They occasionally passed inside and out of one of the gray streaks thrown by the yellow streetlights. Stefano signaled Taviano to use the shadow while he stalked the two men from the darker walls of the warehouse. Taviano detested that his brother always took the more dangerous route, but he’d been protecting the rest of his siblings all of their lives and he wasn’t about to change now.
As Taviano reached the mouth of the shadow, close to ten feet from Bario and a good fifteen from Alan, both men suddenly turned toward Stefano. His brother was still in the darker part of the warehouse, but something had alerted the two men to his presence, or maybe they had become aware of the eerie silence. The pall of death hung in the air. Whatever it was, they lifted their guns, and Taviano’s heart nearly stopped.
Something moved through the air so fast it whistled. A rock hit Bario in the middle of his back. On the heels of that missile came a second one. Alan was treated to the same fate. The rock was small, but the force was enough to send both men staggering. They whirled around to face the new threat, Alan stumbling.
Taviano covered the distance in seconds and had Bario’s head in his hands, wrenching, muttering the prescribed “justice is served” and dropping him, and then whirling to try to get to Alan before the man turned back toward Stefano or caught sight of movement.
Alan started to turn, his gun swinging around, spraying bullets. Another missile announced its presence, whistling through the air with deadly accuracy, smashing directly into Alan’s temple, driving his head sideways. His arms suddenly went limp, both dropping straight toward the floor, the gun falling from lifeless fingers.
Taviano was on him before he hit the floor. Alan’s eyes turned toward him, filled with hatred. For a moment he looked as if he might struggle, but it was already too late. Taviano wrenched, and he was gone.
“Justice is served.” Taviano laid him on the floor, where mold and sludge covered the cement. He turned and moved back into the shadow, following Stefano, going back outside to Nicoletta.CHAPTER SEVENTEENNicoletta lay very still, trying not to wake her husband. Husband. Taviano. That still didn’t quite penetrate her brain. She’d been exhausted and she hadn’t even waited for him to finish his conversation with Stefano when they’d arrived home. She just wanted to sleep. She had a whale of a headache, which she didn’t want to mention to anyone. She also didn’t want to hear Stefano’s assessment of her abilities in the shadows. They’d both told her not to move under any circumstances—but she had, and she’d interfered by throwing rocks to keep Stefano from being shot. They probably could have gotten out of it by flying through the air with some double karate kick to the head, but she couldn’t help herself. If he grounded her for that, so be it. Right now, she just wanted to sleep.
She’d made her way through the house to the bedroom, peeled off her clothes and tumbled into bed without a stitch on. That was how tired she was. She had awakened when Taviano came to bed. She smelled him, that masculine scent that seemed to surround her and always made her feel safe. He had slipped into bed beside her, under the covers, his body curling around hers.
Nicoletta was certain the reason she remained so relaxed was because she was so tired. She couldn’t summon up the effort to stiffen and be afraid when he wrapped one arm around her rib cage right under her breasts and pressed his hips tight against her buttocks. She felt his heavy erection snuggled against her cheeks. His warmth took away the ever-present cold that lingered from the shadows. She’d felt his breath, warm on her shoulder as he leaned his head into her, his lips soft and firm as they kissed her before he settled on the pillow. Then she’d fallen back to sleep.
Taviano must have pulled the privacy screens because the bedroom was dark, and she knew it had to be daytime when she opened her eyes. She’d been asleep only a couple of hours, but her brain refused to stay quiet. She had so much to lose. Taviano. The love of her life. She knew he wasn’t perfect; she wasn’t foolishly blind or deceiving herself.
Taviano was a Ferraro, with a Ferraro’s temper and arrogance. He’d been born into wealth and he had a sense of entitlement that he wasn’t even aware of. With that, he was a generous, caring man, one who put her first before himself. He would do the same with their children.
She couldn’t lose him. She just couldn’t. More than anything else, finding a way to be a good partner to Taviano was the most important thing she could possibly do. She knew she had issues—big ones. Huge ones. He was so patient and so willing to wait until she was ready to be with him. She always felt like her body wanted his, and her brain certainly did, beyond anything else, but then panic would well up. Why? She knew she was safe with him. He would never hurt her. Why was she so afraid that she wouldn’t try with him?