Giovanni felt guilt. He knew Taviano was getting fed up with Nicoletta’s late nights, her escapes out the window and the incessant partying. All of them were, being called away when they were busy. He also knew Taviano didn’t drink much. It made him belligerent. Giovanni knew he should have escorted Nicoletta home instead, but he hadn’t wanted to leave Sasha.
“We’ll start her self-defense training,” Stefano decided. “That will at least make her so tired she won’t be looking to crawl out her window. She’ll never be fast enough to ride the shadows, but she’ll know how to defend herself and she’ll be able to get into the shadows if there’s a need to escape fast. I’ve been working with Francesca. No matter what, our women need to know how to use the shadows to escape if we’re ever under attack again.”
“I don’t know if training her to beat the hell out of us is the right thing to do,” Taviano said. “I’ve got a few bruises.”
“We’ll make it clear she isn’t to use her knowledge on any family member,” Stefano said. “Taviano, you can tell her—”
Taviano shook his head, throwing his hands into the air. “Not me. I’m done with her for a while. One of you can talk to her.”
“I will,” Francesca said. “I want to meet Giovanni’s Sasha anyway. I heard she was the one working my old job at the deli. Pietro hired her full-time. Most of the other workers are part-time. Nicoletta works with Lucia at Lucia’s Treasures and then she goes to the flower shop. I can time it so I can see both of them.”
“That fucking Bruno at the flower shop needs to have the shit kicked out of him,” Taviano snapped. “He’s the one that’s been dragging Nicoletta to these parties.”
“He’ll be taken care of,” Stefano said.
“I want to be there,” Taviano insisted, looking straight at his brother, waiting for the nod.
“Wait a minute. Are you telling me Sasha works full-time at the deli and full-time at the nightclub?” Giovanni was outraged. “That’s sixteen hours of work. Is she crazy?” He started to get up, as if he might rush right over to her apartment and confront her—and he might have.
“My advice, Giovanni,” Stefano said, “is to keep her from seeing that temper of yours as long as possible. Reel her in and make her fall madly in love before she finds out you’re a bossy, paranoid, overprotective beast and you’re going to do everything you can to clip her wings. That’s what I did.”
Everyone burst out laughing. He frowned at them. “Francesca is sitting right there.” He held out a few seconds and then grinned at his wife. She’d known all about his temper, his bossy ways, his jealousy and every other difficult trait he had before she married him. He knew it, too.
Giovanni was fairly certain Sasha had already condemned him for the game he played with his brothers and cousins. She’d be really upset that he’d invented it. What she hadn’t heard, because they all knew the rule, it was one they lived by, was they didn’t ever include innocents, only women who knew the score—women propositioning them because they had money.
“Aaron Anderson ordered your woman a huge bouquet of flowers,” Emmanuelle announced.
“What?” Hot rage rushed through Giovanni’s veins. He could barely breathe. “That bastard. I should have known he’d pull something like that.”
“It isn’t as if you made a claim on her publicly,” Vittorio pointed out. “We knew because you were acting completely out of character with her.”
“How was he acting?” Stefano asked.
“Forget that,” Giovanni snapped, glaring at Vittorio and Taviano.
“Like a complete ass,” Taviano said.
“Is that unusual?” Ricco asked.
“Shut the fuck up, all of you,” Giovanni ordered. He pinned his sister with a steely gaze. “This is important. Are you sure, Emme?”
She nodded. “I was in the flower shop when Aaron came in. He trained on and off with you, Giovanni, so I thought you were friends. We struck up a conversation, and he told me he was ordering flowers for a woman. He wanted to pick them out personally, not have someone order over the phone for him. I didn’t know she was yours, so I just thought it was sweet.”
“It’s not sweet,” Giovanni bit out. “He’s making his move. I knew he was interested. The bastard had women hanging all over him, practically blowing him right there at the table; in fact, he probably did. He acts like an asshole to her, and she’s going to forgive him because he sends flowers. Women. Shit.”
“Women don’t forgive a man just because he sends her a bouquet of flowers,” Emmanuelle said, lifting her chin and leveling her gaze at him. “Sometimes the flowers end up cut to pieces in the garbage can.”
There was a sudden silence. Emmanuelle looked around the table and the half-raised forks. “What? It happens. Am I wrong, Francesca? Mariko?”
“You are not wrong,” Francesca said.
Stefano narrowed his gaze at her. “Have you ever cut up flowers I brought home to you?”
“You know very well I have. I did it right in front of you. You were being a bossy jackass, driving me crazy with your paranoid delusions that every person in the world is out to take me from you,” Francesca said firmly.
Stefano brought her hand to his mouth, kissed her knuckles and then ran his thumb over them gently, stroking back and forth. “Aren’t they?”
His family erupted into laughter. Even Giovanni had to laugh.
“I’ve only received flowers from Ricco,” Mariko said. “I would never cut them up and put them in the garbage, even if he made me very, very angry, which he never has.” She sent him a sweet, intimate smile.
Ricco reached for her hand and brought it to his chest, over his heart.
“Emmanuelle.” Stefano continued to look at his sister. Instantly the forks stopped moving again. “What were you doing at the flower shop?”
She was the only one to continue to eat. She took a bite of pasta and delicately chewed it before taking a sip of wine. When Stefano kept looking at her, she shrugged. “I visit Signora Vitale often.”
Shadow riders could hear truth, and Emmanuelle’s voice righteously rang with honesty. Stefano continued to look at her. “I’m well aware you visit Signora Vitale on a regular basis. I also know she doesn’t go to the flower shop. Her grandson, Bruno, runs it now. I check on him regularly. If I didn’t, he would probably be sending drugs out with every order.”
Taviano sighed. “I check on him, too. Just in case. Nicoletta works for the Vitales, so I want to make certain Bruno toes the line. Which he doesn’t and has no business pulling Nicoletta into his shit.” He looked at his sister. “Stefano’s right, Signora Vitale doesn’t frequent the flower shop.”
Emmanuelle glared at him and mouthed “traitor” over her wineglass. She was the youngest of the Ferraros and strikingly beautiful with her long dark hair and curvy body.
“Emme?” Ricco pushed.
“It isn’t anyone’s business,” she snapped. “I’m over twenty-one. You can all stay the hell out of my business.”
“Emmanuelle,” Stefano cautioned. He sat up straight. “Damn it. That fucking Valentino Saldi has been coming around again, hasn’t he? Are you seeing him?”
There was a small telling silence. Every fork and wineglass went on the table and once again only the ticking of the clock and the breath rushing in and out of their lungs could be heard.
“It isn’t your business.”
“It is my business. It’s the entire family’s business. The Saldis are criminals, and our worst enemy. You know that.”
“We’re criminals,” Emmanuelle pointed out, glaring at her oldest brother.
“Did you know about this, Francesca?” Stefano demanded.
Francesca didn’t reply, and her silence was damning. Dark lines of anger made her husband look very dangerous. “We’ll talk about this later.” It was a threat. Nothing less. He switched his attention to his sister. “He’s manipulating you to get information. We’ve had this conversation repeatedly. Since you were sixteen, sneaking out of your fucking window and seeing him. He’s too old for you, and he’s the enemy.”
Giovanni didn’t want to hear that Valentino was too old for his sister, although he agreed she shouldn’t see him. Sasha was only twenty-two. He was older not only in years, but in experience. Of course, so was Valentino.
“You see him again, Emmanuelle, you’re going to give me no choice here.”