Shadow Rider (33 page)

“They're actually going to prison. Not jail. Prison,” Joanna continued. “You just don't
ever
want to mess with the Ferraros. Anyone stupid enough to cross them has really bad karma.”

Francesca didn't know what to say to that. “My former landlord was murdered,” she blurted. “He was inside Giuseppi Saldi's home when he was murdered.”

“I read about that. It was on the news as well. That was just weird, too.”

Francesca nodded. “His aunt was actually swimming in the pool and when she got out, he was dead on the lounger, his throat cut.”

“See? He messed with you and you're going to be a Ferraro and now he's dead. Do you think the Saldis killed him because they didn't want a war with Stefano's family?”

Francesca inhaled sharply. “I don't think it had anything at all to do with Stefano. He and his entire family were at the club, celebrating.”

“Your engagement? I didn't even know it was an engagement party,” Joanna said, sulking.

Francesca burst out laughing. “Neither did I.”

Joanna stared at her a moment, wide-eyed and then she pretended to swoon. “That's the most romantic thing I've ever heard of.”

Francesca rolled her eyes and went back to work as another wave of customers entered the store. She couldn't help but watch the clock as she waited on the various people. They were all very sweet to her and seemed to want to chat a little before handing over their money or credit cards, but she didn't mind in the least, other than she needed to keep the line moving.

Her heart beat very fast when Pietro came from the back room to take her place so she could have her break. She pulled off her apron and hurried to the restroom. The moment she had the door closed and locked, she removed her panties, bunching them into her hand. An arm came around behind her and took them away. She nearly screamed with shock, but his scent told her exactly who was there.

The room was fairly large but completely open. There was nowhere to hide. A sink, a toilet and a mirror were really all that was in the room, and yet Stefano had to have been somewhere. Maybe she'd been so eager she hadn't seen him when she hurried in. She started to turn.

“Stay still.”

A clear order. She shivered, and remained facing away from him, growing damp and needy without anything else but the sound of his voice. She watched in the mirror as he bunched her panties into the palm of his hand and shoved them into the pocket of his suit.

He reached around her and began to undo the little pearl buttons of her blouse. The edges gaped open to reveal her breasts nestled in the lacy, satin-soft bra. Leaving her bra in place, he reached in and pulled out her breasts so they jutted up and out over the material, her blouse framing them. Francesca's breath caught in her throat as he reached down and took her hands in his, sliding them up her rib cage to press her fingers to her nipples.

“Work them for me,
dolce cuore
. You know how I like it. Rough. I want to see you panting. Needy. I love to see your hands on your body.”

She licked at her lips, her breath already ragged. She
wasn't certain how he could do that, make everything feel so sexy, reduce her to a needy, melting woman wanting to beg him to hurry and take her. The fire built between her legs, scorching hot, and to her shock, she could actually feel the liquid need on her inner thighs as she complied with his order, tugging and rolling her nipples, watching him watch her in the mirror.

His hands went to either side of her hips, fisting the material of her skirt. Very slowly he began to pull it up, gathering it into his hands as the hem rose first over her boots and then her thighs and finally to her waist. He tied the skirt at her back, a quick twist and then a knot to keep it in place, his gaze never leaving hers.

“Harder,
bella
, pretend your hands are mine.” His foot kicked her left leg wider and then her right. “I could hardly think straight this morning. Trying to work, go over reports, when all I wanted to do was get back to you. I thought about fucking you right on my desk at work. Or have you under it, sucking me off while I conducted business.” His hand moved over her rounded cheeks, lingering on the marks he'd left there earlier. One hand pressed her head toward the floor.

She started to reach down and he stopped her. “I'll hold you. Trust me, Francesca. You keep working those nipples.” His arm locked around her waist and then his hand was at her entrance, scooping out the honey and licking it off his fingers. “You taste so fucking good. Do you think I would have the control to talk on the phone, or have someone in the room while you were there, under my desk, my cock down your throat? Could I keep it together?”

“I hope not,” she panted. “I hope I'd be making you feel so good you couldn't.”

He'd already opened his trousers. When had he done that? She hadn't noticed because she was too busy trying to keep from melting into a hot little heap on the floor at his feet. He pressed the broad head of his cock into her entrance and her breath caught in her throat.

It felt like a red-hot brand. Too thick to fit. Stretching her.
She pushed back against him, needing him inside. She held her breath. Her heart pounded. A sob escaped. “Stefano.”

“There it is,” he said softly. “Tell me what you want.”

“You. Right. Now.”

“Me what. Be specific.”

She blushed, but it didn't matter. “You inside me.”

“More specific.”

Her breath hissed out on a thin wail. “Stefano. Please. Your cock inside me right now. Before I go up in flames.”

“Since you asked so nicely. Of course next time,
bambina
, I'm going to make you beg me to fuck you. You'll have to say
fuck
just like a bad girl.”

She couldn't form a coherent thought. If that's what it took to get him moving, she would have gladly asked him using his favorite word. He thrust hard. Deep. Buried himself to the balls. She felt them slapping against her. She let go of one breast and jammed her fist in her mouth to keep from screaming. Fire raced through her. Then he was moving, slamming into her over and over, a jackhammer, thick and long, driving through the tight folds of her body, until she came apart over and over.

She didn't think he'd ever stop, sending one orgasm crashing into the next so that her body tightened around his and milked, strangling his cock. He swore in Italian, his voice as strangled as hers as she finally took him over the very edge of his control.

She closed her eyes, savoring the strong quakes, the contractions and convulsion of her sex around his. She had no idea how many times he'd forced her body to climax because eventually she couldn't tell where one started and the next began. But they were in the restroom long enough for Pietro to pound on the door and ask her how long a break she was taking.

She began laughing as Stefano helped her to stand. “I think you just might have that kind of control, honey. The kind where I could wrap my mouth around you, take you down my throat and work you while you conducted business. We
might have to put it to the test sometime. Maybe even make a wager.” She said it just to be wicked, but his eyes flashed at her as he reached around her to get a towel wet with warm water. He handed it to her and took another for himself.

“I like the idea. We'll set a date for you to come to my office.”

That was
so
not happening, although she had to admit, as long as she was hidden and no one could see her, the idea was a little exciting. Once she was clean, Stefano untied her skirt so it would drop down and cover her. He leaned down and took her mouth gently.

“I'll see you at home,
amore
.” He smiled. “I love saying that. Now that you're there, I have a home. You go out first. Don't say anything to Pietro. He doesn't know I stopped in and I don't have time to talk.”

She nodded and allowed him to push her out the door. She turned and hurried down the hall. Just before she hit the main store, she remembered Stefano had her panties. She jogged back and opened the door. He was gone. She frowned, looking around her. The only thing she saw were the shadows of the buildings outside through the window racing across the floor. She sighed and shook her head as she went back to work.

T
he paparazzi were relentless over the next few days. Francesca found that she didn't mind at all having Emilio and Enzo between her and everyone else. The reporters were everywhere: camped out at the hotel, trying to get a glimpse of her, and walking up and down the streets, entering shops to do their best to persuade the locals to help them get a picture of her or information on her. She was very, very grateful for the Ferraros' relationship with the people in their neighborhood because no one gave her up.

She enjoyed work, especially lunch or breaks because she never knew when Stefano would call or text her to meet him in the employee restroom. He was an exciting, creative man, very sexual, and he made her feel as if she were the most beautiful woman in the world. She found herself laughing more. Relaxed. Happy. She was
happy
.

His brothers and sister dropped by his apartment often. They trained together in the large training hall Stefano had. She liked to watch them as they sparred, feet and hands a blur as they tried to best one another. They were all very fast and smooth, so much so that she couldn't actually say with any certainty which brother or even Emmanuelle was better than the others.

She loved the camaraderie, how close they all were. It was very evident to her that the brothers watched over Emmanuelle, although they considered her an equal. She also realized that they didn't talk about their parents. She
knew Stefano's parents worked for the family business, whatever that was, and that both were alive, but they were never really mentioned. It was odd when the siblings were so close.

Stefano was a man who liked to touch. When they were together, inside the apartment or outside, he had his hands on her. If they were alone he was initiating sex. She didn't mind that in the least. Sex with Stefano was always incredible. She could almost forget Barry Anthon and the threat he presented. Almost. Still, she was uneasy, a little persistent feeling nagging at her that her world was too perfect, that she'd found happiness and he was going to come and rip it away.

“Francesca.” Pietro's voice penetrated. “Stop daydreaming. It's embarrassing.” He threw back his head and laughed at his own joke.

She jerked around, leaning against the counter, watching him laugh at her along with favorite customers, Lucia and Amo Fausti. She loved their boutique and the clothes they sold as well as the other treasures they had acquired from all over the world. Of course, she couldn't afford anything and she'd learned not to admire too closely because somehow word would get back to Stefano and she'd have whatever she liked sitting on their bed when she got home from work.

“Ha. Ha. Very funny. I'm going to ruin your coffee, Amo,” she threatened. “I'll accidentally put sugar in it.”

Amo shuddered. “That would be mean, Frankie, and you don't have a mean bone in your body. You're like my beautiful Lucia.”

That was the highest compliment Amo could have given her. He adored his wife, and Francesca wanted to throw her arms around him at such huge praise. He was the only person who ever called her Frankie and she liked it coming from him. “Thank you, Amo. As Lucia is amazing, I'm going to just bask in that for a while.”

“While you're basking, could you finish their sandwiches and get Mr. Ferraro something to eat or drink?” Pietro asked.

Ricco leaned against the counter, looking hot, his arm around Lucia, nudging Amo with his elbow. “I don't mind
waiting, Pietro. I've got my favorite girl right here. Lucia and I are contemplating running off together. We're discussing where we might go.”

“You'd need a big head start,” Amo said. “I've got a shotgun and I'd be coming after you. Can't live without my woman.” He reached around Ricco and tugged Lucia under his arm. “I'd have to do you in, boy, and persuade her she can't live without me.”

Ricco rubbed his forehead with his thumb. “I don't know, Amo. Lucia is extraordinary. Everyone knows that. Shotgun aside, I might have to fight you for her.”

Lucia blushed like a schoolgirl. “You boys are terrible. What brings you downtown, Ricco? I don't see you very often.”

“Keeping an eye on our girl,” Ricco said with a little shrug. Even that brief lifting of his shoulders seemed a powerful, fluid movement.

Francesca studied him while she made sandwiches for the Faustis. He was very handsome, gave off the aura of power and danger, a heady combination guaranteed to attract any woman, yet like his other brothers and sister, he wasn't in a committed relationship. She knew Stefano worried about him. Of all the siblings, Ricco seemed to live on the edge the most. He drove that little bit too fast, lived his life a little recklessly, but he was always the first to back Stefano no matter what. She liked him, but then she liked all of Stefano's siblings.

“Ricco, Emilio and Enzo are close,” she pointed out softly. “I appreciate you watching over me, but I'm fine.”

“Damn reporters are crawling out of the woodwork.” He watched her as she handed the sandwiches to Lucia and took money from Amo. When the couple retreated to the tables toward the back of the room, Ricco straightened and indicated that Francesca come around the counter and sit at a table with him. He chose one away from the few customers eating in the deli.

Francesca sank into the chair he held for her and waited until he brought coffee Pietro had made for them. “What is
it? Is something wrong with Stefano?” She hadn't gotten that from him, but now that he made an effort to get her alone, she was frightened. Ricco wouldn't have come if it weren't important.

“Stefano's fine,
cara
. I would have said something immediately if he wasn't. Things are heating up a little right now, and I wanted to make certain we're taking extra precautions to protect you.”

Her stomach lurched and she pressed a hand there. “It's Barry, isn't it? You've heard from him.”

He shook his head. “Not yet, but we will. Stories are being written, Francesca. That's what happens when you become engaged to someone like my brother. These fuckers dig deep and write any shit they can find.”

She went perfectly still, her heart pounding, the blood draining from her face, leaving her unnaturally pale. Of course they would find all sorts of terrible things about her. She'd been in a psychiatric ward for seventy-two hours. She'd been arrested twice. There were mug shots. Worse, they would dig up her sister's murder and it would once again be splashed everywhere, all over the newspapers and in the tatty little magazines that seemed determined to ruin everyone's life. Ricco wouldn't be there unless something like that was already in print. She was afraid she might be sick.

“Francesca, look at me.” His voice was very quiet, but still carried absolute command the way Stefano's did.

She swallowed hard and lifted her lashes, forcing herself to meet his eyes. “Why didn't Stefano come to tell me?”

“He couldn't get away. He was in a conference with the New York branch. An emergency that's come up and he has to take care of it. You're good,
cara
. No worries.”

She shook her head. “You wouldn't be here unless whatever they printed was awful. I don't know if I'm strong enough to go through that again.” Barry would make certain his people would feed that frenzy. He'd make her out to be an unstable criminal. She knew he would. He controlled the media when he wanted.

“You're stronger than you think, and you're not alone this time. You have the entire family backing you, and then there's my brother. He's fiercely protective of you. And, Francesca?” He reached across the table and put his hand over hers, stilling her nervous drumming. “So am I. So are my brothers and Emmanuelle. People are going to read that shit and even here, in our own neighborhood, a few idiots might believe what they read, but most will follow our lead. You keep your head up and just smile or shake your head as if you can't be bothered to address all that nonsense.”

She took a breath and tried to still the screams in her head. She hadn't had nightmares since she'd been sleeping with Stefano, but she was afraid they would start all over again. She felt as if she'd woken up from a beautiful dream to find herself in a horror film. Looking around the deli, she realized these people—Pietro, the Faustis, all the other customers she'd come to care about—were going to read those horrible things about her. They wouldn't want to believe it all, but there would be enough truth woven in with the lies to make them look at her differently.

“Don't answer questions. We're going to have either Emilio or Enzo inside the store while you work. The other will be outside in front so you're warned if any of the paparazzi come near the store. If that happens, you go to the back and let Pietro handle everything.”

She put both hands in her lap, curling her fingers into fists. She really, really liked Ricco, but right then she needed Stefano. Her first reaction was to run as fast and as far as possible from the situation. Her picture would be plastered everywhere. She couldn't outrun that.

“Francesca, stop looking as if the world is coming to an end.”

“It
is
,” she hissed, leaning toward him. “You have no idea what it's like to have people believe horrible lies about you. To have to live on the street with no job, no money, not knowing when you'll have another meal. They took everything from me, including the people I thought were my
friends. They took away my belief in the justice system, but most of all, my feeling of safety. I forgot, until Stefano, what it was like to feel safe. You and I both know, it's human nature to believe the worst.”

She didn't realize she was crying until Ricco shifted closer to her, threw his arm around her shoulders and used a handkerchief to mop up her tears.

“Stop.” He all but snarled the command. “You're a Ferraro. You never,
ever
fucking let them see they got to you. Even here, Francesca, you keep your head up. You remember who you are. If you can't do it for yourself, you do it for him. For Stefano. I know you love him. Don't wince. Don't act like you don't know. You might not want to admit it to yourself or to him yet, but it's there. I can see it on your face and hear it in your voice. We have gifts and we use them. Of course I would check to make certain you weren't going to fuck him over. He's so gone on you it would kill him.”

The sincerity in Ricco's voice straightened her spine. The sheer honesty. He believed Stefano loved her. Needed her even. And he was right—as much as she was afraid to admit it to herself or to Stefano, she was totally falling in love with him.

“Stefano has a certain reputation, Francesca, and he needs to be respected. That's part of how he can do what he does. You're his woman. You can't allow anyone to tear him down. If they manage to tear you down, they are doing the same to him. You're a couple. That means whatever happens to you, happens to him.” He released her and straightened, his eyes on the large storefront window as he lifted his mug of coffee and took a long, slow drink.

She knew he was giving her a chance to pull herself together. She forced herself to sit just as straight and to take a drink of coffee as well. She would never let Stefano down. For him, she could weather any storm. If he could take the horrible things they said about her, then she could. She knew the nightmares would start again, but they would be in the privacy of her home, not in public.

The door to the deli was pushed open by a young man in
his early twenties with long, straggly hair and dark glasses that covered half his face. He paused in the doorway when he saw Ricco, stiffening and then taking a deep breath before entering. He looked the worse for wear. His face was swollen and covered in bruises. He walked carefully, as if injured. He carried his arms in close to his body to protect his rib cage.

“Bruno,” Ricco greeted, sitting back in his chair. Relaxed. Casual. “Nice to see you on your feet. Heard you had a little accident. You feeling better?”

Immediately the atmosphere in the deli changed subtly. There was an undercurrent of danger, yet Francesca couldn't see or hear any reason why it should feel that way.

The boy bobbed his head repeatedly and sidled closer to the counter.

“Your grandmother in good health?” Ricco persisted.

Francesca instantly remembered the name Bruno. She'd been sitting in the pizzeria with Stefano when a woman, Signora Theresa Vitale, had come up to the table and pleaded with Stefano for help with her wayward grandson, Bruno. This had to be that Bruno. Clearly he was in trouble of some kind. He'd been in a fight and looked as if he'd lost.

Bruno bobbed his head again. “Yeah. Yes, Mr. Ferraro,” he corrected himself when Ricco continued to stare at him. “She's good.”

“You good? You staying out of trouble, because you know, life can get really difficult when you're stupid and you forget who your family is.
Famiglia
is everything. I wouldn't want you to forget that. Not for a moment. It could get . . . rough.”

The boy actually paled. He kept bobbing his head, until Francesca feared he might actually break his neck. Ricco was clearly issuing a warning and Bruno was taking it that way. She found herself shivering.

“Bruno”—Ricco said his name quietly—“I want to hear your answer. Out. Loud. You won't forget what
famiglia
is, right? You know you need a job, you need anything at all, your family is where you go. Not to outsiders. Your grandmother
took you in, raised you right, sacrificed for you. She deserves the utmost respect at all times from you. Am I right, or what?”

The boy swallowed hard. “You're right, Mr. Ferraro. I'm going to work next week. Still a little sore from the . . .” He broke off when Ricco raised an eyebrow, looked around the room and then said, “Accident. But I can start work Monday and I'll be bringing home my pay to help out Nonna.”