't fair to Pietro, who had been so kind giving her a job on Joanna's word. She knew what Barry Anthon would do first. His men would talk to Pietro and insist he fire her. They would tell him about her “mental illness,” her police record of vandalism and destruction of property. If Pietro didn't listen and fire her, they would target his store.

The men would ruin Pietro's livelihood just to get to her. She couldn't allow that to happen. Stefano's hotel would be much more difficult to get to, although she was fairly certain
even that wouldn't go unscathed. Barry's men had set fire to one of the apartments she resided in. She couldn't imagine having to face Stefano or his family if Anthon burned down their hotel. Barry Anthon's destruction was far-reaching. She closed her eyes and pushed her forehead into the heel of her hand. She was going to have to leave. It wasn't fair to put any of these people in Barry's path.

“Francesca? Are you all right?”

Startled, she jumped out of her seat, knocking the chair over, rocking the table so that the soothing cup of coffee she'd just poured splashed over the rim. Stefano's brother, Taviano, the one who had driven the car from her apartment to the hotel, stood watching her closely. He looked uncannily like his brother. He certainly was as still and as menacing, his blue eyes every bit as assessing and sharp as Stefano's.

“What's wrong?” he demanded. He even had the same abrupt, bossy tone.

Heart racing, she stepped back. Taviano took up the room just as Stefano did. “Nothing. You just surprised me.”

Eyes on her, he reached down and picked up the overturned chair, gently setting it upright. “I brought your phone.” He held it out to her.

Francesca swallowed the sudden lump in her throat. Stefano. Looking out for her. Her fingers closed around the item. She felt as if she was grabbing a lifeline.

“You're very pale. Are you certain that you're all right? I can take you home if you need to go back to the hotel.”

She turned away from him with a shake of her head and a quick smile, afraid he saw too much. “I'm perfectly fine. Thank you for bringing me the phone. Your brother is very generous.” She hoped he was even more so. The moment the phone was in her hand, a new plan came to her.

“He'd like you to text him. Just so he knows you've got the phone. He said to remind you to text him if you leave the store.”

Those eyes never stopped watching her. She drew in a
breath. “He did make that very clear. In fact, he was rather forceful about it.”

That got her a smile. “I can imagine. If you need anything let one of us know. Our numbers are programmed into your phone. Emilio's and Enzo's as well.”

“Thank you, this is very kind of your family.”

He shrugged. “We take care of our own. Make no mistake, Francesca, you're one of us. If you have any kind of problem, you let us help.”

She nodded, trying to look reassuring. “I will.”

He started to turn away, but looked at her over his shoulder, a grin lighting up his face. “It's nice to see you dressed in something besides that sleeping bag. The look was good, but this one is much better.”

“I suppose I'm not going to live that down.”

“You suppose right,” he said, and was gone, moving down the narrow hallway with the grace peculiar to the Ferraro family.

Francesca wiped up the spilled coffee and sank back down into the chair. The break room was small, much smaller than Pietro's office. She turned her chair so it was facing the door, rather than the window. She'd wanted to see out, careful to keep watch for Barry's man, but it wasn't a smart idea to have her back to the door. Anyone could sneak up on her.

She sat in silence for nearly her entire break, sipping her coffee and working up her courage. Finally, she sent Stefano the text. She needed a loan. She'd pay him back as soon as possible. The loan was significant. Three thousand dollars. Her stomach churned as she typed out the request. She hoped he wouldn't think she'd been stringing him along, biding her time, just waiting for an opportunity to get money from him. She bit down hard on her lip as she hit send before she changed her mind.

She could find more clothes at a thrift store, not take anything else from Stefano, but the money would get her out of the city and she could go somewhere completely different.
She knew how to get lost on the street. She'd done it before, losing Barry's man so he wouldn't know when she boarded a bus.

She couldn't go without money. She
had
to get a loan from Stefano. Once she was on her feet, she'd send him the money. She could work. She was a hard worker. She didn't know how Barry had found her so fast, but she would get better at hiding. She
had
to get better. He was already breathing down her neck and she hadn't been in the city that long.

Her phone rang. She stared down at it as if it were alive. She knew who it was. She flipped it open and put it to her ear.

“Don't you dare fucking leave that store, Francesca. I mean it. Whatever is going on you
tell
me. You don't plan to run off. I'll be there in a few minutes.” He hung up abruptly, not giving her a chance to respond.

There was no greeting and no nice ending to the conversation. Stefano was not happy. She took a deep breath. He would be there soon, and he would talk her out of leaving. She knew he could persuade her because she didn't actually want to leave. She
had
to, to protect Pietro, Joanna, and even Stefano. He might look at it as running, but she knew firsthand that Barry Anthon was capable of murder and he wouldn't hesitate if anyone got in his way.

She couldn't go out the front door. Emilio and Enzo were out there. She whirled around and started down the hall, heading toward the rear of the building. She had to leave now, before she was ready. She could have asked for her pay. Pietro would have given her cash, but she didn't dare wait one more minute. She yanked open the door and nearly ran right into Enzo.

He grinned at her. “Going somewhere, Francesca?” He blocked the exit with his body. He was solid. Impossible to move. He leaned one hip lazily against the doorjamb. “I have to tell you, sweetheart, that man of yours is in rare form. He blew up my phone with orders and promises of all kinds of pain and torture if you manage to evade me. Which you wouldn't be so mean as to try to do, right? I mean, you
know Stefano. He wouldn't be in the least understanding if you slipped past me.”

Francesca stepped back, because she had no choice as Enzo stepped forward. She put a defensive hand to her throat. “I'm trying to do the right thing, Enzo. I'm
protecting
him. You have no idea of the enemies I have. I have to get out of here.”

Enzo shook his head, a small smile playing on his mouth. “You're
protecting
Stefano Ferraro. My cousin.” He grinned at her. “That is so rich. Protecting
him
.”

“It's not a laughing matter.”

The smile faded and he tipped his head to one side. “You're serious.”

“Very. I know you love him. For his sake, you have to let me go. I'll get on a bus and disappear.” She wasn't certain she had enough money to get her anywhere. She still hadn't gotten a real paycheck yet.

“Honey, Stefano Ferraro isn't a man who needs protection from anyone. People need protection from him. Trust your man to take care of you. Trust our family.”

She sensed movement behind her, although she didn't hear anything. Enzo lifted his gaze beyond her shoulder and she turned her head to see Emilio coming up behind her. The two men caged her in.

“Want to tell me what the hell is going on? Stefano is losing his fuckin' mind,” Emilio greeted.

“Francesca here is leaving to protect Stefano from some big bad enemy she has,” Enzo supplied.

Emilio stopped in his tracks, his face showing shock. “What?”

“You heard me.”

Francesca had had enough. “Move, Enzo. You can't stop me.”

“Honey.” Enzo grinned at her. “Physics apply here. You're not up to taking me on.”

“Are you shitting me?” Emilio demanded. “You're protecting Stefano.”

She sighed, trying to push down the relief. She didn't want to feel relief, but she did. She was terrified of leaving. She didn't want to go back to the streets, but more, she didn't want to be alone anymore. Barry Anthon had terrorized her for so long she had forgotten what good was until she'd been with Stefano. She'd forgotten what safe felt like until she'd been with him.

“Fine. I'll go back to work, finish my shift and face his majesty when I'm off work,” she capitulated.

“I think you're officially off work for the day. He's blown up my cell, Enzo's cell and Pietro's phone. I wouldn't be surprised if every single one of his brothers as well as Emmanuelle show up.”

“He wouldn't go that crazy.”

“Honey,” Enzo said. “He did.”

That didn't bode well. She followed Emilio back into the store, Enzo trailing close behind. To her shock, she recognized two of Stefano's brothers lounging by the door, as if they were draped there very casually, but there was nothing casual in their expressions when their gazes settled on her face.

Enzo took her elbow and walked her around the counter straight to Stefano's brothers. “She was protecting him,” he greeted with a small grin.

Francesca rolled her eyes. “It isn't that funny.”

Taviano broke into a smile. Ricco didn't, but his eyebrow shot up.

“Seriously?” Taviano asked. “This is priceless. Can't wait for him to find out.”

“I'd like to know what prompted your sudden desire to make a run for it,” Ricco said, “but let's take this outside. We have an audience.”

Francesca was acutely aware of the silence in the store. It was packed with customers, yet no one was making purchases or conversing with a neighbor. All eyes were on her and the Ferraro brothers.

Ricco yanked open the door, lifted his chin at Pietro, took her elbow and marched her out of the store. As he did so, Stefano's Aston Martin pulled smoothly to the curb. Without missing a beat, Ricco opened the door, put a hand to the top of her head when she hesitated, forced her into the car and shut the door.

Francesca took a deep breath and turned her head to face Stefano. The atmosphere in the confines of the car was searing. She could see why. He was seething. A tendril of unease snaked down her spine. “Stefano . . .”

“Put your seat belt on.” He waited, blue eyes like flames, burning a hole through her.

She was insane. She knew she was, because Stefano Ferraro was furious. His fury burned all the oxygen out of the air, but she still felt absolutely safe. Happy. Relieved. Uncaring that he might roar at her, because she knew categorically that Stefano would never lay a hand on her in anger and that he wasn't about to let her go.

She snapped the belt into place. “I'm sorry you felt you had to leave work.”

“It might be best if you didn't talk while I'm driving.”

She was fine with that. She knew it was a small reprieve, but she didn't care. The interior of the car was warm, and Stefano's wide shoulders and rock-hard body gave her the illusion of complete well-being. For the first time since she'd seen Barry's man draw his finger across his throat, she breathed easier.

She sat in silence, admiring the way Stefano drove—with speed, but very controlled. He drove right up to the front doors of the hotel, got out, tossed his keys to the valet and reached in for her. His grip was strong, a vise around her upper arm.

“You forgot your coat,” he observed, his voice clipped. Still angry.

“I'm beginning to think you might be a little obsessed with coats, Stefano,” she said, trying to lighten the mood. “You should see someone for that.”

He didn't smile or loosen his grip. He went through the
double glass doors, across the lobby and straight to his private elevator. The minute they stepped inside, he put a hand to her belly and pushed her against the wall, caught her wrists in his hands, pinning them against the wall on either side of her head and settled his mouth over hers.

Hot. Searching. Angry. Hungry. He poured those emotions into her, his body aggressive against hers. She took his scorching heat, not even pretending to resist. She hadn't known she'd ached for his mouth on hers ever since he'd kissed her that morning, but the moment it happened, need surged through her.

Hunger rose, sharp and terrible. Electrical sparks seemed to jump from his skin to hers. Her body reacted, going pliant, breasts aching, nipples peaking into twin, tight buds, her body slick and hot with welcome. She kissed him back, giving herself to him. Letting his mouth take command of her.

If he intended the kiss as a punishment, it quickly evolved into something altogether different. By the time the elevator reached the penthouse, her knees had gone weak and Stefano was forced to hold her up. Every single cell in her body was alive and reaching for him. He took his mouth from hers and she chased after it, lifting her face in an effort to prevent him from leaving her.