Shadow Warrior, page 21
part #4 of Shadow Rider Series
Vittorio couldn’t help but admire his brother. In one short moment he had saved the hotel’s reputation. Everyone would want to come where the owners put their life on the line for their guests.
Behind him, the doors of the hotel opened, and police burst into the lobby, rushing up behind Stefano. Stefano turned to face them, his hand up in the air. “Just hold it right there.”
For a moment, chaos reigned as the SWAT team poured into the lobby, weapons drawn. There was more yelling and some screams. Vittorio stepped out from the shadows, behind and just to the side of the shooter. As he reached to strip the gun from the man, two shots rang out, one after the other, and the woman slumped in the shooter’s arms, blood dripping from her throat and the middle of her forehead.
At once screams rivaled with gunfire as the police opened up with their weapons, mowing down the shooter. Vittorio turned and dove for the tube as the shooter was flung backward. The teenage boy waited as the cops rushed the stairs. One tapped him on the shoulder and he turned and ran down the stairs, looking as if he was weeping.
Stefano was waiting at the end of the hall. Relief was palpable the moment Vittorio stepped out of the shadows in front of him. “Are you all right? Were you hit?” He ran his hands over his brother’s chest. “That went to hell fast. What the fuck happened, Vittorio? Who shot her? The shot didn’t come from behind me.”
Vittorio shook his head. “I don’t know. I was concentrating on trying to strip the gun without him pulling the trigger. It was small caliber. I barely heard it. It sounded more like a pop, pop to me. The only one close was a kid . . . a teenage boy. I think he was the woman’s son. She waved him back when the shooter grabbed her. He was crouched on the stairs and was terrified. We should find that kid and make certain he’s all right.”
Stefano swore softly. “I thought for sure you were hit, too. My heart nearly stopped.” He gave a sigh. “This bites, Vittorio. The cops are going to be all over this, especially when they see we’ve had a meeting with the Saldis. We might as well just invite them to investigate us all over again.”
“They’re not going to let any of us leave.”
“Get Val and Giuseppi back into the conference room with the others where they’ll be more comfortable. There’s food. Drink. See if they need anything else. I’ll make sure the police know that Giuseppi has to get back to his wife as soon as possible.”
“They’ll be nasty about that.”
“Not if Art Maverick or Jason Bradshaw are here. They’re decent men and good detectives. Neither one will hold Giuseppi here for no reason when they know his wife is dying.”
Vittorio knew that much was true. He wanted to get to Grace, but he’d been seen behind the shooter and the police were going to keep him downstairs as well. Stefano was going to catch the brunt of the investigation. As head of the family and the one trying to talk the shooter into giving up his hostage, he would be the one talking to the police and the reporters. Vittorio didn’t envy him.
“Let’s get it done.” Talking to police and reporters was just something the Ferraros had to occasionally put up with. Vittorio put his hand on his brother’s shoulder. “I’m going to text Grace and let her know we’re all okay. She’ll be worried.”
“I’m letting Francesca know, although I’ve been keeping Demetrio and Drago apprised of the situation,” Stefano said. “Things didn’t look good between you and Grace.”
“They haven’t been for this last week. If she doesn’t come to me soon, I’m going to have to force the issue. She isn’t sleeping, and that will impede her shoulder healing. Eloisa, as usual, managed to fuck things up for me.”
“I think she makes it her life’s work to fuck up our relationships.” Stefano was watching over Vittorio’s shoulder and he turned slightly to see Art Maverick come into the building with his partner, Jason Bradshaw. The two detectives were assigned their neighborhood along with Little Italy, so they were very familiar with both the Ferraros and Saldis.
“I’d better get Giuseppi and Val into the conference room, if they weren’t taken there already,” Vittorio said. He hastened to the little alcove where Val had taken his father to sit, their bodyguards surrounding the two men. Vittorio ignored the posturing of the bodyguards. “Giuseppi, Maverick and Bradshaw are in the building. Let’s get you into the conference room and Stefano will have them question you and Val first so you can get out of here.”
“Do you know who the shooter was? Or why he tried to kill us?” Val asked as he helped his father stand.
Vittorio noticed the older man trembling. Giuseppi wasn’t that old or frail. Was he ill? If he was, neither Val or Giuseppi would admit it to a Ferraro. “I didn’t have time to look at his wallet if he had one,” Vittorio said. “Someone shot that woman. Stefano thinks they were shooting at me.”
They proceeded from the alcove to the conference room. The door was open and Miceli and his sons were standing, trying to take in everything that was happening with their bodyguards attempting to shield them.
“It wasn’t one of us,” Val said, almost belligerently. “We brought a small contingency and your men were watching ours the entire time.”
Miceli dropped back to allow his brother and nephew into the room. He caught his brother in his arms and hugged him. “Did the fall hurt you?” He managed to glare at Vittorio. “You were hit very hard.”
“He saved my life,” Giuseppi said. “I’m certain of it.”
“There was no way to tell who the shooter was aiming for,” Miceli said. “It could have been anyone.”
Vittorio had to concede that he was right, although his gut told him that Giuseppi had been the primary target. “I agree, Miceli. You may as well make yourselves comfortable. No one is going to be able to leave until everyone’s been questioned. If anyone is armed or carrying anything illegal on them, now is it the time to get rid of it.”
Emmanuelle hugged him tightly. “Vittorio, that was a little too close for comfort. Too close. Whoever shot that woman might have been trying to kill you.”
“They didn’t, honey,” he reassured her.
“What was Stefano thinking, offering to exchange places with that woman?” she asked. “He can’t do things like that. I could have taken her place. It’s not like I’m pregnant.”
Val made a sound that had both of them turning to look at him. His vivid green eyes were narrowed and boring into Emmanuelle. “That’s bullshit to think that way, Emme. You’re not expendable because you don’t have children. That’s your mother talking.”
Giovanni slid between Val and Emmanuelle, a fluid, easy motion that didn’t seem intrusive but was. He kept his back to Val, while looking at his sister. “That poor innocent woman had nothing to do with whatever beef that shooter had with one of us in this room. Or all of us. As head of our family, of course Stefano would make the offer. It also allowed Vittorio the time to get to the man from our private stairway.”
Vittorio had known, sooner or later, one of the Saldis would ask how Vittorio managed to get up to the second story without being seen. Giovanni had easily answered the question as well as cut off Val’s access to Emmanuelle.
She never even glanced at Val, treating him as if he didn’t exist. “You’re right. I just panicked when I heard him. Francesca is so fragile right now. She doesn’t think of herself that way, but she has to be so careful. The drug they’re putting her on makes her shake night and day. It’s crazy.”
She poured herself a cup of coffee and turned back to Vittorio. “I’m going to talk to Grace and explain about Eloisa.” She glanced in the direction of the shadows on the far side of the room where her mother was hidden and unable to reveal herself. Fortunately, the room was long and Eloisa wasn’t able to hear the conversation.
Vittorio ruffled her hair. “There is no explanation for Eloisa, but thanks, honey. I’ve made up my mind to talk to her. The charity event is this coming weekend. We have to be on the same page by that time. It only gives me a few days to prepare. I have the feeling that Haydon Phillips will try to hit us there. It’s the first time he can really get to her.”
All the while talking to his sister and brother, Vittorio was aware of the Saldis in a little group together talking quietly at the opposite end of the room. Val kept casting annoyed glances toward Emmanuelle, but he stayed by his father’s side. Somewhere close, Taviano hovered, blending into the background, forgotten.
In the shadows were the cousins and Eloisa, listening to every word the Saldis had to say to one another. If they, in any way, were responsible for the attack in the Ferraro hotel, and they talked about it, the Ferraros would know. If not, their speculations might reveal answers.
“It’s getting a little dicey,” Giovanni said. “As if Phillips wasn’t enough to worry about, we’ve got this shooter and the Saldis.”
“Miceli was lying his ass off,” Emmanuelle whispered, her voice very low. “I think Giuseppi was very genuine, but then I’ve always liked him and Greta, so maybe I’m prejudiced. He hasn’t been paying a lot of attention to what’s going on around him since Greta got sick.”
“Has Val been taking over?” Vittorio asked her the hard question.
Emmanuelle’s chin went up and for the first time she looked across the room at Val. Their eyes met, but she didn’t look away. “I wouldn’t know. Since I heard him tell another woman that he’d been ordered to make me fall in love with him but really, did she think he wanted a spoiled baby who didn’t know jack about sex, I haven’t had anything to do with him.”
Vittorio froze. Very slowly he turned his head to look at the man who had shattered his sister’s heart. Ferraros notoriously fell in love once. Right or wrong, Valentino had been Emmanuelle’s choice. To do such a cruel thing would never occur to any of them.
“He actually said that? Those words?”
“Vittorio,” Emmanuelle cautioned. She put a deterring hand on his arm. “I told you this before.”
Vittorio exploded into action, throwing Saldi bodyguards out of his way to reach Valentino Saldi. He was like a fierce, destructive tornado. Trained in hand-to-hand combat, in every style of fighting, he went through the bodyguards easily, getting his hands on Val in less than a second, his fists and feet doing damage before the other man had a chance to raise a defense. He had his opponent against the wall, slamming his fist into him repeatedly before Dario reached him to try to get him off Val. Dario went flying, and Vittorio hardly had glanced at him.
“Stop.” Giuseppi stood. An imposing figure. A voice of absolute authority. “Vittorio. Val. Stop this now. There can be no fighting between us.”
Vittorio was always aware of everything around him, even when he was in the midst of annihilating an enemy, but nothing was going to stop him, not even Giuseppi, whom he had some respect for. He wanted to smash Val into the ground. Beat him into a bloody pulp. He wouldn’t have stopped, but Ricco caught his bloody fist in midair before it could once again slam into Giuseppi’s heir’s face.
“Enough, Vittorio. He’s had enough.”
“It’s never going to be enough as far as I’m concerned,” Vittorio said, contempt dripping from his voice. Holding Val up, he smashed his fist into his ribs.
“Vittorio, he’s not worth it,” Emmanuelle said softly, laying a restraining hand on his arm. “Please stop.”
Vittorio instantly stepped back, allowing Val’s body to slide down to the floor. Not even looking at the fallen man, he turned, taking Emmanuelle with him, to go to Giuseppi. “Forgive me, Giuseppi. It is a matter of family honor.”
Giuseppi had to be the one to have ordered Val to seduce Emmanuelle, but he still looked puzzled as his gaze moved from his son to Emme. Dario and Angelo crouched beside Valentino.
“Do you need an ambulance?” Ricco asked, his voice strictly neutral.
Giovanni handed Dario a bucket of ice and a cloth.
“No. We’ll take care of this,” Dario snapped, glaring at Vittorio over his shoulder, the promise of retaliation on his face.
“See, Giuseppi,” Miceli said, his voice low, but carrying. “There is no peace between our families. There is no reason for this attack.”
“There was reason,” Val said, his voice husky and edged with pain. “Just leave it alone.”
Vittorio couldn’t give a damn what the Saldis thought or whether or not Val acted like a man and took what was coming to him. No one was going to treat Emmanuelle the way Valentino had and get away with it. As far as he was concerned, the Saldis were the enemy and always would be. In his opinion, a war was brewing between the two families and there was no reason to pretend it wasn’t.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
Grace glanced down at Vittorio’s hands as he reached for her elbow to help her up. Her breath caught in her throat. “Vittorio.” She breathed his name, shocked at the smashed skin and knuckles as well as the swelling.
“It’s nothing,” he said, dismissing the fact that it was clear he’d been in a fight.
She nearly winced at the curtness in his voice. Vittorio had never been curt with her. Not once. He was always gentle in everything he did and said. She had driven a wedge between them and she wasn’t sure how to make things better. She wanted to, especially after talking with Francesca and Sasha.
The Ferraro family was there in force, even their cousins from New York. They were astonishingly handsome men, just like those in Chicago. She figured their looks came from a long line of good genes. Eloisa was conspicuously missing.
“He was defending my honor,” Emmanuelle said. “I think they were all spoiling for a fight, and I said something I shouldn’t have . . .”
“Emme. Stop.” Vittorio’s voice was commanding.
Grace had never heard him use that particular tone. The way he spoke shut down all conversation in the room.
“I’ve got to get Grace home, so if you’ll excuse me, we’ll be taking off now,” Vittorio added.
“You’re not staying for dinner?” Francesca protested.
“No, honey, I’m sorry.” Vittorio softened instantly and bent to brush a kiss along Francesca’s temple.
“Will you bring Grace back to visit? I really enjoyed seeing her.”
“When I get the chance.”
No one but Grace seemed to notice his hesitation. It was a tiny thing but one more blow she felt deeply. He looked tired and unhappy. She desperately wanted to find a way to get him to sleep better and take that look of melancholy from his face. She knew she was responsible for putting it there in the first place. She just hadn’t expected to miss him so much or that his despondency would affect her quite so completely. She actually hurt with the need to make things better for him.
She said her good-byes and stepped into the private elevator with Vittorio. The moment the doors slid closed, she turned to him. “We watched the entire event playing out on the hotel security screens in Francesca’s room. It was really frightening. You moved so fast to save Giuseppi Saldi. I couldn’t help being proud of you but terrified for you at the same time. When you covered his body with yours, you were completely exposed to that gunman.”
She couldn’t keep her voice from shaking or the little bite of accusation out of it. She’d been terrified for him, so had the other women, which hadn’t eased her mind. Demetrio and Drago wanted to turn off the screens, but Francesca had refused.
Vittorio looked down at her from his superior height, making her feel small and fragile. He was a big man all over, his chest, arms and legs heavy with muscle. He was a good foot taller, easily more, and she was slight in comparison. His indigo eyes drifted over her face, making her want to squirm. She did squirm under his focused scrutiny.
The elevator doors slid smoothly open and they were met at the Ferraro private entrance to the hotel by Emilio and Enzo. The car was right there, Enzo holding the door open. Vittorio and Emilio both looked carefully around before Vittorio helped her to slide onto the cool leather of the back seat. He slipped in beside her and Emilio closed the door. Only then did she realize that Enzo wasn’t driving. He was in the front seat and they had a driver she didn’t recognize.
She glanced behind them to see Emilio entering the passenger side of a second car. When they pulled out of the parking lot, Grace realized they were following a lead car. That had never happened before. When she looked up at Vittorio’s set features, she decided not to ask any questions until they were home. Maybe he wouldn’t answer. Maybe she’d lost her chance to be a part of him, but she was determined that when they reached his home she was going to try—and not because his family was amazing and she’d give anything to be part of it, but because she was certain Vittorio Ferraro was the most extraordinary man she’d ever meet and she would forever regret being a coward if she didn’t give what had been growing between them a chance.
She stayed quiet, looking down at her hand, the one on which she spent an inordinate amount of time wiggling her fingers to celebrate the fact that she could. Physical therapy was painful, but she rejoiced in the ability to finally work at getting better. More, Vittorio sat in the room with them, watching, and more than once, when she thought she might throw up because the pain was too much, he had stood up and simply snapped, “Enough.” No one ever dared contradict him and her shoulder was immediately iced, and she could breathe her way through the pain enough to let it recede.
The more she sat there quietly on the ride back to the house, his warmth enveloping her, feeling safe and secure because he took care of her when she was unable to, the more she realized how much she wanted that. How many men would actually give her that kind of relationship without being totally controlling? Vittorio had never once made her feel as if he was controlling her. He made her feel as if she was the most precious, treasured woman in the world and he was determined to watch over her.
