Two other men in the back raised their heads for a moment, semiautomatics at the ready, eyes scanning around them as the driver quickly made a U-turn to make a run for it. Emmanuelle had a good shot at the driver, but didn’t take it. They were running, and it didn’t seem right to kill men who were retreating. In any case, she couldn’t get a clear shot at them without exposing herself, and there were too many of them not to take a hit from return fire.
“Think about it, Emmanuelle,” Miceli kept on. “Come to us.”
“Cut the bullshit, Miceli,” Valentino snapped. “You tried to kill my father. Your own brother. What kind of man are you? There is no place on this earth that you can go that I won’t find you. There will be no truce. No peace. You wanted war. You thought Giuseppi weak because he loved Greta and he stayed close to her while she was dying. You thought I wasn’t paying attention. That was a mistake on your part, Miceli. A very big mistake.”
There was no reply. Dead silence followed Valentino’s declaration. His voice had been low. Deadly. She knew that voice. He meant every single word. He would never stop until Miceli was dead.
She just sat in the grass watching the truck disappear down the long drive, heading away from the lake. It wouldn’t be long before emergency vehicles began to show up. It wasn’t as if one could hide a helicopter crash, or the fact that a bullet had taken out the pilot. A war had been fought here at the lake house. Stefano, Giuseppi and Valentino could decide what they wanted to tell the police. She didn’t want to see or talk to anyone.
She wanted to feel a sense of peace. She’d had that for just a little while when she’d been with Valentino here at the lake house before she’d gone to his room and seen him with the blonde he’d identified as Marge. She pulled her knees up and tucked her chin down to rub along the tops of her legs. They’d been happy together—at least, she’d been happy. She thought Valentino had been happy as well. Who knew about others? How did one know? Her brothers were happy with their choices. They seemed to adore their wives.
Lights crisscrossed the yard and then ran along the grass, throwing shadows in all directions. She knew Emilio had set those lights up in order to ensure the riders could go anywhere and escape quickly if need be. They would be checking rooftops, basements, every nook and cranny, just to make certain no one had been left behind to try to assassinate Giuseppi. She should help, but she knew they didn’t really need her.
Already, several of their people were leaving. Stefano didn’t want the police to associate them with the Saldis. It would be interesting to see how this was explained.
“Emme?”
She closed her eyes as a hand came down on her shoulder. She hadn’t even realized her eyes had been burning. The wind was blowing. The clouds looked so purple in the dark sky, spinning and churning rapidly. She’d put her blurry sight down to that.
“Stefano. I was just about to check in with you.” She still had the gun, and she placed it very carefully in front of her. “I’m wearing gloves.” She had no idea why she pointed out what he could so easily see.
“I wasn’t worried, honey.” Stefano sank down beside her. “The cops will be here soon. I’m sending away as many as we can spare.”
She nodded. “I figured you would have to.”
“Do you want to leave?”
“Yes. But I can’t. Not until I know he’s safe.” She leaned into her older brother, needing his comfort.
Stefano wrapped his arm around her immediately. “It’s clear that you really are in love with him, Emmanuelle. I didn’t want to believe it. I don’t even know how it can be true. A Ferraro can only really love once. That one person. An all-consuming love. That means your shadow has to be involved.”
Emmanuelle closed her eyes and remained silent. Breathing. Hoping Stefano let it go, knowing he wouldn’t. He was the head of the family. He was responsible for all of them.
“Emme? Is your shadow in some way compromised by Valentino Saldi?”
It was a direct question. One didn’t lie to Stefano. Hot tears leaked out, spilled down her cheeks. At once she felt that stirring along her nerve endings. The music, the symphony. Him. Valentino. Reaching for her. Trying to comfort her. Trying to draw her back to him.
“Emme?” Stefano repeated, his inquiry infinitely gentle.
She nodded, unable to speak. It felt as if a terrible weight had been lifted off her chest. But now she had to worry that her brother might actually kill the man she loved.