Shadow Rider

  "You can just forget all about seeing his bedroom, Joanna." She glanced up at the clock, hoping it was time to go, knowing she had to change the subject. Joanna often was like a wrecking ball when she wanted something. "You look good in that dress. Red is definitely your color. And, Mario, that suit is amazing."

  Mario's hand went to his tie a little self-consciously. "I can't be the only one not looking sharp tonight. Look at my girl." He sounded proud, his eyes on Joanna.

  Joanna forgot all about pouting and beamed as she slipped her hand onto his arm. "You look very handsome. Thanks for coming with me tonight. I think it will be fun."

  The elevator pinged and the doors opened. Emmanuelle emerged and Francesca's breath caught in her throat. Emmanuelle was the most beautiful woman Francesca had ever laid eyes on. Although short, no supermodel could hold a candle to her. She was everything an Italian beauty was reputed to be and more.

  She wore a short black dress that clung to every curve. The front was a camisole that dropped into a little flirty skirt. The laces going up the front were tight over her rib cage and up under her breasts, but there was a generous opening showing plenty of cleavage. She looked hot. Gorgeous. Trendy. Sophisticated. Instantly Francesca felt as if she needed to check her own clothes again.

  "Francesca. You look . . . beautiful." Emmanuelle sounded sincere and her smile was warm, enveloping all of them. "Joanna, Mario, how nice to see you both again."

  She walked with complete confidence in her four-inch heels, coming straight toward Francesca without slowing down. She hugged Francesca tightly and then kissed her on both cheeks.

  "Forgive me for not being with you when my cousins came to talk to you. I would have been with my brothers to protect you, if only so you'd have another woman present, but I had to keep the parents occupied." She squeezed Francesca's arm. "I know it was difficult for you--the boys told me. I want you to know how much I respect and admire you. Thank you for worrying about my brother and for making him so happy."

  Whoa. That was the last thing Francesca expected from Stefano's sister. She made it sound as if Francesca really did belong to Stefano. That it was a done deal and somehow she was totally accepted into their family. Things moved very fast around the Ferraro siblings. Francesca felt uneasy, a fraud even. She wasn't as certain as they were that her relationship with Stefano had progressed to the point of his entire family claiming her.

  She wanted a family. She loved that the Ferraros were so tight-knit, but she barely knew them. She didn't even really know what Stefano did for a living. There was just a little bit of fear when she was around them all. Power clung to them. They wore their wealth so easily, like a second skin. More than that, they wore a cloak of pure danger. When any of the Ferraros walked into a room, there was a stunned silence--a collective gasp from any other occupants of the room.

  "Are you ready for a night out?" Emmanuelle turned to include Joanna and Mario in her query.

  Joanna was staring at Francesca, wide-eyed, a grin on her face. She turned toward Emmanuelle immediately. "I've been looking forward to this all week."

  "Rigina and Rosina are downstairs in the limo." Emmanuelle laughed, her voice low and melodious. "I figured we'd better have a driver if we're all going to party tonight." She slipped her arm through Francesca's companionably. "Has Stefano seen that dress?"

  Francesca smoothed one hand down the dress, wondering why both Joanna and Emmanuelle had asked that. She nodded, color stealing into her face at having to make the confession. "He brought the dress to me."

  Emmanuelle's smile widened. "But he hasn't actually seen you in the dress, has he?" Her eyes met Joanna's and they both burst out laughing.

  Francesca wasn't certain what the joke was. "Is something wrong with the way I look?" She couldn't keep the anxiety out of her voice. She wanted to look good for Stefano or she wouldn't have accepted the dress from him. It cost more than her weekly wages and it had been a little disconcerting to have him go out and buy her the club dress. She didn't know why that seemed worse than pretending to believe he or his brother was responsible for losing her clothes and replacing them with much more expensive ones.

  "No, Francesca," Emmanuelle assured. "Nothing at all is wrong with the way you look. You're absolutely beautiful and my brother is going to think so, too. It's just that he can be . . . possessive of what is his."

  Francesca felt a jab to her stomach, hard enough that she hunched a little. The thought of Stefano being possessive toward other women really bothered her. She knew he had a history with women--beautiful women--but he'd told her that she was special to him. She really wished her self-esteem hadn't taken such a beating and she didn't constantly feel inadequate, worrying about Stefano and the beautiful women who had been in his life prior to her.

  A limo awaited them, right in front of the hotel, the long sleek lines making Joanna squeal in glee. Francesca felt it was a little on the ostentatious side. She would never get used to the casual display of wealth and privilege. She slid into the vehicle after Joanna and Mario and discovered that two other women already occupied the leather seats. They were drinking red wine from elegant glasses. Both smiled at her, their gazes running over her dress and shoes automatically, as if they did a sweep of everyone they saw.

  "Rigina and Rosina Greco, my cousins," Emmanuelle introduced. "They are sisters of Renato and Romano. I think you've met their brothers."

  If she had, Francesca knew she wouldn't be able to place them. She'd been introduced to too many people and some when she was being carried upside down in a sleeping bag through a murky apartment building. She smiled and nodded. The women looked like Ferraros. They carried themselves with that same enviable confidence.

  "Wow, Francesca," Rigina said. "I love your dress. It's beautiful. It's a Sophia original, isn't it?"

  Francesca had heard of the designer Sophia. She was renowned for her gowns and club wear. Her originals were fought over by her exclusive clientele. Francesca ran her hand down her dress, smoothing imaginary wrinkles, all the while her heart pounding. If this was really a Sophia original, it was worth three months or more of her salary. She should never have accepted it.

  "It's gorgeous," Rosina added. "You look beautiful. I can't wait to get inside the club and have Stefano catch his first sight of you in that dress. He's going to go ballistic."

  Francesca frowned. "Why do you all keep saying that? Stefano wanted me to wear this dress. The last thing I want to do is embarrass him because it doesn't look good on me. You have to tell me." Her worried gaze found Joanna, her one real friend. If the others were making subtle fun of her, she was certain Joanna wouldn't do that. She'd never allow her to go out in public and be humiliated.

  Emmanuelle reached over and took her hand, squeezing it in reassurance. Joanna frowned and shook her head. Rosina looked upset.

  "Francesca, you look absolutely beautiful in that dress," Joanna said staunchly. "Gorgeous. Right, Mario?"

  Francesca thought Joanna incredibly generous to have her boyfriend, the man she was really interested in, give Francesca compliments.

  "I have to agree," Mario said. "Beautiful."

  Emmanuelle nodded. "My brother has escorted countless women to clubs and he couldn't care less what they looked like. Elegant or slut clothes didn't much matter to him because if he was with a woman, it was for publicity purposes, like a charity event, or a hookup. He claims you for his own. For his woman. He's made it clear to the family and to those in our neighborhood. He'll make it clear to the world very soon. That's why we're all laughing a little. Stefano is not like most men. None of my brothers are. You're his and he'll watch over you and protect you every minute of every day. With you dressed like that, hotter than hell, he's going to lose his mind, and we're all going to enjoy watching it."

  Francesca liked some of what she'd said, was confused by other things and really didn't like the reference to Stefano's other women. She was going to have to gain some confidence in herself fast if she was really going to
try to have any kind of a relationship with Stefano Ferraro. He was in a world where confidence mattered. Was needed. She'd been beaten down so far by Barry Anthon, she could barely walk with her head up. Stefano deserved better than that.

  Francesca wished she'd met Stefano before Cella had been murdered. She had been different then, carefree and happy. Confident in herself. He would have liked Cella. Francesca hoped he would have liked her, because that was the real Francesca, not this woman who had such low self-esteem, nightmares and was afraid of her own shadow.

  She let the talk flow around her. Joanna and Mario accepted drinks happily, and she sipped on champagne. She loved to dance. Loved it. Dancing was one of her all-time favorite things to do. Her parents had put her in dance classes when she was very young; ballroom, Latin, swing--she'd learned it all. Not to mention the pole dancing she'd done as exercise in college. Cella had insisted that was the one splurge they would have after their parents' deaths.

  Francesca loved her sister for that sacrifice. It wasn't like she was ever going to be a professional dancer, but still, Cella deemed those lessons important and she worked extra hours to pay for them. As soon as Francesca was old enough, she worked, cleaning houses, working at the deli, anything at all in order to help Cella with the bills.

  The limo pulled up to the front of the club. Francesca was a little shocked when she saw the line of people trying to get in. It seemed to go on forever. She knew she would never have had the patience to wait in a line that long, especially if, like Joanna had said, there was a possibility that she'd be turned away once she reached the front.

  "This is crazy, Jo," she murmured.

  Joanna squeezed her arm tightly as they all got out of the limo. "I can't believe this. I feel like a princess arriving at the ball. Everyone's staring, trying to catch a glimpse of us. They think we're celebrities, Francesca."

  Emmanuelle suddenly moved, flowing across the short distance separating her from Francesca. She was elegant even in her body's movement, like a ballet dancer. As she got to Francesca, she took her arm, turning her around toward the club. Emmanuelle's body provided a shield as a dozen flashes went off.

  "Keep walking. Stay between us all, in the middle," Emmanuelle ordered, her voice low.

  Emmanuelle's hand was steady on Francesca's back, pushing her gently toward the entrance. As they moved past the front of the line to the entrance, the bouncers unhooked the velvet ropes to allow them in. Francesca noticed that Emilio and Enzo fell in behind them. She had no idea where they came from, but suddenly they were walking with the small group of women, as if they'd always been with them.

  The moment the doors to the club opened, Francesca could hear the pounding beat of the music. It was loud, impossible not to want to dance to and very trendy. The DJ was extremely popular, one who commanded all sorts of money, and yet stayed there in Chicago rather than moving to New York, where he would be given star status. There were several bars, each glowing a different color. Muted blues, reds, purples and greens pulsed to the music from the lights secreted in the bars. The bartenders were moving fast, bottles spinning in the air as they quickly made drinks for the customers pressing around the curved bars.

  Francesca could feel the beat of the music already heating up her blood. They moved through the lower section in a tight group, Emilio and Enzo ensuring the crowd parted for them as they wound their way through the floor. Up a few stairs was the VIP section, where tables and booths guaranteed privacy. Even farther up were the very secluded tables and booths. Those were reserved for family and friends.

  Emmanuelle led the way with absolute confidence. She clearly was the queen of the club. Deference was paid to her everywhere one looked. Nods. Smiles. Waves. She kept moving even when a few scantily clad women called out her name and stepped toward her. She was gracious, always replying, but she made it clear she was heading toward her own table.

  A waitress followed them, ready to take their drink orders. There would be no queuing up to the bar for them. Francesca surveyed the room below her. It was exciting, the music already finding her pulse and beating there, calling her. Joanna was already swaying to the persistent call of the drum.

  Emmanuelle sank into one of the plush seats, indicating the chair beside her to Francesca. "I have to join my brothers for a meeting in a few minutes, but I've got time for a drink. We've got cousins from New York here. Four of them. I noticed them on the dance floor when we walked in. They've already got women hanging on them. See that blonde down there?" She indicated a woman in a very short leather dress with cutouts on either side. The openings ran from her hips to under her arms. Her platinum hair was short and spiked.

  "I see her." Francesca frowned. The woman looked very familiar. "Where have I seen her before?"

  "She's a starlet. Plays in a drama on television and thinks every man in all the states wants to sleep with her. She's totally after my cousin."

  "We call her the barracuda," Rosina supplied.

  Joanna giggled as she craned her neck, trying to peer into the dark crowd of moving bodies. "She's got on five-inch heels. Wow. I don't know if I could actually dance in five-inch heels."

  Francesca suddenly recognized her. Not from the television, but from a magazine Joanna had given her. "She was on page seventy-three. Hanging on Stefano's arm." She whispered it before she realized just what that admission gave away. Color moved up into her face.

  The waitress was back, putting their drinks in front of them, confirming that the Ferraros didn't have to wait for anything, not even their drinks. Francesca reached for hers and took a long drink as the woman hurried away. The Moscow Mule went down smoothly. She needed the alcohol to fortify her.

  Emmanuelle leaned forward and put her hand over Francesca's, stilling the fingers that had been drumming on the table. Francesca hadn't even been aware she was so restless. Nervous. Jealous. Sheesh. How embarrassing in front of his sister and cousins.

  "Stefano may have sowed his wild oats, but he's done with that. I can guarantee that when my brother chooses a woman, he will be faithful to her. It's for life."

  Francesca bit her lip to keep from laughing. There was nothing humorous about Emmanuelle's statement, and yet it was laughable. "You can't know that."

  "We live by a code. It's a strict one, but we cling to honor. It's just who and what we are. That can't change."

  Francesca refused to look at her. Instead, she looked around the enormous room, where many, many women danced suggestively with partners. "So how many women right here in this club do you suppose Stefano has been with?" Her chin went up and she finally forced her head to turn toward Emmanuelle, her gaze meeting Stefano's sister's vivid blue eyes. "Would you say about half? Or am I being conservative?"

  Why had she come? She knew better. She didn't belong in this world of casual hookups. It wasn't her. She didn't understand it and she'd never be comfortable in it. She never would. It wasn't as if she was a prude. Whenever Stefano touched her or kissed her, her body went up in flames. She would fall, just like all the women before her, but she wouldn't chase him. Once he dumped her, she would disappear from his life. She had pride. She couldn't very well judge the other women, not when she was going to be just as bad.

  Still, she was being a total bitch. It wasn't Emmanuelle's fault that Stefano was a hound dog. A gorgeous one, but still a hound dog. She shook her head. "I just feel out of place here, and I think I'm taking it out on Stefano."

  "He can't change his past, Francesca," Emmanuelle stated quietly. "As much as he'd like to, he can't change a thing. He never expected to have you." Her eyes searched Francesca's face. "He does have you, doesn't he?"

  For the first time Emmanuelle sounded vulnerable. Francesca's heart jerked in her chest. She couldn't look away from Emmanuelle's blue eyes. She had that same ability as Stefano--the one that could capture and hold. It occurred to Francesca that Stefano's sister was every bit as lethal as the male Ferraros.

  "I don't even know what he does for a living. I don't
know him at all. This is all moving so fast I honestly can't catch my breath." She tried a tentative smile. "Your brother tends to steamroll right over a girl. He's so wonderful. Beautiful. Everything that I'm not."

  Emmanuelle scowled at her. "Why in the world would you say that, Francesca? You obviously don't see yourself the way the rest of the world does." She looked up suddenly, her face instantly going expressionless in the way Stefano's often did. She flashed a small, brief smile toward the trio of women who had mounted the stairs and invaded their private space.

  "Doreen. Stella. Janice." She gave a little nod, princess to peasant. "I had no idea the three of you were in town."

  Francesca twisted her fingers together in her lap. Rigina and Rosina both had gone silent. Joanna looked as if she might faint, and even Mario was staring with his mouth open. The three women were in a famous band. Hugely famous. They weren't the kind of women one would just see walking up to them in a nightclub. Joanna clearly was pinching herself, grinning from ear to ear and practically bouncing on her seat.

  Francesca recognized each of the women, all of whom Stefano had dated briefly. There had been several articles on the scandal. Will the band break up? Keeping it all in the family. There were many, many more. Stefano had quite publicly dated each of the women amid a flurry of torrid headlines.

  "Emmanuelle." Doreen nodded, her haughty look not quite as well done as Emmanuelle's. "Stefano's supposed to be here tonight, but we haven't seen him." The three women exchanged a long look and then laughed together. "We thought we'd show him a real good time," she added, almost purring.

  Francesca winced. This was what she'd be putting up with every time she went anywhere in Stefano's circle. His women appeared to be legion and all of them were famous.

  "Why fight over him and all three of us lose?" Janice added. "When we can share and all of us have him?"