Shadow Rider (A Shadow Riders Novel Book 1)
Shadow Rider: Chapter 20

The next two weeks passed in a flurry of activity. Francesca felt as if she’d been swept into a wild wind. Somehow, Stefano had gotten it into his head that her acceptance of him meant they were getting married immediately. To him, “immediately” meant as soon as the paperwork was done. She had no idea how it all happened, only that each day she went to work, somewhere in the middle of the afternoon and sometimes even the morning, Pietro would get a call and she’d replace herself in the car with Emilio, Enzo and their sister, Enrica, going to some crazy fitting or consultation.

Emmanuelle and her cousins, along with Eloisa, seemed to be planning the event of the century, something Francesca wasn’t at all comfortable with. She tried to talk to Stefano, but he shook his head and just kissed her senseless. Finally, realizing she wasn’t going to be able to keep her job and not have poor Pietro calling in substitutes every morning, she gave in to the inevitable, giving her notice, telling herself Stefano hadn’t really won that round, even though she knew he had.

In the evening, after a particularly grueling day looking at flowers and talking about colors and ice sculptures, she was grateful to just work in their kitchen, preparing the shrimp pasta Stefano requested. She hadn’t seen him for most of the day. He’d been at work and when he came in, he looked tired and unsettled–something she was beginning to recognize when he didn’t like a particular report on something. He sat down at the table, taking the chair close to hers, something he always did because his knee could touch her thigh and she was in easy reach.

“You do realize that we’re being snowballed into a church wedding and they’re planning to have it in another couple of weeks,” she began. “Your sister and Eloisa have gotten this thing together so fast my head is spinning.”

“Leave it, dolce cuore–there’s no way in hell to stop them. Just let them do their thing. We’ll show up, get married, party and everyone will be happy. They don’t mind doing the work–in fact they want to do it, so if we don’t care, let them.”

She hadn’t thought of it like that. Still. “I thought we’d just go to the courthouse or something.”

He kissed her knuckles and then picked up his fork to eat the shrimp pasta. “Not a chance. Not in our family. Why are you nervous, Francesca? I’ll be waiting for you at the end of the aisle.”

She ducked her head, unable to meet his eyes, torn between smiling at his arrogance, and crying because he had no way of understanding. He had an enormous family. There would be no one sitting on her side of the church. “I’ll be walking up the aisle by myself and will probably fall on my face, especially if Emmanuelle has her way and I have to walk in four-inch heels.”

His head came up alertly. His gaze slid over her face like the stroke of fingers. Loving. Gentle. Tender even. “Long dress, bambina, that means you can wear any fucking thing you want on your feet. Or go barefoot. As for walking you down the aisle, Emilio asked for that privilege. You don’t want him, any of my cousins will be happy to oblige. Enzo and Emilio arm-wrestled or something and the winner asked me. If you prefer Pietro or someone else, just say so.”

The idea that Emilio and Enzo had arm-wrestled for the duty of walking her down the aisle made her suddenly want to weep. She had grown very fond of them both. To cover up the emotion threatening to choke her, she changed to the subject that worried her the most.

“What happened at work? There are shadows in your eyes, Stefano.” She willed him to answer. She’d already accepted what he did to protect others and she didn’t want him to shut her out.

Stefano sighed and reached back to rub at his neck. “The girl I told you about a couple of weeks ago.”

“The teenager?” Francesca put her fork down and picked up her napkin, suddenly afraid. Please, please don’t let him say she was dead.

He nodded. “Her name is Nicoletta Gomez. The investigations were completed and it’s far worse than I originally thought. I’m going to have to leave tomorrow, Francesca. If I wait too much longer, she might not survive the next attack.”

“Then go. Of course you have to go.” She stood up and moved behind his chair, sinking her fingers into his tight neck muscles in an effort to ease the tension out of him. “I want you to go.”

“Dio, bella, that feels good. But you should know . . .” He trailed off when the elevator door pinged in warning.

Ricco and Taviano entered a couple of moments later. Ricco sniffed the air and went straight to the kitchen, dished himself and Taviano a large bowl of pasta and dragged chairs closer to the table. “Dig in before the others come. We might have a chance at seconds.” He grinned at her. “Hey, Francesca, looking good for a bridezilla. I figured your head would be spinning around at this point.”

She continued kneading the tight muscles of Stefano’s neck and shoulders. “I feel like a bridezilla. I really understand the concept of eloping, but Stefano doesn’t get it.”

“I always thought the woman wanted the big white wedding and the man was all for eloping,” Taviano said, shoveling a heaping forkful of pasta into his mouth.

The elevator pinged again, and this time it was Giovanni, Emmanuelle and Vittorio. Francesca had come to realize that where one sibling was, more were close by. She was glad she’d made a healthy amount of pasta, although there weren’t going to be any leftovers for lunch the next day.

Once they were all seated around the table and eating, pouring glasses of wine, she looked closely at their faces. “So what’s wrong?”

Giovanni raised an eyebrow. “Why would you think something was wrong? Other than Emmanuelle’s really bad taste in lunch dates.”

“I didn’t have lunch with him and certainly didn’t go on a date,” Emmanuelle snapped, glaring at her brother. “I ran into him and it was polite to speak, that’s all. Stop with the teasing. He annoys the crap out of me.”

Francesca knew instantly they were talking about Valentino Saldi. The brothers disliked him on principle, and Emmanuelle disliked him because he was always sarcastic with her. She really hated being called princess and Valentino apparently did it at every opportunity. Emmanuelle sounded annoyed, but a faint blush stole up her cheeks and when her eyes met Francesca’s there was pleading there.

“Stop teasing Emme. It isn’t distracting me. I know you all didn’t show up here for the pasta, so something else is up,” Francesca said. “Just tell me.”

There was a small silence. Her fingers curled into Stefano’s shoulders, holding on for the inevitable blow, because just by the silence, she knew it was coming.

“Barry Anthon is in town and he’s on his way here,” Ricco announced, his voice calm and matter-of-fact.

Francesca’s heart stuttered. Instantly her stomach churned. She pressed one hand to her stomach and the other to her mouth, afraid she’d be sick right there with Stefano’s family all sitting around the table, pretending they weren’t watching her closely. For a moment her vision actually began to fade and her legs went weak.

Ricco was up instantly, nearly knocking over his chair, his fingers strong on the back of her neck, pushing her head down. “Just breathe. Don’t panic on us. Don’t give the bastard that.”

Stefano’s chair scraped and he crouched down beside her, holding her long hair out of her eyes while he examined her pale face. “He can’t hurt you, bambina, not ever again. Whatever he says, and he’ll be very, very careful, knowing you’re my fiancee. He knows I’m not the kind of man to allow him to make implications or innuendos about my woman. He’ll be on his best behavior. So will we. We’re going to be all smiles and politeness.”

She forced air through her lungs, ashamed of her weakness. Stefano’s brothers and sister had dropped what they were doing to support her. “I’m all right now. I’m sorry. I just . . . He’s . . .” She sighed as she straightened slowly.

Ricco and Stefano both kept a hand on her as she stood. Of all the brothers, Ricco was the one she felt kept himself locked away, his eyes permanently shadowed, as if something terrible had happened to him, but he refused to share, to lighten his burden. He was very much like Stefano in that he was scary, maybe even more so. A dark, dangerous man seeking an adrenaline rush all the time. He was the most unpredictable and yet, he was careful of her. Gentle even. All of the Ferraros were so nice to her.

“He murdered her. All those stab wounds. The blood. I see it nearly every time I close my eyes. He would hurt any one of you just because he thinks he can. He’s made himself untouchable. I don’t know if I can sit across from his smiling face and not pick up a knife and stab him just as many times.” She made the confession in a rush, needing them to understand she wasn’t afraid of Barry so much as for all of them–or of what she might do.

“But you won’t,” Stefano said. “Because you believe me when I tell you we’re handling this. Barry Anthon will pay the price for murdering your sister and destroying the life you had.”

“I can give you Cella’s phone,” she offered. “I don’t know why I didn’t before.”

Taviano laughed. “Little sister, that’s rich. You don’t need to give it to us. We’ve already seen it.”

“That’s impossible. It’s in a safety deposit box under Joanna’s name. You’d need the key.”

“She keeps it in her top left-hand drawer,” Vittorio said. “I made a copy when I had my little chat with her, and then Salvatore went to the bank and retrieved it. Don’t worry. It’s back in the box. He returned it once they made a recording. We needed the evidence for the investigation.”

Francesca didn’t know whether to be annoyed or impressed. “What investigation?”

“We always make certain of all facts, little sister,” Ricco said, sitting back down to eat more of the pasta. “We don’t make mistakes.”

“Thorough,” Giovanni added. “It can take a while, but we know we’re right before we make a move.”

Francesca threaded her fingers through Stefano’s. “That’s why you waited on the girl, isn’t it? You had to make certain.”

Stefano nodded. “Our solutions tend to be permanent. We can’t afford mistakes.”

She liked that. The fact that they took their time to make absolutely sure, even if they wanted to move on something–as Stefano clearly did with Nicoletta Gomez–made her certain she was right to trust Stefano.

“I was about to tell you that I have to go out of town tomorrow. Giovanni and Taviano will go with me. It will appear that only the two of them will board the plane and I’ve stayed here with you. Emmanuelle, Ricco and Vittorio will be with you at all times. Barry Anthon won’t get close to you, but if you need me here, Francesca, now that you know Anthon is close, I’ll delay the trip.”

“No. Of course not. I’ve seen Emme in action, and if I decide to go crazy and go after Barry, I have no doubt she can stop me.”

“You’re sure.”

She looked him in the eye. “You get her out of that situation. More than anything else, I want that. I was afraid for the people around me, Stefano. Barry destroyed my life and he beat me down. I came to Chicago with the idea of building myself back up. I planned to replace a way to go after him. Believe me, I wouldn’t have allowed him to get away with my sister’s murder. He’s going to pay.”

Stefano brought her hand to his mouth and gently scraped his teeth back and forth over the pads of her fingers. “That’s my woman.” There was pride in his voice.

The hotel phone rang. The room went still. Stefano, keeping possession of her hand, tugged until she went with him across the room to answer it. It was the front desk telling him he had a visitor, a friend from out of town, Barry Anthon. Could he come up on such short notice? Yes, he was alone. Stefano answered easily. “Sure, tell him we’re just finishing dinner and Emilio and Enzo will bring him up.”

Time slowed down instantly for Francesca. There was a strange buzzing in her head. She could see the kitchen counter from where she stood and her gaze fixed on the butcher block of knives. They weren’t just any knives. They were a chef’s weapons in the kitchen, precise and sharp beyond measure.

Stefano’s fingers closed around her upper arm like a vise. She hadn’t realized she’d taken a step toward the kitchen when he pulled her up close to his body. His hand spanned her throat, thumb tipping her head back, forcing her eyes to meet his.

“You trust your man, Francesca. You put yourself in my hands. You committed to me. That means I have your trust. It may not be the latest trend, or the modern concept of what a partnership is, but you chose me and I chose you. I will never be anything less than the man in our relationship. Trust me to take care of you properly. I will always do my best for you. You do what I say in this matter–do you understand me?”

She moistened her dry lips with the tip of her tongue. “What are you saying?”

“You don’t ever do violence, Francesca, not unless it’s self-defense or in the defense of our family. I won’t have that on your soul. You’re going to be my wife. The mother of my children. You’re about love and softness. Not killing. Never that. This man has harmed you. He murdered a woman who would have been my sister. When we’re ready, the family will strike. Until then, you do exactly what I say.” He turned and gestured toward his silent siblings. “What they say. This is our field of expertise.”

She closed her eyes, not wanting to see the killer in him, because it was right there, exposed, his eyes flat and cold. Impersonal, when she could never be. She could kill Barry Anthon, but she could never be that objective or detached about it. She might regret taking a life later. She didn’t know, but she feared she might.

There was silence in the room. Waiting. Stefano was patient. His revelation came as no surprise. She’d known all along what kind of man he was. He controlled his world and would expect to control his household–especially his wife. A million objections ran through her mind, but she really didn’t feel them. She knew Stefano now and she knew him to be a fair man. He wouldn’t be a tyrant or dictator, but he would definitely expect her to follow his lead in their marriage.

Her eyes searched his. His gaze was steady. He didn’t even blink. She had no doubt that he would take care of Barry Anthon, but he would do it safely. Much safer than she could ever manage.

“I hear you, honey,” she said softly. “Tell me what you want me to do.”

“Sit between Ricco and me. Keep your hand in mine. No matter what he says or what any of us say, you stay quiet. Try not to look at him triumphantly, or with anger. If you can’t do that, and I don’t expect you to be a great actress, then just keep your eyes down. Barry would never buy a change of heart from you, but don’t go as far as open hostility. We aren’t quite ready to take him down. If things are too difficult, look to Emmanuelle. She’ll pull you out.”

Francesca took a deep breath. Inhaled Stefano. She feared once Barry entered the room she wouldn’t be able to breathe properly. She didn’t want to take the chance of drawing him into her lungs. He was in her nightmares; he didn’t get anything else from her.

She took a slow look around her at Stefano’s siblings. All of them stood as still as statues. Beautiful, gorgeous specimens of human beings, tough and dangerous, waiting for her signal, completely prepared to protect her at any cost. Her gaze drifted back to Stefano’s face. The angles and planes could have been immortalized in stone. She saw everything there, everything she ever wanted.

“Okay.” She hesitated and then was compelled to issue a warning. “Barry Anthon is a monster. He’ll give you his innocent face and all the while plan to stab you in the back.”

“We have a lot of practice at this, Francesca,” Emmanuelle reassured. “We’ve been playing to the public for years. We cultivate the paparazzi, feeding them the stories we want them to publish, giving them the pictures and images so we’re controlling everything for our own purposes. We’ve got this.”

“Barry is on the racetrack, trying to throw his weight around frequently,” Ricco added, his voice low, contemptuous. “He likes to be the big man, but let me just say this, little sister: that poor excuse for a human being has nothing on us when it comes to manipulation or playing to the camera. He’ll believe us. Just follow our lead and look to us if you get in trouble. You’re famiglia. Sacred to us.”

She was finally getting that the entire Ferraro family actually felt that way and it gave her a very much needed warm feeling. She smiled at them all, rubbing her hands up and down her arms, grateful to them. “I really appreciate you all.”

The cold, frozen place inside of her that knew Barry Anthon would try again to destroy her was beginning to thaw a little. “I don’t actually believe he’s that afraid of me or the evidence I have against him. That’s one of the reasons I didn’t take Cella’s phone to the FBI or another law enforcement agency. There’s evidence of wrongdoing, but nothing really connects him other than his handwriting. Any competent lawyer would get him off if that’s all they had against him.”

She pushed a hand through her hair. “I think Barry likes terrorizing people. It gives him a feeling of power. He likes destroying lives just because he can. Just like he wants women to fall in love with him so he can destroy them that way.”

Ricco and Stefano exchanged a long look. Ricco grinned. “You’re correct, Stefano. She’s not only beautiful–she’s a gift.”

Francesca had no idea what that meant, but it was sincere and made her blush.

“That’s exactly right, Francesca,” Stefano agreed. “He’s a sociopath. He can be charming to get his way, but anyone who crosses him is going to be mowed down one way or another. He’s been destroying others ever since he was a little boy. I think his own mother is afraid of him. If he hadn’t been born into the Anthon family with their money, he’d already be in jail.”

The elevator pinged a warning and Stefano’s arm swept around her, bringing her front to his side, locking her there under the protection of his shoulder. Francesca pressed her hand to his rock-hard abdomen. She could feel his heat and the reassuring muscles beneath the thin tee. Her throat went dry and her heart pounded when she heard Emilio’s voice announcing Barry Anthon. She couldn’t look. She didn’t dare. She did trust Stefano and the others to take care of Barry–eventually. That didn’t mean she didn’t have the compulsion to jump on him and beat him with her fists. It would hurt like hell, but it would be satisfactory.

“Barry,” Stefano greeted. “What a surprise. I had no idea you were in town.”

Stefano’s voice was calm, matter-of-fact, not at all as if just minutes earlier he had been assuring Francesca that he would be taking care of a murderer in a very permanent way. Keeping his arm tightly around her, he walked into the foyer to greet their guest.

“Good timing,” he added. “The family’s here tonight.”

“I didn’t mean to interrupt your dinner,” Barry said.

Her stomach lurched. She would know that voice anywhere. He sounded so normal. Genia

l even. She knew evil lurked under that first layer in his tone because she heard it. The snide contempt for everyone around him. She wondered if the others could hear it as well. Cella hadn’t been able to, and in the end she paid the ultimate price.

Stefano’s fingers bit into her waist hard enough to hurt. She forced her lashes to lift and found herself looking directly into Barry’s eyes. There was speculation there. A watchful, sardonic smirk for her alone. She refused to rise to the bait. She didn’t smile in welcome; she couldn’t manage even a sarcastic smile and he would never believe it anyway.

“I believe you know my fiancee,” Stefano said.

Barry inclined his head. “I do. I was in love with her sister, Cella, a beautiful woman. I’m afraid Francesca didn’t approve of the match. I had hoped, over time, to win her over, but unfortunately Cella was murdered and Francesca had to place blame somewhere. It fell squarely on my shoulders. I’ll admit I was surprised that you two had met, let alone gotten engaged. Francesca and her sister didn’t exactly run in our circle.”

There was no faulting anything he said, or even his tone of voice, but he still managed to reduce her to the jealous, younger sister who refused approval of her older sister’s relationship for petty reasons. He also had subtly pointed out that Francesca and Cella weren’t members of the elite upper echelon and she didn’t have his money or education. She didn’t belong.

That did make her smile. She belonged to Stefano. With Stefano. She felt the others moving closer, taking her back. She belonged to the Ferraro family, and no one fucked with a Ferraro. She lifted her chin. “There is some truth in there. My sister and I certainly never have run in your circle, Barry. As for blaming you, I blame the man who murdered my sister so viciously and I always will.”

Stefano’s fingers bit down again. He waved toward the great room. “Come sit down and tell us what you’re doing in town.”

Barry followed Stefano and Francesca into the spacious room and, after greeting the other Ferraros, took the armchair closest to Emmanuelle. Of course he would choose the one female Ferraro. Barry believed himself to be irresistible to women. He would flirt with Emmanuelle and try to get an ally in the enemy’s camp. Francesca wondered if that was what Valentino Saldi was doing and if that was what made Emmanuelle so angry with him whenever they met. No one wanted to be used.

Stefano directed her to the long sofa. He sat close to her, keeping her tightly against him, her hand pressed to his thigh. Ricco sat on the other side of her, almost as close as Stefano. She could feel his body heat and the wave of menace pouring off him. It was tangible enough that Stefano sent him a quelling glance. Secretly, Francesca wanted to hug Ricco. He didn’t like Barry’s subtle attack on her.

“What brings you to town?” Ricco asked, sounding every bit as pleasant as Stefano. He gave Barry a shark’s smile, all white teeth and politeness.

“There’s a company in town I was looking into,” Barry admitted. “It might be worth my time to either turn it around or sell it off piece by piece. I heard about the engagement and saw some of the really nasty articles written about Francesca. I thought I might speak on her behalf so none of you would jump to the wrong conclusions about her. After all, she could have been my little sister.”

It took every ounce of discipline she had not to launch herself at Barry. Her fingers curled into claws, nails digging into Stefano’s thigh. He didn’t wince, but he did smooth caresses over the back of her hand. The nerve of Barry Anthon, to act like he would or ever could “speak on her behalf.”

Vittorio laughed softly. “No one has to speak on Francesca’s behalf, Barry. We’re all in love with her. How could anyone help be anything but in love with her? The things the paparazzi dug up are all in the past. It’s just enough to feed the frenzy and to be interesting, but not enough to be a huge scandal, although we’ve never shied away from that.”

The siblings all laughed. Francesca managed a faint smile. Stefano grounded her with his absolute confidence. The family helped with their unconditional support.

“That’s good then. Great,” Barry said. “Such a relief. Francesca is a great girl. I had hoped we’d become good friends since we shared the love of her sister.” He lifted his eyebrow at Francesca. “Perhaps one day. Have you set a date for the wedding, Stefano?” Clearly he didn’t believe for a moment that Stefano was really marrying her. It was there in the subtle sneer.

Emmanuelle clapped her hands together. “I’ve been seeing to all the details. Francesca feels a little railroaded, I’m sure, but my mother and I are following Stefano’s orders to the letter. He wants to marry his lady immediately and since we’re all in total agreement, we can’t put the wedding together soon enough.”

“Do you feel railroaded, Francesca?” Stefano asked, his eyes meeting hers. Voice soft. Low. Intimate. He brought her fingertips up to his mouth and nibbled, looking for all the world as if he might devour her right there in front of everyone.

She shook her head, allowing Barry to see the truth–that she was absolutely mesmerized by Stefano, completely in love with him. Barry would never have that kind of devotion and love from anyone because he couldn’t feel it himself. He could never sustain his interest long enough for a woman to replace herself completely and utterly in love. He needed power over and then the destruction of his pretty toys long before true devotion ever happened.

“Will you be in Chicago long, Barry?” Taviano asked.

“Enough that I rented an estate for the month. I’d like to close this deal.” He winked at Emmanuelle. “Plenty of time to hit the clubs and maybe have a dinner or two with your sister.” His voice held complete confidence.

“Barry, you’re such a flatterer.” Emmanuelle batted her eyelashes at him. “And so brave with all my brothers sitting around you like a bunch of hawks. The last man who tried to take me out ended up in the hospital for two weeks. He had thirty-seven stitches in his head and no one was altogether certain if he would ever be able to function properly, if you know what I mean.”

Barry’s smile slipped. Her voice was very bright, almost as if she was teasing him, but she sounded serious enough. Francesca looked up at Stefano. He grinned, as if the memory was a happy one. Ricco cracked his knuckles.

Giovanni sighed. “We’re not taking the blame for that one, Emmanuelle.” He shook his head at Barry. “She did that one all on her own.”

“Seriously?” Barry looked Emmanuelle up and down. She was small, almost slight. She had a good figure, but she was much smaller than her brothers. “I can’t see that happening.”

“It’s true,” Emmanuelle said with a casual shrug.

“He attack you or something?”

“He did that, he’d be dead,” Stefano said.

“Then what?” Barry insisted.

Emmanuelle rolled her eyes. “I was PMSing, okay? No big deal. I told him to back off a couple of times and he wouldn’t. He should have listened. I warned him twice.”

Barry looked around at all her brothers and then he laughed nervously. “Good one, Emmanuelle. I almost believed you.”

“Where are you staying, Barry?” Giovanni asked.

“The Mardsten estate. It’s very private. I brought my own security with me. I’ve had a few threats lately. Someone’s been after my design for a new racing engine.”

“That’s right,” Stefano said. “Your company has been in the developing stages for a few years now for a new engine. Is it finally finished? Are you ready to debut it on the track?”

“Not quite yet, but we’re close.”

“You stole Martin Estee away from Aeronautics, didn’t you? That was quite a coup. As a designer, he’s the top in the business,” Ricco stated. “You got lucky, especially if he manages to design you something new. We’ve been working on our own for a while now.”

Vittorio nodded. “We’d give anything to be able to lure Martin away from you.”

“Although you, Taviano and Emme have done a good job for us,” Stefano pointed out to his brother. “Our last cars have kicked ass.”

Barry shifted forward, his brows coming together. “You three designed your engine?”

“Mostly Taviano,” Ricco said. “He’s our ace in the hole.”

Francesca watc

hed Barry’s face closely. His facial expression had frozen, his eyes going killer cold. She shivered and wanted to protest, to do anything to draw attention away from Taviano. Didn’t they all realize they were painting a target in the middle of Taviano’s forehead? Barry didn’t like to be bested, and the Ferraros were winning races. Ricco was an excellent driver. He’d won race after race and more than once he’d left Barry’s car in the dust.

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.”