Shadow Rider (Shadow Riders 1)

The men would ruin Pietro's livelihood just to get to her. She couldn't allow that to happen. Stefano's hotel would be much more difficult to get to, although she was fairly certain even that wouldn't go unscathed. Barry's men had set fire to one of the apartments she resided in. She couldn't imagine having to face Stefano or his family if Anthon burned down their hotel. Barry Anthon's destruction was far-reaching. She closed her eyes and pushed her forehead into the heel of her hand. She was going to have to leave. It wasn't fair to put any of these people in Barry's path.

"Francesca? Are you all right?"

Startled, she jumped out of her seat, knocking the chair over, rocking the table so that the soothing cup of coffee she'd just poured splashed over the rim. Stefano's brother, Taviano, the one who had driven the car from her apartment to the hotel, stood watching her closely. He looked uncannily like his brother. He certainly was as still and as menacing, his blue eyes every bit as assessing and sharp as Stefano's.

"What's wrong?" he demanded. He even had the same abrupt, bossy tone.

Heart racing, she stepped back. Taviano took up the room just as Stefano did. "Nothing. You just surprised me."

Eyes on her, he reached down and picked up the overturned chair, gently setting it upright. "I brought your phone." He held it out to her.

Francesca swallowed the sudden lump in her throat. Stefano. Looking out for her. Her fingers closed around the item. She felt as if she was grabbing a lifeline.

"You're very pale. Are you certain that you're all right? I can take you home if you need to go back to the hotel."

She turned away from him with a shake of her head and a quick smile, afraid he saw too much. "I'm perfectly fine. Thank you for bringing me the phone. Your brother is very generous." She hoped he was even more so. The moment the phone was in her hand, a new plan came to her.

"He'd like you to text him. Just so he knows you've got the phone. He said to remind you to text him if you leave the store."

Those eyes never stopped watching her. She drew in a breath. "He did make that very clear. In fact, he was rather forceful about it."

That got her a smile. "I can imagine. If you need anything let one of us know. Our numbers are programmed into your phone. Emilio's and Enzo's as well."

"Thank you, this is very kind of your family."

He shrugged. "We take care of our own. Make no mistake, Francesca, you're one of us. If you have any kind of problem, you let us help."

She nodded, trying to look reassuring. "I will."

He started to turn away, but looked at her over his shoulder, a grin lighting up his face. "It's nice to see you dressed in something besides that sleeping bag. The look was good, but this one is much better."

"I suppose I'm not going to live that down."

"You suppose right," he said, and was gone, moving down the narrow hallway with the grace peculiar to the Ferraro family.

Francesca wiped up the spilled coffee and sank back down into the chair. The break room was small, much smaller than Pietro's office. She turned her chair so it was facing the door, rather than the window. She'd wanted to see out, careful to keep watch for Barry's man, but it wasn't a smart idea to have her back to the door. Anyone could sneak up on her.

She sat in silence for nearly her entire break, sipping her coffee and working up her courage. Finally, she sent Stefano the text. She needed a loan. She'd pay him back as soon as possible. The loan was significant. Three thousand dollars. Her stomach churned as she typed out the request. She hoped he wouldn't think she'd been stringing him along, biding her time, just waiting for an opportunity to get money from him. She bit down hard on her lip as she hit send before she changed her mind.

She could find more clothes at a thrift store, not take anything else from Stefano, but the money would get her out of the city and she could go somewhere completely different. She knew how to get lost on the street. She'd done it before, losing Barry's man so he wouldn't know when she boarded a bus.

She couldn't go without money. She had to get a loan from Stefano. Once she was on her feet, she'd send him the money. She could work. She was a hard worker. She didn't know how Barry had found her so fast, but she would get better at hiding. She had to get better. He was already breathing down her neck and she hadn't been in the city that long.

Her phone rang. She stared down at it as if it were alive. She knew who it was. She flipped it open and put it to her ear.

"Don't you dare fucking leave that store, Francesca. I mean it. Whatever is going on you tell me. You don't plan to run off. I'll be there in a few minutes." He hung up abruptly, not giving her a chance to respond.

There was no greeting and no nice ending to the conversation. Stefano was not happy. She took a deep breath. He would be there soon, and he would talk her out of leaving. She knew he could persuade her because she didn't actually want to leave. She had to, to protect Pietro, Joanna, and even Stefano. He might look at it as running, but she knew firsthand that Barry Anthon was capable of murder and he wouldn't hesitate if anyone got in his way.

She couldn't go out the front door. Emilio and Enzo were out there. She whirled around and started down the hall, heading toward the rear of the building. She had to leave now, before she was ready. She could have asked for her pay. Pietro would have given her cash, but she didn't dare wait one more minute. She yanked open the door and nearly ran right into Enzo.

He grinned at her. "Going somewhere, Francesca?" He blocked the exit with his body. He was solid. Impossible to move. He leaned one hip lazily against the doorjamb. "I have to tell you, sweetheart, that man of yours is in rare form. He blew up my phone with orders and promises of all kinds of pain and torture if you manage to evade me. Which you wouldn't be so mean as to try to do, right? I mean, you know Stefano. He wouldn't be in the least understanding if you slipped past me."

Francesca stepped back, because she had no choice as Enzo stepped forward. She put a defensive hand to her throat. "I'm trying to do the right thing, Enzo. I'm protecting him. You have no idea of the enemies I have. I have to get out of here."

Enzo shook his head, a small smile playing on his mouth. "You're protecting Stefano Ferraro. My cousin." He grinned at her. "That is so rich. Protecting him."

"It's not a laughing matter."

The smile faded and he tipped his head to one side. "You're serious."

"Very. I know you love him. For his sake, you have to let me go. I'll get on a bus and disappear." She wasn't certain she had enough money to get her anywhere. She still hadn't gotten a real paycheck yet.

"Honey, Stefano Ferraro isn't a man who needs protection from anyone. People need protection from him. Trust your man to take care of you. Trust our family."

She sensed movement behind her, although she didn't hear anything. Enzo lifted his gaze beyond her shoulder and she turned her head to see Emilio coming up behind her. The two men caged her in.

"Want to tell me what the hell is going on? Stefano is losing his fuckin' mind," Emilio greeted.

"Francesca here is leaving to protect Stefano from some big bad enemy she has," Enzo supplied.

Emilio stopped in his tracks, his face showing shock. "What?"

"You heard me."

Francesca had had enough. "Move, Enzo. You can't stop me."

"Honey." Enzo grinned at her. "Physics apply here. You're not up to taking me on."

"Are you shitting me?" Emilio demanded. "You're protecting Stefano."

She sighed, trying to push down the relief. She didn't want to feel relief, but she did. She was terrified of leaving. She didn't want to go back to the streets, but more, she didn't want to be alone anymore. Barry Anthon had terrorized her for so long she had forgotten what good was until she'd been with Stefano. She'd forgotten what safe felt like until she'd been with him.

"Fine. I'll go back to work, finish my shift and face his majesty when I'm off work," she capitulated.

"I think you're officially off work for the day. He's blown up my cell,

Enzo's cell and Pietro's phone. I wouldn't be surprised if every single one of his brothers as well as Emmanuelle show up."

"He wouldn't go that crazy."

"Honey," Enzo said. "He did."

That didn't bode well. She followed Emilio back into the store, Enzo trailing close behind. To her shock, she recognized two of Stefano's brothers lounging by the door, as if they were draped there very casually, but there was nothing casual in their expressions when their gazes settled on her face.

Enzo took her elbow and walked her around the counter straight to Stefano's brothers. "She was protecting him," he greeted with a small grin.

Francesca rolled her eyes. "It isn't that funny."

Taviano broke into a smile. Ricco didn't, but his eyebrow shot up.

"Seriously?" Taviano asked. "This is priceless. Can't wait for him to find out."

"I'd like to know what prompted your sudden desire to make a run for it," Ricco said, "but let's take this outside. We have an audience."

Francesca was acutely aware of the silence in the store. It was packed with customers, yet no one was making purchases or conversing with a neighbor. All eyes were on her and the Ferraro brothers.

Ricco yanked open the door, lifted his chin at Pietro, took her elbow and marched her out of the store. As he did so, Stefano's Aston Martin pulled smoothly to the curb. Without missing a beat, Ricco opened the door, put a hand to the top of her head when she hesitated, forced her into the car and shut the door.

Francesca took a deep breath and turned her head to face Stefano. The atmosphere in the confines of the car was searing. She could see why. He was seething. A tendril of unease snaked down her spine. "Stefano . . ."

"Put your seat belt on." He waited, blue eyes like flames, burning a hole through her.

She was insane. She knew she was, because Stefano Ferraro was furious. His fury burned all the oxygen out of the air, but she still felt absolutely safe. Happy. Relieved. Uncaring that he might roar at her, because she knew categorically that Stefano would never lay a hand on her in anger and that he wasn't about to let her go.

She snapped the belt into place. "I'm sorry you felt you had to leave work."

"It might be best if you didn't talk while I'm driving."

She was fine with that. She knew it was a small reprieve, but she didn't care. The interior of the car was warm, and Stefano's wide shoulders and rock-hard body gave her the illusion of complete well-being. For the first time since she'd seen Barry's man draw his finger across his throat, she breathed easier.

She sat in silence, admiring the way Stefano drove--with speed, but very controlled. He drove right up to the front doors of the hotel, got out, tossed his keys to the valet and reached in for her. His grip was strong, a vise around her upper arm.

"You forgot your coat," he observed, his voice clipped. Still angry.

"I'm beginning to think you might be a little obsessed with coats, Stefano," she said, trying to lighten the mood. "You should see someone for that."

He didn't smile or loosen his grip. He went through the double glass doors, across the lobby and straight to his private elevator. The minute they stepped inside, he put a hand to her belly and pushed her against the wall, caught her wrists in his hands, pinning them against the wall on either side of her head and settled his mouth over hers.

Hot. Searching. Angry. Hungry. He poured those emotions into her, his body aggressive against hers. She took his scorching heat, not even pretending to resist. She hadn't known she'd ached for his mouth on hers ever since he'd kissed her that morning, but the moment it happened, need surged through her.

Hunger rose, sharp and terrible. Electrical sparks seemed to jump from his skin to hers. Her body reacted, going pliant, breasts aching, nipples peaking into twin, tight buds, her body slick and hot with welcome. She kissed him back, giving herself to him. Letting his mouth take command of her.

If he intended the kiss as a punishment, it quickly evolved into something altogether different. By the time the elevator reached the penthouse, her knees had gone weak and Stefano was forced to hold her up. Every single cell in her body was alive and reaching for him. He took his mouth from hers and she chased after it, lifting her face in an effort to prevent him from leaving her.

Stefano wrapped his arm around her, keeping her upright as he guided her off the elevator and into the foyer of the penthouse. "At least you know you belong to me," he snapped, anger still infusing his voice.

If he could kiss like that when he was angry, he was in for trouble, because she wouldn't mind making him really angry if that was what she received every time. She pressed her fingers to her mouth and went with him into the spacious great room. It was long and wide and had several couches and chairs. He took her straight to the one in front of the fireplace and put her into it.

"Stay put."

Francesca watched him through lowered lashes as he turned on the fire, using a remote control, stalked across the room, shrugging out of his long coat and tossing it over one of the chairs before turning back to glare at her. Not just glare. She shivered. He pinned her with his piercing eyes. Seeing her. Seeing the fear she tried to hide from him. His jaw tensed, a muscle ticking there. Danger clung to his wide shoulders and defined chest. He looked both powerful and intimidating. She knew he thought the fear in her was of him, because he made a visible effort to get his anger under control.

"Dolce cuore." His voice was soft. Caressing. "Don't look at me like that. I would never hurt you. Never. No matter how angry I get, you will never be a target."

She shook her head. "I know that, Stefano." She did know it. Stefano Ferraro was a man who protected women, especially one he considered his, even if it was temporary.

"Why are you afraid? What made you run?"

He didn't take his eyes from her face and she shivered again at the intensity there. She studied him. His expression gave nothing away, yet she felt as if she had hurt him. "I don't want anything to happen to you." The confession came out in a little rush, the words tumbling over one another, almost of their own volition. She wasn't certain she would have revealed so much to him if she'd thought about it, but the idea that she might have hurt Stefano with her actions was unacceptable to her.

He stood across the room from her for a long time, his blue gaze moving over her face. She twisted her fingers into the material of her skirt, bunching it into her fist. The atmosphere in the room changed, but she didn't know him well enough to read it.

"What do you think is going to happen to me, Francesca?"

She didn't understand how he could speak so low, so quietly and still convey so much intensity. She realized he was still angry, but the emotion was no longer focused completely on her. He held himself still, not making a move toward her. Her heart beat fast and hard, mostly because it felt a little like being in the same room with a lion. Any moment he could choose to bring down his prey, but he held himself aloof, waiting. Making her wait.

Francesca moistened her lips with the tip of her tongue. "Stefano, don't be angry. You would try to . . ."

He was across the room in four long strides, cutting her off, mostly because she couldn't breathe. He still reminded her of a lion, a large jungle cat, fluid and beautiful, graceful as it rushed its prey. He leaned down, his knuckles on either side of her hips. Close, so close she could feel his fingers through the thin material of her skirt.

"Stop. Talking. Bullshit."

His face was even closer than his hands, his mouth against hers. Every movement brushed her lips with his. His eyes bore into hers, stripping her bare, seeing her when she didn't think it was safe. She couldn't hide the fact that she wanted him, and there in his penthouse, with his anger pulsing in the air, that wasn't a good thing at all.

"Stefano." She thought to soothe him.

"We're past this. We talked about it and we both agreed. We're not going backward so tell me what the fuck happened to make you want to run from me."

It was a demand. Nothing less. Fran

cesca took a deep breath, desperate for air, but drew him into her lungs instead. She felt his lips against hers, soft but firm. His lips might be the only soft part of him. Every other square inch seemed to be made from pure steel. She couldn't resist the temptation, not when he surrounded her with his scent. Not when his anger pulsed in the air, feeding the sexual tension until she was squirming with need. With a terrible hunger she barely understood.

Francesca slid her arms around Stefano's neck and pressed her mouth closer against his, moving her lips along his in little kisses, using the tip of her tongue to trace and shape the curve of his mouth. His breath stilled in his throat. His blue eyes darkened. His lashes fluttered. He had beautiful lashes, full and long and very black. His arm slid along her back and he dragged her to her feet, pulling her body into his, locking her there.

His mouth took over hers and it was nothing less than a takeover. His kiss was hard, and hot and delicious. She tasted his anger. It was there, adding even more heat. She gave herself up to his scorching temper and his intense hunger. To the dark passion that swept her up like a tidal wave.

She wanted this. She wanted him. She didn't care about consequences; she only knew that when she was with him, she felt alive. She felt as if she was home, where she belonged. More, her body felt sensual, and beautiful. That was Stefano. He made her feel those things when she never had.

Electricity arced between them, sizzled over her skin and sank into her bones. Her bloodstream turned molten, so hot she felt each separate connection running through her body. His mouth was possessive. Demanding. On fire. Taking rather than asking. That didn't matter, because she gave up everything to him.

His hands settled on her hips, almost as if he might set her aside. Francesca moved closer to him, needing to feel the strength in his body, the way his muscles rippled so elegantly beneath his clothes. She needed to touch him, his skin, to feel the heat scorching through her. Without thinking of the consequences, she jerked his shirt out of the waistband of his pants and slid her palms up his rib cage and over his chest.