Nicoletta lifted her chin. “I still have panic attacks when I’m in close confines with several men. I’m sorry, it just happens out of the blue and I can’t seem to control it. It doesn’t always happen, and I’ve worked on it, but my counselor says that it might continue to happen for the rest of my life. I’ll keep trying to get on top of it, but who knows if I’ll be able to.”
“It was probably Stefano and his God-awful temper,” Vittorio said.
Nicoletta sent him a small smile, not quite daring to look at Stefano to see how he took that little dig. She couldn’t control the color rising in her face. She was embarrassed that she had to admit she had panic attacks when the Ferraros seemed to be so perfect and confident. Apparently Taviano was going to be the one stuck with the “flawed” wife. Eloisa was going to have a field day with that one.
“Francesca is always on me about my temper,” Stefano admitted. “I don’t want anything to happen to you, Nicoletta. Going into the shadows is dangerous. If you aren’t trained properly, it can take a toll on your body. More importantly, you can get lost there.”
She nodded. “I was well aware of that. The one time I did move accidentally, I was hiding from my step-uncles and I found myself from one side of the room to another place, and I didn’t know how I got there. It was very disorienting. They were angry with me when they found me, and the consequences were very brutal, but I was so sick and feeling so lost, as if I wasn’t all there, that the things they were doing to me didn’t really register until afterward. In a way, the consequences were a blessing. I wasn’t as afraid as maybe I should have been.”
There was silence after her declaration, and she felt the rising tension in the room, that sudden flare of anger tamped down in Taviano and reflected in his brothers. She glanced up at his face for a sign of what she was supposed to say to ease the tension in the room. She was at a loss with all of them.
Taviano’s fingers found the nape of her neck and began a slow massage. She sat very still, not knowing exactly what to do. No one had ever touched her like that, and the feel of his fingers on her bare skin, pushing into her muscles and nerve endings, sent a heat wave through her. It was a kind of slow seduction of the senses. It was frightening and exhilarating at the same time.
“Relax, Tesoro. Stefano might choose to eat me, but you will go unscathed in all of this,” Taviano whispered into her ear, amusement in his voice.
The touch of his warm breath added to the feeling of seduction, and that little undertone of amusement created an intimacy between them. She imagined that was what it was like between two people who really were in love. His lips actually brushed against the lobe of her ear, feeling cool and firm, sending a roller coaster crashing through her stomach.
“Were you aware that we were shadow riders?” Stefano asked, his voice pitched very low. Again, his gaze was fixed on her face. He looked suspiciously very hawklike.
If Taviano’s strong fingers hadn’t chosen that moment to settle around her neck possessively, and there was no other word she could think of to describe the feeling, she might have run from the room. Stefano was expecting the truth. She was well aware that every one of the Ferraros was like her, they could hear lies.
“Yes, at least suspected,” she admitted. “I watched all of you and the way the shadows swallowed you up. The time the truck tried to run Ricco or me down, one of us, and he pushed me out of the way, he was so fast, too fast. I watched him quite a bit after that. I was fast like he was when I did things. I have a memory that few others have. I can hear lies. I have these strange gifts, and all of a sudden there were others that seemed to have them. Of course I paid attention. I saw whenever you disappeared into the shadows. And I remembered you taking me through one of the shadows to the plane when you were getting me away from my step-uncles.”
“And yet you said nothing,” Stefano said.
She ducked her head. “I loathed myself. And you. And Taviano. You knew what they’d done to me.” She whispered it, feeling the grasping hands on her body. The way they forced themselves on her, the pain of the intrusion. The laughter as they brutally used her again and again, switching places so casually.
Taviano stroked his fingers gently on her face. “Piccola, who is your man? Your compagno? Your marito? Look at me. See only me.” Very, very gently, he framed her face with both hands and turned her toward him. “Open your eyes, Nicoletta, and see me.”