Giovanni took over the explanation. “Miceli had one son, Dario, out of wedlock. He never married his mother, but Dario came to live with him when he was fifteen, after she died. Miceli has two sons with his current wife, Tommaso and Angelo. Because Giuseppi adopted Val legally, Val, who would have stood in line behind Miceli and his three sons, was now the official heir to the Saldi throne.”
Vittorio slid his hand under the table and covered Emme’s hand. She was pressing her palm hard into her thigh. He felt her tremble and he waited until she looked up at him before he smiled at her. “We don’t have the first clue what’s going on, and as with any investigation, we don’t make a move until we know for certain.” He kept his voice soothing. Gentle. He pitched his tones to be comforting and even peaceful.
Emmanuelle visibly relaxed. “I can tell you that Giuseppi treats Val as his own son and clearly loves Greta. She has stage four pancreatic cancer and Giuseppi isn’t leaving her side.”
Stefano raised his head alertly, his dark eyes pinning his sister. Vittorio shook his head and immediately intervened. “Thanks, Emme. We’ll have Rosina see what she can dig up on Greta’s health and where she stands right now. It’s possible Giuseppi really isn’t in the know about what’s going on in his territory.”
“That would be a first,” Taviano said. “Nicoletta was assaulted in the flower shop by Saldi scum. I took care of it, but the bastard actually put his hands on her. And Val’s bodyguard, Dario, you know, Miceli’s oldest son, has twice called Nicoletta, just in case anyone’s interested in that bit of information.”
Nicoletta was a young woman they’d rescued when she was a teen. She lived with Amo and Lucia Fausti as their foster daughter and she’d recently turned eighteen. That made things difficult for the riders as they watched over her. She was one of them, that rare woman who could produce the type of child who was capable of riding shadows and dispensing justice.
Emmanuelle stiffened. “Are you kidding me? When did that happen? Why didn’t you tell me?”
Taviano halted in the act of lifting a scone to his mouth. “What’s wrong, Emme?” She had their complete attention.
“The Saldi family has definitely told their younger men to attempt to seduce the women in our family, me included. If they’re going after Nicoletta, I need to talk to her. She’ll listen to me. Taviano, you didn’t go by her house and lay down the law, did you?”
“You mean to tell her to stay the hell away from the Saldis? Damn right, I did. I told her if I caught her with one of them, I’d break his fucking neck.”
All four women at the table groaned in unison. Taviano glared at them. “What? I would. She had to have heard the truth of that. I’m not kidding around with her anymore. I’m done with her bullshit parties. She’s so damned wild I can’t even see straight thinking about it.”
Stefano shook his head. “You’re such a hothead, Taviano. You handle that girl all wrong. If you tell her not to do something, what do you think she’s going to do? You’re smarter than that. Think with your brain instead of your dick.”
Vittorio laughed softly, leading the others who followed suit. Even Taviano had to smile and shrug, conceding his older brother was probably right.
“I’ll talk to her,” Emmanuelle said when the laughter died down. “Don’t worry, she won’t go near Dario or any other Saldi.”
“The last thing we need is to have Nicoletta kidnapped and used in human trafficking,” Taviano said, exasperation warring with annoyance in his voice. “And believe me, it could happen to her. Just about everything else has. Did anyone think to put a tracker on her when she comes to classes?”
“Don’t you dare.” Francesca’s gasp of shock had everyone’s immediate attention. “Taviano, I mean it. That’s just wrong.”
“Nothing’s wrong when you’re dealing with unruly women,” Taviano stated, nudging Vittorio’s foot under the table.
Vittorio tried not to smile while Taviano struggled to hide a smirk. Stirring up the women in their family was a little like poking a nest of vipers, but always fun.
Francesca glared at the youngest Ferraro brother. Mariko put down her fork, her exotic almond-shaped hazel eyes narrowing as she leaned toward him. Ricco laughed and put a restraining hand on her shoulder.
Sasha, Giovanni’s wife, wadded up her napkin and threw it with deadly accuracy. “You’re lucky that isn’t a rope.” She was referring to the art of Shibari that both Ricco and Mariko practiced.
Taviano picked the napkin out of the air, laughing at the reaction he got. “So easy, the three of you. Look at Emmanuelle. She’s just sitting there.”
“Plotting revenge,” she said sweetly and took a sip of her latte.