Shadow Rider (41 page)

Giovanni glanced at his watch and excused himself, heading for the elevator after brushing a kiss on first Emmanuelle's forehead and then on Francesca's. His siblings gave him a brief wave. Barry didn't even seem to notice. He was frowning at Stefano.

“I had no idea Taviano liked to design and build engines,” Barry said.

Stefano shrugged. “He doesn't like the spotlight much.”

“It isn't just me,” Taviano objected modestly. “Vittorio and Emme fixed a few problems for me. Ricco managed to add more power when we thought we were already at max. So it's a group effort.”

Francesca allowed the talk of the racetrack and cars to flow around her. Stefano and Ricco stayed in charge of the conversation, expertly slipping in a question every now and then and keeping Barry from addressing Francesca. Their siblings followed their lead, providing interesting conversation and asking questions that followed most naturally. None of them seemed as if they were conducting an interrogation, but Francesca was certain they were learning all sorts of things Barry didn't have a clue they were getting out of their casual conversation.

Taviano served the drinks that Vittorio made, and they kept Barry's flowing, while they only appeared to be keeping up with him. Francesca nursed the one drink Stefano had insisted she take. She was afraid that if she got a little tipsy, she'd tell Barry just what she thought of him and then she'd go after him with teeth and nails.

Barry liked his alcohol and Vittorio was being generous in mixing his favorite gin and tonic. Within an hour and a half, he was slurring his words and getting a little belligerent toward Stefano and especially her. He kept getting in little digs. Suddenly he went silent for a few minutes while the talk between the brothers and Emmanuelle swirled around him and then he jabbed a finger toward Francesca.

“What?” She couldn't keep the belligerence out of her voice.

“How'd you like being locked up in the mental hospital?” he challenged with a sneer. “Did they put you in a straitjacket? I would have given anything to see that. Beautiful little perfect Francesca, all wrapped up like a gift. I heard some of those orderlies love to fuck the patients when they're all tied up like that. That happen to you? Did one of them sneak into your room at night? Maybe you enjoyed it . . .”

Stefano hit him at the same time Ricco did. Hard. The sounds were so loud Francesca cried out. She hadn't seen Stefano or Ricco move, but they were across the small space and both simultaneously punched Barry on either side of his face. She swore there was an audible crack and then Barry was screaming and throwing wild punches.

Emmanuelle stood up calmly and held out her hand to Francesca. “Let's go in the other room while the boys are playing.”

She pulled Francesca out of her seat while Francesca stared with horrified eyes at the two brothers beating Barry to a bloody pulp.

“You have to stop them, Emmanuelle.”

“Why in the world would I do that?” She kept tugging determinedly on Francesca's hand until they were in the kitchen. “Drunk or not, that moron is responsible for what he
says. Taunting you like that is totally unacceptable, and doing it in front of my brothers is like waving a red cape at a bull. Seriously stupid. He deserves everything he's going to get.”

“I don't want to have to visit my husband in jail. Or any of his brothers. I don't give a damn what Barry says. He took away my sister. Saying crap to me is
nothing
. Stefano is only going to make him angry. Really, really angry. Barry Anthon is all about being superior, and pride is everything to him. He'll retaliate . . .” She broke off, her hand to her mouth. “Oh. My. God. They're beating the crap out of him, poking sticks at a rattlesnake to stir him up.”

Emmanuelle grinned at her. “They never do that sort of thing without a really good reason. In this case, they had two very good reasons, aside from the fact that it's going to make them all feel happy, beating up a monster like that. Barry won't go to the cops because he'll want to retaliate and he won't want a record of this.” She glanced at her watch. “Giovanni should be back anytime with a full report on Barry's rented estate. We'll have the layout and maybe even an idea of his plans.”

“Giovanni went to the place where Barry's staying?”

“Did you think we were getting him to talk about where he was staying because we were interested?” She slid onto one of the tall chairs at the counter and leaned her head into her hand. “Let's talk weddings. That's so much more interesting than Barry Anthon.”

S
tefano 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.