Shadow Rider (Shadow Riders 1)

Instantly the atmosphere in the lobby changed. Heads turned. A few people whispered, but most were silent. Watching him. Watching them. She ducked her head and moved closer to him. Instantly, he swept her beneath his shoulder, locking her to his side protectively.

He didn't look left or right, but she knew he was aware of everything and everyone in the hotel lobby. Nothing escaped his notice. She knew why she felt so safe with him. He commanded everything and everyone around him with every step he took. He filled an entire lobby with his presence. No one would dare try to harm her when she was in his keeping. It felt good to actually feel safe after so long.

He handed her into the car, giving her the illusion of being a princess. She snapped the seat belt around her, admiring the interior of the Aston Martin. Francesca waited until Stefano was behind the wheel and the car was gliding down the street, faster than she thought he should have driven it. Evidently, Stefano and his family had a lot of cars for their use.

"I wanted to tell you thank you."

He glanced at her. Raised an eyebrow. She twisted her fingers together. It didn't matter that he looked like the hottest man on earth and maybe the richest, he deserved to know. "For rescuing me from that apartment and gathering up what would be horribly embarrassing recordings. And for giving me a place to stay that made me feel safe. I haven't felt that way in a very long time."

He reached out and caught her hand, curling his long fingers around it. "Then I'm grateful I was the one to give that to you." He frowned a little and brought her hand to his thigh, pinning it there. "Although you still had a nightmare."

"I have them all the time, but when I did, you made me hot chocolate and spent time talking to me, making me feel better. And you somehow--I still don't know how--managed to get me a closet full of beautiful clothes that actually fit. And the shoes are . . . awesome." She lifted one foot to admire the boot she was wearing.

She waited, holding her breath, watching his face carefully. His smile was slow in coming, but when it did, it was worth the wait. He brushed his thumb over her knuckles once and a million butterflies took wing in her stomach.

"We're here, bambina," he said as he parked the car. "Do you have money for lunch?"

"Pietro allows me to eat at the deli. I'm not going hungry, Stefano, but thanks for asking." She was embarrassed that he felt he had to ask, but happy that it mattered to him. After hearing him talk about Dina in such a caring tone, she knew every single person in his neighborhood mattered to him.

Francesca was shocked when Stefano slid out of the car, walked around the hood and opened the door for her. He held out his hand and she had no choice but to allow his fingers to close around her hand, or make a scene. She was acutely aware of people stopping on the sidewalks to stare. Store owners stepped to the windows to peer out. She found herself blushing for no reason. It wasn't as if she was living living with him. She was staying at his penthouse, not sleeping in his bed. She knew if people thought that, they'd think she was after his money.

"I thought you had somewhere to go," she murmured, trying not to look at him.

He kept possession of her hand as he escorted her into Masci's. To her surprise, Pietro was behind the counter, pacing back and forth. He spun around when they walked through the door, his expression wary.

"Mr. Ferraro."

"It's Stefano, Pietro," Stefano said in a low voice.

He shouldn't have sounded menacing, but he did. The moment they entered the deli, Francesca knew something was wrong. Joanna sat at one of the tables. Her eyes were red-rimmed and her face splotchy, evidence that she'd been crying for some time. Francesca made a move toward her, but Stefano's fingers tightened around hers. He tugged and she found herself up against his body, her front to his side, his arm a bar, locking her in place.

"There was some unpleasantness regarding Francesca's place of living last night. She was in danger. I am not happy about that. I left her in your hands, Joanna." He glanced at her over his shoulder, but then his gaze came back to rest on her uncle. "Joanna knew where she was staying. I imagine you did not." He made it a statement but waited for Pietro to contradict him.

Pietro glared at Joanna and then shook his head adamantly. Joanna sniffed and then stifled a sob.

Francesca put one palm against Stefano's abs on the inside of his open coat and shoved. Hard. Nothing happened. He didn't budge, nor did he look down at her. "Stefano . . ."

He glared down at her. "Enough. This is between Pietro, Joanna and me." Once again he looked at her boss. "She's staying with me in the penthouse, but while she is working Emilio or Enzo will be close. I want her safe, Pietro." His voice dropped an octave. "Do you understand what I mean by 'safe'?"

Pietro nodded.

"At some point in the future I expect you'll receive a visit from a couple of men who will tell you all sorts of tales about Francesca. When you don't fire her, and you won't, they will return and threaten you. The moment these men contact you, no matter what they say, I expect you to immediately, and by 'immediately' I mean that instant, report to me. Personally, Pietro. Have I made myself clear?"

Pietro nodded so hard and so much that Francesca feared his neck would break.

"Good." Stefano dropped the iron bar of his arm, but turned his head and brushed another kiss along her temple. "Text me, Francesca. I won't be happy if you forget."

"We all endeavor to make you happy," she murmured softly, and smiled innocently up at him.

He shook his head, his blue eyes glittering with a promise of retaliation, and her stomach did a slow roll in anticipation. He turned his head toward Joanna. "I trust we will see you at the club Friday night, Joanna. Emmanuelle said you'd be there."

Joanna nodded. "I'm so sorry, Stefano."

He studied her pale, splotchy face. "You fucked up, Joanna. You also apologized for it and it's over. We're good."

Instantly a smile broke out, lighting Joanna's face. Francesca wasn't certain what she'd done to apologize for, but evidently when Stefano said it was over, Joanna must have known him well enough to believe whatever was between them was gone. Her smile said it all.

Stefano caught Francesca under the chin and turned her face to his. "I'll pick you up after work. If not me, one of my brothers or my sister or a cousin."

"I can walk."

Swift impatience crossed his face. His eyes darkened. "Don't piss me off, Francesca. Someone will be here."

She gave an exaggerated sigh. "Can you please try to tone down the bossy?"

His smile was slow in coming, but when it did, her stomach did a slow roll. "I'll try, just for you, but I wouldn't count on it, dolce cuore." He brushed his mouth over hers. A brief contact, but so hot, embers found their way to her belly. "Later, bella. Be good."

Stefano was gone, striding from the store with his fluid, easy way, which made him look like a cross between a fighter and a dancer. He flowed over the ground, his long coat billowing around his legs as he made his way to the car. Francesca watched as those on the sidewalk stopped to look at him or stepped aside to make room for him. He didn't ever have to pause. The crowd parted like the Red Sea for him. He waved to a couple of people, but he didn't stop. He slid into his car and even traffic seemed to obey, allowing him to pull in immediately.

Francesca turned to Pietro. "What was that all about? You aren't responsible for me, no matter what Stefano says. Seriously, Mr. Masci, I'm just grateful that you gave me this job."

"No, no, Francesca. You're a good worker. The best. I have no problem with you. Stefano Ferraro asked a favor of me, and I said I would do it for him and I let him down. I won't again."

She bit her lip, studying his face. "I don't want you to think you're in any way responsible for me. I'm a grown woman."

"No, no, Francesca, you don't understand what a great honor and privilege it is for one of the Ferraros to ask a favor of me. Since you've been working for me, they drop by, all of them, cousins, siblings, all of them. In my store. Daily. I've always done a good

business, but it is up over 100 percent since you began and that's only a couple of days. It will grow even more."

Francesca wasn't certain what to say to that. She glanced over her shoulder at Joanna. "Let me put my coat away, hon, and I'll be right out. I've got a few minutes before I have to clock in and we can talk." She wanted to know what had Joanna so upset and Stefano declaring it was over the moment Joanna apologized to him.

As she hung up her coat, she glanced at herself in the mirror. Her lips still looked a little swollen from the very hot, very hard and aggressive kiss. She touched her mouth with trembling fingers. She'd almost gone up in flames, just spontaneously combusted right there in the elevator.

She didn't look the same in her first ever designer clothes and even more fabulous boots. She shouldn't be so happy over the shoes, but never in her life had she been able to afford such luxury. She loved them. The way they fit. The feel of the material of her skirt. Everything. It was impossible not to and she didn't bother trying.

"Don't get used to it, Francesca," she murmured aloud to herself.

Joanna had a cup of coffee waiting for her, and Francesca sank down in the chair beside her. "Honey, you've been crying. What's wrong?"

Joanna rubbed her temples. "I've been crying so much I gave myself a headache. I want to apologize to you, too, Francesca. I never should have told you about those apartments, let alone allowed you to live there."

The breath left Francesca's lungs in a long rush and deep inside everything stilled. "This crying jag is about me living in those apartments? You apologized to Stefano because he was angry with you over that?"

"Of course he was angry. He had every right to be angry with me. I'm angry with myself. Pietro is angry with me, too."

"How did you find out about it when it just happened?" Francesca asked, keeping her voice low and controlled. She pushed the coffee mug away from her with the tips of her fingers.

"Emilio, of course. He and Vittorio came to see me last night. They were both understandably . . . upset. They told me about that horrible man and what he did to women in his building." Joanna's eyes filled with tears all over again. "After everything you've been through, it's awful to think of you being exposed to that."

"Joanna, they had no right waking you up in the middle of the night and telling you all that," Francesca said carefully. "You've been so kind to me. Without you, I'd still be on the street and in serious trouble. I appreciate every single thing you've done for me. This job, the money to get here. Just sticking with me, being my friend when so many ugly things have been said about me. The apartment isn't your fault. I chose to live there against your advice. You have no blame in what happened, and the Ferraros certainly had no right to involve you." Stefano was going to have to answer to her over that. Making poor Joanna cry and feel so much guilt that she apologized was just plain out of line.

"No. I'm your friend, Francesca. I knew you shouldn't stay there. There were rumors about the owner. I knew he was a sleaze. Every woman within a mile or two has heard he's been brought up on rape charges repeatedly and then the charges would be dropped." She looked around the empty store. They weren't open for another half an hour, but she still lowered her voice. "He's connected to the Saldi family. The Saldis are Sicilian and they go way back. They're reputed to be very violent, and he's related through marriage. His aunt married one of the Saldis. I've heard she's as bloodthirsty as they are, and the family protects him."

Francesca took a deep breath. Joanna had known about the owner and hadn't confided any of the information to her, only that it wasn't a good place to stay and bad things happened there. Francesca had lived on the street for a short while. She knew bad things, but she associated most of them with drugs. It hadn't occurred to her that the owner of the building had raped women. Still, to be fair, had she known, she might have stayed there anyway rather than risk the street while she worked to find the money to get a decent place.

"I should have told you," Joanna said. "If I had told you, maybe you would have stayed with me until you got on your feet."

Francesca had to concede that she might have, but she wouldn't make Joanna feel any guiltier than she already did by admitting it aloud. She shrugged. "It's over now. I'm staying with Stefano . . ." Joanna gasped and a huge smile brightened her face. "In his guest room, you crazy woman."

"How far from his bedroom is the guest room?" Joanna asked. "Because seriously, you might consider sleepwalking."

"I don't want to be one of ten thousand women who have been in his bed. I read all the magazines you gave me, and he's a hound dog. He was with a different woman in every picture at every event." Just admitting the truth out loud made her stomach churn.

"That's the point, Francesca. It was always a different one and no one ever went to his penthouse. Not ever. Believe me, like all the other women around here, I've been on Ferraro watch since I was thirteen. Stefano has never seriously dated anyone. If he was sleeping with them, he didn't do it in his own home."

"Oh, he definitely had sex with them," Francesca confirmed. "Because his kisses need to be outlawed. I didn't think anyone could kiss like that."

Joanna's eyes got wide and her mouth formed a perfect round O. "He kissed you? Oh. My. God. This is so cool, Francesca. My best friend with Stefano Ferraro."

"I am not with him. He's doing what he always does, taking care of everyone in his neighborhood. He's the white knight and I'm the damsel in distress. When I'm all fixed up, he'll move on."

Joanna burst out laughing. "You tell yourself that, girlfriend, if it makes you feel better. The rest of us know the truth." She glanced at her watch. "I have an hour to make myself presentable and go to work."

"And I'd better get moving, too, before your uncle fires me."

"There's zero chance of that happening," Joanna assured her and leapt up. She gave Francesca a quick hug and then blew kisses to her uncle before rushing out of the store.

Francesca put an apron over her clothes, for the first time worried about getting anything on them. She helped Pietro put fresh food in the refrigerated cases. She could see the crowd, already beginning to line up on the sidewalk, waiting for her boss to open the doors. The number of people coming to the store definitely seemed to grow from one day to the next over the days she'd worked there. She was happy for Pietro, but it also made her nervous now that she knew part of the reason for the booming business was her association with the Ferraro family.

She spotted both Emilio and Enzo in the crowd. Emilio leaned one hip lazily against the wall, while he flirted with a young woman who kept tossing her blond hair from one side to another and then winding it around her finger. Emilio had angled his body so that he could watch the street and yet keep an eye on Francesca. He winked at her as he continued to talk to the blonde. Francesca burst out laughing. She was becoming very fond of Emilio. He might be flirting, but his attention wasn't centered on the woman--he was totally alert to everything around him.

Enzo was in line, but standing at an angle that kept changing. He didn't look into the shop, but was studying the street, the buildings across the street and the crowd around him. She realized immediately that between the two men, the street, buildings and sidewalk were covered all the time. She found herself impressed with them because clearly no one else seemed to be aware of what they were doing.

A sudden chill ran down her spine and she straightened from where she'd been arranging inside the cases the special Italian meats imported from various regions in Italy. A sharp prickle of awareness had her gaze sliding away from Emilio and Enzo to search the crowd. She'd had feelings like this before and they were always dead-on, and never boded well.

Her mouth went dry. Surely Barry Anthon hadn't already found her. She hadn't even gotten established. There was no way to build a reputation enough that he couldn't tear it down. She took a deep, calming breath and forced herself to look through the crowd. Her gaze slid through the sea of faces until it rested on a man staring straight at her.

>   He wore aviator-type sunglasses and had a ball cap pulled low over his eyes. His jacket was old and stained and very rumpled, but bulky so it was nearly impossible to tell his weight. He wasn't six foot, because Enzo was close to him and she knew Enzo was at least that tall and the man was shorter. He looked vaguely familiar and she tried to place him. She'd seen him somewhere, but from a distance, just like now. He stared right at her, his mouth drawn into a thin frown of dislike. When he saw her staring back, he drew a line across his throat. He did it so fast and then turned and walked away, hands in his pockets, shoulders slumped, head down, that she almost wasn't certain he'd really made the gesture. He walked rapidly and disappeared from her sight within moments.

Francesca stared after him, her heart beating fast, lungs seizing. Barry had to have sent him with that message. They'd already found her. She was going to have to decide whether to run or stay. She had no money and nowhere to go if she ran. If she stayed, she would be putting her friends in jeopardy. She stared after the man for a long time, long enough that Pietro had opened the doors and people were already crowding in, forcing her to go on automatic pilot and work.

CHAPTER TEN

Francesca spent most of the morning and early afternoon looking over her shoulder and watching the traffic through the plate glass window. She was nervous and edgy, but kept her smile in place with the customers. Time went fast because it was very, very busy, so much so that they had to call in another worker in order to keep up. Pietro, normally in the back, stayed out front to work the cash register while Francesca and Aria, a young woman working part-time and going to school, took care of the customers.

Francesca ate lunch in the back room, rather than out front with the customers as she had done the day before. She was eating late, most of the day having slipped by with such a constant stream of steady customers. She was grateful to get off her feet in spite of the new, comfortable boots.

She thought a lot about her options--which weren't many. The truth was, she wanted to stay, but it wasn't fair to Pietro, who had been so kind giving her a job on Joanna's word. She knew what Barry Anthon would do first. His men would talk to Pietro and insist he fire her. They would tell him about her "mental illness," her police record of vandalism and destruction of property. If Pietro didn't listen and fire her, they would target his store.