"Honey." Emmanuelle's voice was very low. "What is it that's making you upset? You told me the other day that you loved what you did. It is important work."
"I was talking with Eloisa the other day ..."
There was a swift intake of breath. Giovanni felt his stomach start to burn. Stefano's features darkened, but he remained silent. All of them did. Waiting. Their mother could wreak havoc as no other woman could.
"No one is eating," Francesca said rather desperately. "The food's going to get cold. This isn't important enough that you're all getting upset."
"Of course it is, Francesca," Vittorio said. He was gentle with his sister-in-law, his voice almost mesmerizing. He didn't raise his voice, but then Vittorio never did. He kept that velvet soft tone that stroked inside a person and made them want to comply. "Anything that makes you upset is important to all of us, let alone Stefano."
"Enlighten us to what wisdom our parent passed on to you," Stefano said.
Francesca's gaze shifted to his face. "Don't be like that. Eloisa is trying."
"Bullshit, she's trying," he snapped. "Damn it, Francesca, when are you going to learn our mother is a first-class bitch?" His breath hissed out between his teeth.
Giovanni understood. They all did, all of them with the exception of Francesca. Even Mariko knew Eloisa took great pleasure in shredding others. She enjoyed ripping people into little pieces, making them cry and then walking away, superior and happy that she'd accomplished her mission.
"That's not nice, Stefano," Francesca said. "She's your mother."
"Baby." His voice softened. "You had a wonderful mother and you're going to be one. Our mother was never that. Never. She didn't hold newborn babies and look down at them with love. She handed them off and stayed away until they were two and she could start their training. She didn't cuddle them when they got hurt. Or get up with them in the middle of the night if they had a nightmare. I know Eloisa and what she's like."
"She loves all of you."
"In her way, yes, she does. I won't argue with that. But she isn't compassionate or caring, at least not to us. For whatever reason, Eloisa chose to ignore that she had children. We're all past that. We don't have mommy issues. You keep trying to mend those fences, and I love you for it. We all do, but she's going to eat you alive, and I can't allow that." Stefano's voice changed completely. He used his commanding don't-fuck-with-me-or-else voice. Giovanni couldn't help wincing. "Tell me what she said to you."
Francesca sighed. "She said I was rather worthless sitting on my barren ass at home all day. She asked me point-blank if I had been tested and was I able to produce children. She made it very clear that I better be able to at least have children or I was useless to you and the family."
Giovanni gasped, and he wasn't alone. Francesca was the center of their lives. She mellowed Stefano, the head of their family. More, she brought him joy and fun, things he'd never had. He couldn't imagine what they'd do without her now that she was with them.
Stefano studied his wife's face for a long time. The clock ticked. Breath moved in and out of lungs. Silence stretched to a screaming point. He caught Francesca's chin and turned her face fully to his. "I never, in my life, heard the kind of fucked-up bullshit my mother manages to spout. I often wonder if she's in her room all night just thinking shit up. You don't sit on your ass. You go out in the neighborhood and visit the elderly. Men and women we've known our entire lives, but you just met. You do that. You bring them groceries and make certain they have what they need to be comfortable. I heard you helped old man Lozzi pay his bills when he was confused. You took him to the doctor, didn't you?"
Francesca frowned at him, nodding. "His diabetes was out of control."
"The doctor told me you saved his life. Then you went back to his home, paid his bills, cleaned his house, which by the way next time you bring in the cleaning crews. You also stocked his home with the kind of food he needed. He isn't the only one. You visit the residents who are sick. I tried to do that in my spare time, but never could fit it all in. We all did. Even dividing the work between us, we couldn't get it done. You took that off of all of us."
"Emme goes with me."
"When I can," Emmanuelle said. "But it isn't that often."
"And all the committees and boards you're on, Francesca," Stefano continued. "Each of them needs a Ferraro on them. You took that off of us as well. More importantly, baby, you are my entire world."
"Our world," Giovanni said. "You, Mariko and Emmanuelle are important to us, and not because you can give the family babies."
"If we never have a child, I would go through my life happy," Stefano assured. "The doctor said there was no problem and we can have children." He reached out his hand to her, threading his fingers through hers, his eyes on hers. "Just relax, baby, we're going to be fine. You're going to be fine. Just stay the hell away from Eloisa. I'm going to make it very clear to her that she doesn't come here unless I'm home."
"Don't do that, Stefano," Francesca said. "It was silly of me to let her upset me."
"I'm going to make it very clear to my mother that she isn't allowed to come near you unless I'm with you," he reiterated, making it a decree. "Dinner is getting cold."
That was the end of the discussion, and they turned back to their food. Giovanni felt relief that Stefano had handled the situation the way he had. It was a learning experience. He'd need a few lessons, especially after blowing it with Sasha.
"How the hell do you keep your temper in check?" he asked Stefano.
Stefano's gaze swept over him. "You've always been cool and then your temper burns so hot and out of control, it takes down everything in its path. You just have to acknowledge to yourself that that cool is all a facade. Know what triggers it and be very careful. You're going to need to be calm and rational to reel this girl in."
"She isn't a fish," Francesca objected.
"She's not even on the hook," Giovanni said, annoyed. "I can get every woman I don't want, but not the one I do. She's attracted, but running in the opposite direction very fast."
Ordinarily, his family would have been teasing the hell out of him, but Sasha was the one. He'd made that clear. Their shadows had connected, and already that pull was being felt. She'd unlocked that vulnerable place inside of him and now he had no choice but to actively pursue her. There could be no mistakes. She was that woman, the one destined to be the center of his world in the way Francesca was for Stefano and Mariko was for Ricco.
"Why?" Stefano asked.
Giovanni stiffened. "Why what?"
"Why isn't she on the hook? She's a server in our nightclub. You had dinner with her after hours. From what I was told, there were two incidents at the club and both times you stepped in and took care of it before security. Why isn't she on the hook?"
"Stefano," Francesca said gently.
Giovanni knew he wasn't going to drop it. He was ashamed to tell Stefano in front of Francesca and Mariko about the game he'd made up.
Stefano watched him eat his pasta. Giovanni took a sip of wine to wash the pasta down and then made his confession. "She overheard me telling Salvatore and Geno about this stupid game we sometimes play when we're bored."
Stefano's face darkened. "Game?"
"For money. We bet on women." Giovanni glanced at Francesca's face. She looked at him under her long lashes, her face soft and compassionate. He hated that she was going to be disappointed in him. "I get so fucking sick of women throwing themselves at us because we're Ferraros."
"The point is, Giovanni, to use that to our advantage. We need to be seen in public while one of us is dispensing justice," Stefano said mildly. "What did she overhear?"
"Nothing that could compromise us," Giovanni said. "You know I would never talk about our work." Although he would have liked to do just that with her. He wanted to explain to Sasha why he was upset and tired of the nightclubs. Why he had to appear to be a playboy when he wasn't. Okay, maybe he was. God. He scrubbed a hand down his face. He di
dn't even know anymore. He wanted to go up to her apartment and just sit with her. See her face. Watch her smile light up her eyes. All this time, and he hadn't made any headway.
"What did she overhear?" Stefano repeated.
"The game. It's a point system, Stefano. A woman asks us to dance is one point. She initiates certain things on the dance floor, more points. She offers to do certain things, more points. That sort of thing. Sasha overheard and was rightfully disgusted and now has a very bad opinion of me."
"The woman has to initiate the contact?" Francesca asked, leveling her gaze at him.
She understood all right. There was nothing slow about Francesca. He glanced at Mariko. She had been raised in Japan, and English wasn't her first language, but she understood as well.
"This is a game you played, Ricco?" she asked her husband.
Ricco took her hand. "You know I did all sorts of things I shouldn't have done, farfallina mia. I'm not that man now."
"Perhaps it would be good to retire this game," Francesca said and looked pointedly at Vittorio and Taviano. "And if there is a female version of the game, Emme, you need to opt out of that as well."
Taviano and Vittorio concentrated on their food. Emme glared at Giovanni. "There is definitely no female version of the game, nor have they played it around me." Her tone indicated she would have shut it down, which they knew, so they'd never allowed her to overhear the bets between them.
Giovanni wanted to kick his brothers under the table for leaving him hanging out there. "Taviano had to take Nicoletta home last night, Stefano. She was drunk again and out far past her curfew. She's out of hand."
"She's a hellion," Vittorio said. "You have to talk to her, Stefano."
"I talked to her last night," Taviano said. He looked around the table. He hadn't touched his wine and he looked very serious. "Someone had to, Stefano. She was out of control. I don't care if she's eighteen, twenty or older. She has no business getting drunk and missing her curfew or putting herself in danger like that. Lucia and Amo are good people. They took her in and gave her a good home. They deserve respect at the very least."
"Taviano"--Francesca's voice was gentle--"she doesn't respect herself yet. She needs direction."
"I gave her direction," he snapped and then shook his head. "Mi dispiace," he apologized. "I might have been too hard on her." He pushed the heel of his hand against his forehead, rubbed as if he had a headache and then took a deep breath and looked around. "I was hard on her. Deliberately. I wanted her to think about the chances she's throwing away. I was fucking drunk myself, and when she fought me ..." He shook his head. "Let's just say, I wasn't gentle."
"Taviano." Francesca's voice was soothing.
Giovanni felt guilt. He knew Taviano was getting fed up with Nicoletta's late nights, her escapes out the window and the incessant partying. All of them were, being called away when they were busy. He also knew Taviano didn't drink much. It made him belligerent. Giovanni knew he should have escorted Nicoletta home instead, but he hadn't wanted to leave Sasha.
"We'll start her self-defense training," Stefano decided. "That will at least make her so tired she won't be looking to crawl out her window. She'll never be fast enough to ride the shadows, but she'll know how to defend herself and she'll be able to get into the shadows if there's a need to escape fast. I've been working with Francesca. No matter what, our women need to know how to use the shadows to escape if we're ever under attack again."
"I don't know if training her to beat the hell out of us is the right thing to do," Taviano said. "I've got a few bruises."
"We'll make it clear she isn't to use her knowledge on any family member," Stefano said. "Taviano, you can tell her--"
Taviano shook his head, throwing his hands into the air. "Not me. I'm done with her for a while. One of you can talk to her."
"I will," Francesca said. "I want to meet Giovanni's Sasha anyway. I heard she was the one working my old job at the deli. Pietro hired her full-time. Most of the other workers are part-time. Nicoletta works with Lucia at Lucia's Treasures and then she goes to the flower shop. I can time it so I can see both of them."
"That fucking Bruno at the flower shop needs to have the shit kicked out of him," Taviano snapped. "He's the one that's been dragging Nicoletta to these parties."
"He'll be taken care of," Stefano said.
"I want to be there," Taviano insisted, looking straight at his brother, waiting for the nod.
"Wait a minute. Are you telling me Sasha works full-time at the deli and full-time at the nightclub?" Giovanni was outraged. "That's sixteen hours of work. Is she crazy?" He started to get up, as if he might rush right over to her apartment and confront her--and he might have.
"My advice, Giovanni," Stefano said, "is to keep her from seeing that temper of yours as long as possible. Reel her in and make her fall madly in love before she finds out you're a bossy, paranoid, overprotective beast and you're going to do everything you can to clip her wings. That's what I did."
Everyone burst out laughing. He frowned at them. "Francesca is sitting right there." He held out a few seconds and then grinned at his wife. She'd known all about his temper, his bossy ways, his jealousy and every other difficult trait he had before she married him. He knew it, too.
Giovanni was fairly certain Sasha had already condemned him for the game he played with his brothers and cousins. She'd be really upset that he'd invented it. What she hadn't heard, because they all knew the rule, it was one they lived by, was they didn't ever include innocents, only women who knew the score--women propositioning them because they had money.
"Aaron Anderson ordered your woman a huge bouquet of flowers," Emmanuelle announced.
"What?" Hot rage rushed through Giovanni's veins. He could barely breathe. "That bastard. I should have known he'd pull something like that."
"It isn't as if you made a claim on her publicly," Vittorio pointed out. "We knew because you were acting completely out of character with her."
"How was he acting?" Stefano asked.
"Forget that," Giovanni snapped, glaring at Vittorio and Taviano.
"Like a complete ass," Taviano said.
"Is that unusual?" Ricco asked.
"Shut the fuck up, all of you," Giovanni ordered. He pinned his sister with a steely gaze. "This is important. Are you sure, Emme?"
She nodded. "I was in the flower shop when Aaron came in. He trained on and off with you, Giovanni, so I thought you were friends. We struck up a conversation, and he told me he was ordering flowers for a woman. He wanted to pick them out personally, not have someone order over the phone for him. I didn't know she was yours, so I just thought it was sweet."
"It's not sweet," Giovanni bit out. "He's making his move. I knew he was interested. The bastard had women hanging all over him, practically blowing him right there at the table; in fact, he probably did. He acts like an asshole to her, and she's going to forgive him because he sends flowers. Women. Shit."
"Women don't forgive a man just because he sends her a bouquet of flowers," Emmanuelle said, lifting her chin and leveling her gaze at him. "Sometimes the flowers end up cut to pieces in the garbage can."
There was a sudden silence. Emmanuelle looked around the table and the half-raised forks. "What? It happens. Am I wrong, Francesca? Mariko?"
"You are not wrong," Francesca said.
Stefano narrowed his gaze at her. "Have you ever cut up flowers I brought home to you?"
"You know very well I have. I did it right in front of you. You were being a bossy jackass, driving me crazy with your paranoid delusions that every person in the world is out to take me from you," Francesca said firmly.
Stefano brought her hand to his mouth, kissed her knuckles and then ran his thumb over them gently, stroking back and forth. "Aren't they?"
His family erupted into laughter. Even Giovanni had to laugh.
"I've only received flowers from Ricco," Mariko said. "I would never cut them up and put them in the garbage, even
if he made me very, very angry, which he never has." She sent him a sweet, intimate smile.
Ricco reached for her hand and brought it to his chest, over his heart.
"Emmanuelle." Stefano continued to look at his sister. Instantly the forks stopped moving again. "What were you doing at the flower shop?"
She was the only one to continue to eat. She took a bite of pasta and delicately chewed it before taking a sip of wine. When Stefano kept looking at her, she shrugged. "I visit Signora Vitale often."
Shadow riders could hear truth, and Emmanuelle's voice righteously rang with honesty. Stefano continued to look at her. "I'm well aware you visit Signora Vitale on a regular basis. I also know she doesn't go to the flower shop. Her grandson, Bruno, runs it now. I check on him regularly. If I didn't, he would probably be sending drugs out with every order."
Taviano sighed. "I check on him, too. Just in case. Nicoletta works for the Vitales, so I want to make certain Bruno toes the line. Which he doesn't and has no business pulling Nicoletta into his shit." He looked at his sister. "Stefano's right, Signora Vitale doesn't frequent the flower shop."
Emmanuelle glared at him and mouthed "traitor" over her wineglass. She was the youngest of the Ferraros and strikingly beautiful with her long dark hair and curvy body.
"Emme?" Ricco pushed.
"It isn't anyone's business," she snapped. "I'm over twenty-one. You can all stay the hell out of my business."
"Emmanuelle," Stefano cautioned. He sat up straight. "Damn it. That fucking Valentino Saldi has been coming around again, hasn't he? Are you seeing him?"
There was a small telling silence. Every fork and wineglass went on the table and once again only the ticking of the clock and the breath rushing in and out of their lungs could be heard.
"It isn't your business."
"It is my business. It's the entire family's business. The Saldis are criminals, and our worst enemy. You know that."
"We're criminals," Emmanuelle pointed out, glaring at her oldest brother.
"Did you know about this, Francesca?" Stefano demanded.