“Nicoletta, you know Stefano pays for your rent and clothes. If we could have taken you in ourselves, we would have, but Lucia and Amo were far better equipped. Still, you’re part of our family.”
She shook her head and almost pulled out of his arms. He just tightened his hold and locked his arm like a bar across her back. “Settle down. Don’t you think it’s time you got over the fact that we know about your past? You’re punishing our family because we got you out of a horrendous situation.”
“Is that what you call it? A horrendous situation?” There was a cross between a sneer and a sob in her voice. “I call it something else. Maybe you’ve never lived in hell, Vittorio. Maybe you’ve never had to hide from others how ashamed you are. How dirty.”
His hand caught her chin and yanked her head up so her eyes were forced to meet his. “Don’t you ever let me hear you call yourself that. Never. It is so far from the truth, I want to put you over my knee and paddle that right out of you. Don’t let something like that into your brain. They did that. Not you. You’re bright and beautiful and so far above them they wanted to break you. They wanted to bring you down into the muck with them. They can’t take that you shine, and you do. You are not dirty. That is not you, Nicoletta.”
She stared into his eyes for a long time and then she swallowed. Nodded. The music ended and instead of Vittorio taking her back to the table where Signora Moretti watched over her with Lucia and Amo, he took her over to Stefano. Stefano immediately whirled her into his arms. Stefano intimidated her. There was no other word for it. She realized, now that she was eighteen, the Ferraro family wasn’t going to back off. They were determined that she stay in their territory where they could look out for her.
Giovanni lifted his hand as he guided Sasha around them. “Save me a dance, Nicoletta.”
Sasha smiled at the girl. “She’s really beautiful, Giovanni.”
“She is. She doesn’t realize it. She’s hell on wheels in the training hall. You should see that girl move. She’s fast. She doesn’t realize that, either, because Emmanuelle and Mariko, the two working with her right now, have trained all of their lives, but all of us are astounded. Her reflexes are incredible.”
“Why aren’t any of you men training her?”
His woman sounded a little snippy, as if she was going to take him to task because, at the moment, they were leaving Nicoletta’s self-defense training to the females. “She’s very leery around us, sweetheart. We’ll be training her eventually, but right now, she’s more apt to show up if she’s working with Emme or Mariko. We’d have to put our hands on her and she’s not ready for that. In any case, Mariko has developed a very good relationship with her, and we want to encourage that. You can see she’s very intimidated by us. She doesn’t like us touching her, or even standing too close.”
“She likes him.”
Giovanni’s head came up sharply. “Likes who?” Because that “who” was going to have his head removed if he was making a move on Nicoletta.
“Taviano. Sheesh, Giovanni, you’re kind of a hothead.”
He threw back his head and laughed. “Baby. You’re just beginning to notice? Why aren’t you intimidated?”
“Because I’m better with a rope than you are. I think I proved that the other night.”
He rested his lips against her ear. His tongue did a brief foray, and he felt the answering shiver of her body. “Dio, but I love you,” he whispered.
Benito Petrov danced past them with Angelina Laconi in his arms. Petrov owned the pizzeria with his son, Tito. A widower, no one thought he would ever date again, but it looked to Giovanni as if he was very comfortable with Angelina, although she was several years younger.
“You aren’t even going to protest the rope thing?”
“Because it’s too absurd to bother protesting. You just brought it up because Mariko told you about that rope thing Ricco does with her that totally turns her on.”
She pulled back and scowled up at him. “What rope thing? Mariko told you about a rope thing your brother does?”
“Mariko would never talk to me. I thought she talked to you.” He pretended to give it some thought. “Where did I hear about that technique?”
She burst out laughing, just as he knew she would. He loved that sound. He knew he wanted to hear it for the rest of his life.
“You made that up.”
“I did,” he admitted and then put his mouth over her ear again. “But you’re thinking about it, and your panties are damp for me, aren’t they?”
“Silly man. My panties are always damp for you, haven’t you figured that out yet?”
He wanted to get her home. He needed to get her home. He turned his head and stiffened. In the doorway of the hotel ballroom, Valentino Saldi stood framed. He wore a suit, and his shoulders nearly touched from one side of the frame to the other. He paused there, his gaze sweeping around the dance floor and tables until he found what he was looking for.
Emmanuelle. Giovanni nearly stopped dancing right in the middle of the song. He caught sight of Ricco dancing with Nicoletta. They had decided to take turns, making that first declaration to her that she was part of their family. Each one would dance with her at least once. Giovanni included. She was Taviano’s. He’d made that clear. No matter whether she was or wasn’t, they’d brought her into the family and it was time she accepted it.
Valentino walked across the floor, weaving in and out of the people. Everyone liked him. He was a good man, no matter that he was part of the Saldi organization. His family owned the meat company, and he often delivered their products himself. The Ferraros were convinced he did it in order to see Emmanuelle more, but he was always friendly with everyone. Still, there was an aura of danger about him and everyone knew he was a Saldi.
His cousin and bodyguard, Dario, paced behind him, also in a suit. For just one moment, his gaze shifted to follow Nicoletta around the dance floor and then he was all business, and Giovanni wasn’t certain he actually saw that momentary breach.
Emmanuelle stood to one side of the room, talking with Signora Vitale. His sister turned her head slowly just before Valentino reached her side. He held out his hand to her. Giovanni willed his sister to walk away. She didn’t. She just stood very still. Frozen like a statue. Valentino was the one to step forward. He pulled Emmanuelle into his arms and brushed a kiss onto her forehead.
She jerked her head away, said something to him. Giovanni knew that look. She was angry. Hurt. More hurt than angry. “Baby,” he said softly. “I have to help Emme.”
“Of course.” They hurried over to the couple. He’d been dancing them closer and closer so it wasn’t far.
“Emmanuelle. You promised me this dance.” Giovanni took her right out of Valentino’s arms and turned his sister into his chest so she could hide her face.
Emmanuelle went with him as he guided her across the room. He just held her, feeling the tremors running through her. He didn’t talk. There wasn’t anything to say, and he wasn’t going to put her on the spot. No one could pry anything out of her if she didn’t want to share, and so far, she hadn’t said a word to any of them about Valentino, or why she was so upset with him.
Valentino immediately held out his arms to the bride. He expected her to turn him down, but she smiled at him and let him take her out among the whirling couples. He kept his eye on Emmanuelle, making certain to stay close enough that when the music ended, he would be able to claim her again.
“You’re very brave to come here when you hurt that girl,” Sasha said. “Her brothers would very much like to teach you a few hard lessons.”