Shadow Rider (A Shadow Riders Novel Book 1)
Shadow Rider: Chapter 18

Francesca woke with her heart pounding and her mouth dry, the taste of blood in her mouth. Her tongue found the small tear in her lip where she’d bit it to keep from screaming and screaming like she wanted to. Instantly she felt his arms. His thigh between hers. His body wrapped around hers, keeping her safe. Stefano. She drew in breath and took his scent into her lungs.

“Bambina.”

His voice was soft. Warm. So gentle it turned her heart over. One of her favorite things to do with him was just lie in bed and listen to him talk, especially about the neighborhood and the people in it. The affection in his voice was always stark and real. She especially loved these moments–in the dark, surrounded by his protective body and his voice sliding over her like the touch of his fingers. Caressing. Soothing. Driving away the remnants of her nightmares.

Stefano was always gentle with her in the middle of the night when she woke, his mouth soft against her skin, his driving needs held in check while he comforted her.

“What was it?”

“He’s coming for me.” Her heart still pounded. Her stomach felt queasy. She knew there was no way Barry Anthon would have missed the news that Francesca Capello was engaged to marry Stefano Ferraro. The announcement was in all the news. In magazines. Television. Stefano’s publicist handled everything and made certain information on the engagement was spread far and wide.

“That’s the idea, dolce cuore. We want him to come after us. We want him out of your life once and for all. That means drawing him out. Letting him make a mistake.”

“You can’t underestimate him, Stefano,” she warned, a cold shiver creeping down her spine.

He stroked her rib cage with the pads of his fingers. Traced his name, brushing the letters until they looped on the underside of her breasts. He painted little sparks of electricity all over her breasts with soft, unhurried touches. His hand moved back to her rib cage and he tugged until she rolled onto her back. He kissed the marks at her throat and over her breast, featherlight kisses to remove every trace of the sting of a knife.

Francesca’s heart jerked hard in her chest at the sight of his face so close to her. God, but he was gorgeous. Impossible to resist. “I’ve fallen so hard for you, Stefano,” she whispered. “Please be real. Please don’t hurt me. I don’t think I’d survive it.” The admission slipped out before she could stop it.

She knew what she was revealing to him. Those fragile feelings she couldn’t help. Stefano was larger than life. A throwback to an era gone by when men were fiercely protective of women and children. Where having a code meant something. Giving his word and keeping it was a matter of honor.

His blue eyes burned over her like twin flames, taking her breath. So intense. Desire flaring. Hunger and possession stamped into the sensual lines of his face. “It doesn’t get any more real than what I feel for you, Francesca,” he said softly. His hand moved from her throat to the junction of her legs, his touch gentle, unhurried, unlike his usual rough, wild possession. “What we have together. It fills me up, bella, until I’m almost bursting. I’ve always been empty, and now you make me full. There’s no going back for me.”

Stefano shifted his body, rolling over the top of her so that his thick, heavy erection was nestled in the cradle of her hips. One knee nudged her legs apart. One hand caught her left leg, bent it and drew it around him, opening her up to him. Every silent command was gentle. Insistent, but gentle.

Her heart turned over and then began hammering, each beat thundering in her ears, rushing through her veins and pounding in her clit. She ran her hands up his chest. She loved the way his muscles were so defined, the way they rippled suggestively beneath his skin when he moved. Like a tiger. She shivered. Just touching him sent heat curling through her body and damp liquid made her slick with welcome.

“There’s no going back for you, Francesca. Whatever happens, we’ll face it together.” He bent his head and kissed her chin. Nibbled his way under her chin to her throat. He punctuated each kiss with a bite. Each bite made her hips buck with need. This was a slow burn, not the out-of-control wildfire he created. The burn took her over, cell by cell, settling in before she was fully aware of what was happening.

“I reserve the right to protect you, Stefano.”

His gaze moved over her face, melting her with those twin blue flames. “I love how you truly believe I need protecting and that you’re so willing to try.” He bent his head to her breast, his dark hair brushing over her bare skin. “Every moment I’m with you, bambina, I fall harder. It’s difficult for me to believe you’re real. You aren’t the only one a little terrified.”

His mouth made her squirm. Catch her breath. He knew exactly what he was doing to her, just how to bring that slow smolder to a hot burn. His hands moved over her skin. Possessive. Loving. Tender. So tender it brought tears to her eyes. His admission rang with truth and that brought a lump to her throat. Her Stefano.

He kissed his way down her body, keeping that slow, unhurried pace, but it was more intense than she thought possible. It felt as if he was worshiping her. Showing her with his mouth and hands how much he loved her.

Stefano took his time, savoring the taste and texture of Francesca. It was impossible to put into words what he felt for her. He’d had no idea he could feel for a woman what he did each time he touched her. Hell. That wasn’t exactly the truth. It happened each time he thought of her, which was every minute of every day. She was fast becoming his obsession.

He couldn’t wait to be in her. Home. That was what she was to him. A woman who saw him. He kissed his way up the inside of her thigh, feeling her shiver. He loved her reaction every time he touched her. The silk of skin. The heat. He knew he shouldn’t be happy for all the women he’d had before her. He couldn’t remember them and they paled into insignificance, but he was grateful for the experience, to be able to give his woman so much pleasure.

Her soft little moans sounded like music to him. He waited for the breathy hitch in her voice before he dipped his head again and nuzzled that sweet, sweet treasure between her legs. Her hips bucked and he pinned her down, forcing her thighs farther apart as he inhaled her scent.

She was a siren calling to him. His gaze slid up her body, drinking her in, devouring her. Could a woman be any more beautiful, laid out for him, her body flushed, breasts swaying with every undulation and shift she made. Her hair was everywhere, just like he loved it, that cloud of dark silk felt like heaven against his skin. He dreamed of her hair sliding over him as he fucked her slowly. Fast. Any damn way he wanted.

“Who do you belong to, bambina?” He licked at her, licked at the orange-and-cinnamon-scented drops of honey spilling out of her. All for him. Every single bit, just for him. She didn’t know yet. She was still leery of the relationship, not trusting anything that happened so fast. Knowing his family was far more than he was telling her. Still, she was there. With him. Committing to him in spite of her fear.

He needed her to commit all the way. To be so far into him, she couldn’t walk away. He wanted their shadows merged–a dangerous thing to do if she wasn’t fully his. It was a risk he knew could lose him everything. He’d end up a shadow himself, no longer a rider, something he was born to do. Every day they were together like this, so intimate, their shadows connected, beginning the seal between them.

“Answer me, Francesca.” He used his black velvet voice. The one no one ever dared disobey. The one commanding truth. “Who do you belong to?” He plunged his tongue deep, because he couldn’t resist her scent one more moment. His hands shaped her hips, her thighs. Slid over the dark curls at the vee of her legs. Possessively. He knew exactly who she belonged to.

“Stefano.”

She said his name on a gasp, her hands replaceing his hair, gripping, pulling. He loved the bite of pain. His cock loved it, too.

“I belong to you.”

Four beautiful words. He added a finger to her tight sheath and her muscles contracted around it, bathed him in hot liquid. He marveled that she could take him. She always felt far too tight, yet she was perfect for him.

“That’s right, Francesca. You’re mine.” Because he couldn’t live without her. He couldn’t ever again come back to one of his houses without her in it.

He moved up her body, keeping her thighs wide, bending one leg at the knee to curve it around his body, wanting her to lock him up tight. He did the same to the other leg so that her body cradled his and her legs circled his thighs, ankles crossed to hold him to her.

He brushed at her hair, and took her mouth again. He’d never be able to resist her mouth. He loved everything about it. How soft. Like velvet. Full lips. Her smile took his breath every time. She had the cutest little dimple, barely there, that came and went when she smiled. Her taste was exquisite. Addicting. He kissed his way down her chin and took a small bite. Felt her body shudder beneath his in reaction.

Her neck was next. He loved the way she arched, giving him access, even when he bit her that little bit too hard. It was impossible not to sink his teeth into her. She was just too–perfect. Just too his. Everything he could imagine he would want in a woman and so much more.

Her hands stroked his back, fingernails bit deep into his shoulders. His cock jerked, his balls tightened. She was perfect. Fucking perfect. He worshiped her breasts, taking his time, even when she tried to impale herself on him. He loved that. Loved the way she needed him. Her eyes had that glazed look he was hungry to see. The look that said she was so far gone he could do anything to her and she’d let him, because she was every bit as wild for him as he was for her.

He guided her legs higher, so that they wrapped around his waist, exposing that soft center of hers. A flower. He lodged the head of his cock there, feeling the burn. So slick with welcome. He loved that too. How wet she got for him. How responsive she was to him. She was everything. When a man had nothing for his entire damn life, there was no mistaking the real thing when she walked unexpectedly into his world.

He pushed slowly into her. Inch by scorching-hot inch. Watching as she took him in. Watching as her body swallowed his. It was beautiful. Fucking perfection. His gaze on hers, he threaded his fingers through hers and pressed their joined hands into the mattress.

He’d never felt anything so intense as he did right in that moment. The clasp of her sheath strangling his cock, a vise made of breathing silk, the tunnel so hot and tight it took his breath. He moved slowly. He didn’t want to. He wanted to fuck her hard, but right then, he couldn’t. He was helpless, caught in her spell. Mesmerized by her beauty–by the beauty of her body and what it could do to his. Mesmerized by her heart, the heart that belonged to him.

He found himself hypnotized by the small noises Francesca made in her throat that always drove him wild. The way her eyes darkened as lust overtook her. He was acutely aware of every detail, every movement. The way she tilted her pelvis to take him deeper. The way she lifted to meet him, matching his rhythm exactly. Accepting whatever pace he set. Hard. Slow. Gentle. Fast. She gave herself completely into his keeping.

“That’s right, dolce cuore,” he whispered, feeling it build in her, coiling and burning. She was close. The hitch in her breathing, the raw carnal need etched into her face. So beautiful. All his. “Give it to me now.” He pushed command into his voice, wanting to feel the pulse of her body, that tight grip milking at him. The scorching friction and searing heat she surrounded him with. He wasn’t yet ready to let her take him over the edge. He wanted more. Much, much more.

She gasped as the climax took her, her gaze never wavering from his. Her eyes went wide with a kind of dazed shock and her body shuddered and rippled with a powerful orgasm. He kept moving in her, picking up the pace, pounding through her climax, prolonging it.

He couldn’t help himself. He drove deeper, lifting her hips to him, fingers digging into her perfect little heart-shaped bottom. Fucking her hard. Really hard. She belonged to him. Every inch of her. Her orgasms belonged to him. Her silken sheath, so tight he thought he might not live through every time she surrounded him–that belonged to him. He buried himself in her over and over. Taking her. Owning her. Savoring her. Her scent. The feel of her. Dio. Her taste, so exquisite he was addicted and woke every fucking morning with her on his tongue.

He wrapped her hair around his fist, just because he fucking owned her hair, too. She let him, even when he jerked, pulling hard, turning her head to force her to keep watching his face. He reveled in the sight of her under him, pinned there, unable to move, her legs wrapped around his waist, locking them together while he rode her hard.

He belonged there inside of her. She was . . . la sua casa–his home. Home wasn’t a place with four walls. Home was a scorching-hot, tight sheath made of silk. Home was blue eyes he could drown in. Home was soft skin and an eager mouth, hands that stroked and caressed, nails that bit deep in passion. She was home. Francesca.

He was close–so close to the end of his control. He felt the heat skittering down his spine. Up his

thighs. His balls tightening. She was beautiful, her entire body flushed, her mouth open, panting, singing a ragged chant, a breathy call of his name. “Mine.” He nearly spat the word. Telling her. Wanting that word branded into her bones. Wanting his name carved deep in her soul. She. Was. His. His everything.

Her muscles tightened, clamping down again, that scorching vise he would never get used to, the one that felt so fucking good. Paradise. Exquisite pain and pleasure coming together in perfect harmony. Forcing his explosion so that his entire body seemed to come apart. Milking him dry.

“Francesca.” He breathed her name in reverence. His woman. He hoped she felt what he was trying to show her with his body. Love wasn’t the right word, not when it was everything. Not when it was so intense.

She stroked his hair, her eyes drowsy. Sated. Staring into her eyes shook him because he found himself drowning in her blue gaze, experiencing the most powerful emotion he’d ever felt. She shook the foundations of his world.

He allowed himself to collapse over her, burying his face against her neck. He nuzzled her there. Kissed her. Bit down as gently as he could, feeling her body shudder and quake around his as he glided into her over and over. Slow again. Bringing them both down from that exhilarating rush.

When he finally found the strength to withdraw, he rolled her onto her side, back to him, curling his body around her.

“I have to clean up.”

“No.” He made it an order. “Tonight you sleep with me inside you.” He had a primitive desire to own her body all night. He waited for her to protest. What woman wouldn’t protest? His seed would run down her thighs. Make a sticky mess. She had every right to protest. He closed his eyes and pressed his forehead into the back of her head, into the luxurious mass of dark hair. Waiting.

Francesca laughed softly, and the sound teased every one of his senses. Made him indescribably happy. He lifted his head because he had to see her. One hand moved the cloak of hair, exposing the tilt of her mouth. That sweet, sweet curve.

“You’re kind of a caveman, sometimes, Stefano. But it’s sexy. Really, really sexy.”

The breathless quality to her voice brushed like fingers over his belly, making his cock grow semihard when he’d just been feeling sated. She could make him insatiable. She already had. He was used to having a strong sex drive, mostly when he came out of the shadow portals, the adrenaline rushing through his veins, but now, he thought about sex about every third second. Sex with his woman. Francesca.

“Glad you think so, amore. You need to go back to sleep. You have work in the morning. Unless . . . ” He paused hopefully. When she didn’t take the bait, he sighed. “You could quit.”

“I’m not going to be a kept woman, Stefano.”

He was silent. He wanted to keep her. It was necessary to him. “You do know I’m filthy rich, right? My family has money. I have money. I would much rather spend it on you than on anything or anyone else.” He spoke low, trying to keep his tone even. He knew money was going to be a sore subject with her. She’d been homeless. And she had a streak of pride a mile wide.

“You bought me an entire wardrobe, honey,” she said.

Her voice was quiet. Almost gentle. He could tell she was trying to tiptoe around his pride. It wasn’t that though. “It’s about me needing to do things for you, Francesca. It makes me happy. You have no idea how happy. I’ve never had this before.”

It was difficult to make the admission, not with his emotions choking him. He was grateful he was behind her, his body locked around hers. He tightened his arm around her chest, and pushed his hips deeper into her. She was so soft. Incredibly soft. And warm. Her perfect little ass pushed back against him, and he closed his eyes against the streak of white lightning shooting through his cock to his belly.

“I’ll keep my job for the time being, Stefano. It helps me learn about all the people in the neighborhood. You grew up with them. I would like to get to know them. I can tell they matter to you–you help them out a lot. If I’m going to be your wife, then they should be able to come to me so I can take some of the burden off you.”

His heart jerked hard in his chest. The pressure was strong, an actual pain. She was going to be his wife. He would accept nothing less, but to have her want to get to know the people in his world just so she could help him reduced him to putty. She didn’t know it–and thank God she didn’t–but she had him in the palm of her hand. She had all the power in their relationship. She probably always would.

“You’re killing me, woman. Go to sleep.” Because he couldn’t take much more.

“Not yet.”

“Bambina,” he said softly, sweeping the hair from her neck to over her shoulder. He pressed his lips against her bare nape. “Go to sleep. If you don’t, I’ll know I didn’t do my job, wearing you out.” He murmured the words against her soft skin, his teeth scraping back and forth gently, the desire to take a bite out of her strong in him. “That will mean I’ll start all over again, which I don’t mind, but I’ll get you sore. So close your beautiful eyes for me and go to sleep.”

She sighed. “I wish I could, but I keep thinking about the poor girl, Stefano. The one you told me about.”

He closed his eyes. He had no right blurting out details of his assignments no matter how disturbing or upsetting. “Francesca, I should never have told you about her. I don’t know why I did. You don’t need to hear things like that. Not ever.” He stroked her hair. He loved touching her. He fucking needed to touch her.

“Of course I do,” Francesca protested, snuggling deeper into her pillow.

He loved the way her bare skin slid over his. Like silk. Or satin. So sinful he wanted her all over again. His cock just kept throbbing. Demanding. He pressed deeper against her ass, replaceing the crease there. He used one hand to circle his shaft, closing his eyes against the pleasure sweeping through him.

“Anything that upsets you, I want to share. I want you to be able to talk to me about your work. I might not be able to do anything but listen, but at least I can do that. The thing is, if you’re reading reports on this girl, that means you’re considering some way to help her.”

He met her statement with silence. She turned her head to look over her shoulder at him. Dio. So fucking beautiful. Her eyes. The way she looked at him as if he were the only man in the world. He buried his face in her hair, escaping that wide blue gaze.

“You’re too damn smart for your own good, Francesca. We’re getting into things I can’t talk about until my ring is on your finger.”

She blinked at him and then turned back to lay her head on her pillow, her fingers curling into a fist beside her chin. “Your ring is on my finger,” she pointed out, her voice low.

He reached across her body to lift her left hand, his thumb sliding over the engagement ring. He loved seeing it on her finger. Feeling it there. “You have to have my wedding band here as well. That’s how this works in my family, amore.”

Francesca was silent for a long time, and his heart pounded. She couldn’t slip away. She just couldn’t. Not now. He wouldn’t allow it. He stayed quiet, afraid to say anything. Afraid not to.

“Stefano, I know your business isn’t legal. I suspected all along, but you told me your family doesn’t sell drugs or run guns and I believe you. I can’t imagine you involved in prostitution or, worse, human trafficking.”

His heart continued to pound. Blood thundered in his ears. Was she making a leap of faith or about to tell him to fuck off? He held himself very still, waiting for her to shatter him.

“Your family isn’t like the Saldi family, in the news suspected of all kinds of heinous crimes. Still, in spite of your banks, hotels, nightclubs and even the casinos, I’m fairly certain your family has an illegal side to some of the things you do.”

Not his entire family. Just the ones that would matter to her. He wanted to kiss her, cover her mouth with his. Stop her. In that moment he knew she could shatter him. Break him into a million pieces and he’d never recover. Not in this lifetime. He realized all the lore in his family was truth. Ferraro men, when they found the right woman, loved her with everything in them and they did it only once. Francesca was his once.

“To be with you, I can accept a lot of things, Stefano, but not silence. Not being kept in the dark. I know that there isn’t always justice in the world. Believe me, I am living proof of that. It isn’t like I’m ever going to go running to the police believing they’ll help me. I did that too many times.”

She made a move, as if she might put distance between them. He wasn’t having that. He refused. He tightened his arm under her breasts and tucked her into his side, pushing his cock into the cleft of her rounded cheeks, deep, claiming that part of her for his own as well. Making a statement. She subsided, but that didn’t stop the tension from coiling tighter in his gut.

“This girl. The one you read about. I don’t know why people come to you for help, but if you can get her out of that situation, I’m behind you 100 percent.”

She turned her head again to look at him over her shoulder. Her blue eyes were dark. Beautiful. Filled with possession and pride. For him. Fuck. She was killing him, taking him over, one slice of his soul at a time. His cock hardened until he thought he might shatter. Or maybe his heart was going to fragment into a million pieces.

“And, Stefano, I don’t care how you have to do it, legal or otherwise. Just help her if you can.” A soft dictate. An acceptance.

His heart nearly exploded. He reached down and caught her hips, tugging her into position, one hand sliding between her legs. She was filled with him. Slick with him. Slick with the both of them. He lifted one of her legs and just slid home. Buried himself deep. Stayed planted as deep as humanly possible while he held her to him. While he buried his face in the ultimate luxury of her thick dark hair. He didn’t move, just stayed locked to her. Buried in her, right where he wanted to live. Home.

“Stefano?” Her voice caressed his skin. Melted into his bones. “Honey, you have to move. You can’t tease me like this.”

He found himself smiling like an idiot. If his brothers saw him now they’d call him whipped, and he wouldn’t care. She was exhausted, had to get up early and she had that little demand in her voice that was sexy as hell. So hot, his woman. So fucking hot. He complied and gave her exactly what she wanted. He’d give her the world every time.

Francesca woke to the first streaks of light invading the bedroom. She knew instantly she was alone and for a moment her heart thudded in protest. She buried her face in the pillow. The scent of Stefano still lingered in the room. In her. On her. She stretched and muscles protested deliciously. She liked that. She liked belonging to him. Knowing his mark was on her and that every time she took a step, she’d feel him inside her.

She sat up, pulling the sheet with her when she realized she didn’t have a stitch on. Blinking, she pushed at the hair tumbling around her face and down her back. The room was immaculate. Stefano had picked up their scattered clothes. She found herself laughing as she made her way to the master bathroom. She was happy. She hadn’t expected to ever be happy again. Not after losing her parents. Not after losing her sister. Not after Barry Anthon had begun his campaign to take everything from her.

The water was hot, just the way she liked it. It poured over her, soothing the soreness in her muscles. Stefano always, always ensured she found nothing but absolute pleasure in his arms, but he wasn’t a gentle lover. He could be sometimes, but it was rare. Gentle usually turned into rough. Hard. She loved rough and hard with him; anything at all he wanted to do, she was totally into. He liked to put his brand on her. She loved those marks of possession, but her body sometimes protested. Hot water took care of that, leaving her with a straight happiness vibe.

She dressed carefully in one of the many skirts Stefano had bought her. He had great taste in clothing. She was fairly certain she’d seen this particular skirt in the window of Lucia’s Treasures. It was a beautiful royal blue, the material exquisite. Flowy. A handkerchief hemline. The skirt rode low on the hips and the matching top, out of the same material, was a corset with a zigzag of royal blue cord through eyelets lacing up the front. She loved the way it narrowed at her rib cage and emphasized her small waist.

She had curves–hips and breasts and, as far as she was concerned, too big of a butt–but the cut of the skirt and matching blouse was flattering. She loved the way the material felt as it swished around her legs and fell over her hips in a sexy sway. She added soft suede boots and dried her hair in a loose cloud of dark waves. At the deli she’d have to pull it back to work around the food, but she wanted to look nice when she kissed Stefano good-bye. Her sweater was lacy, an intricate pattern, soft and warm, with tiny buttons going up the front.

Giving herself one last look in the mirror, Francesca stepped out into the hall and started toward the living room. Immediately she heard a woman’s voice. Low. Furious. Filled with contempt and repressed anger. Not a hot anger, but cold, like a vicious snake, coiled and ready to strike.

“Do you have any idea who this woman is? You should have had her investigated before you ever allowed the media to get ahold of pictures of you with her. My God, Stefano, she’s been in a mental facility. She’ll drag our good name through the mud, and you’ll let her.”

Francesca stopped moving instantly, one hand going protectively to her throat, her legs like rubber. That cold voice was talking about her. There was no mistaking that at all. She’d been locked up for seventy-two hours.

“They do say that the mentally unbalanced are a good lay,” the voice continued, the contempt deepening. “But I forbid this. Our name means something, and just because you can’t keep your dick in your pants . . .”

“Eloisa, that’s enough.”

Francesca flinched at the tone of Stefano’s voice. He was angry. Not his usual enraged but under-control anger; this was a smoldering, scary, very low voice that indicated he was extremely dangerous.

“I’m your mother . . .”

“Don’t.” His voice was a whip, lashing out with a viciousness Francesca hadn’t known him capable of. “You lost the right to call yourself my mother a long time ago. You never played that role, and now isn’t the time to start. You don’t know the first thing about my relationship with Francesca.”

He called his mother by her first name? Eloisa? Clearly there was a huge rift between mother and son. Stefano was a man who believed in protecting women. It was ingrained in him. At his very core. It shocked her that something had gone so wrong in their relationship that Stefano was disrespectful to his mother. She’d had a few clues. He hadn’t included her or his father in the meeting with his cousins when they’d asked her about Barry.

“I know that you’re running out of time and you saw a woman who was compatible with you and what you are. You know in another couple of years you’ll have to make a match of convenience, so you took the first thing that came your way because you just have to be in control.” Eloisa’s voice dripped with sarcasm. It also rang with honesty.

Francesca threw one hand out toward the wall to steady herself. What did that mean? A marriage of convenience? Why would Stefano have to marry anyone? That didn’t make sense. He could have his choice of any woman. He was gorgeous, had tons of money, as well as a million other reasons why a woman would want him. What did Eloisa mean? Compatible with you and what you are? What was Stefano that any woman wouldn’t be compatible with him?

“What I choose to do or with whom I do it isn’t your concern.”

Knots coiled tight in Francesca’s belly. Stefano wasn’t denying anything his mother had said. He was protesting her right to say it to him.

“This family is my business. I’ve given my entire life for it, and I won’t let your sex drive or your need to prove to me or your father that you’re the one in control, not us, ruin everything.”

“I’ve given my life to this family,” Stefano said, his voice dropping even lower.

His tone made Francesca shiver. She could actually feel the heat of his temper filling the room and drifting down the hall toward her. She wouldn’t have been surprised to see the walls bulge outward in an effort to contain his temper. She never, ever wanted him that angry with her.

“My sex drive is none of your business and it never will be. I am the one in control of the family, not you and don’t ever be stupid enough to test me on that, Eloisa. You didn’t listen to me when I told you what would happen if you sent Ettore into the tubes. I told you he was too young and far too sensitive for this kind of work, but you just had to pull rank on me because you didn’t want the family to know you didn’t know the first thing about your children and they were all there. The others told you. Ricco, Giovanni, Vittorio, hell, even Taviano and Emmanuelle. All of us. But you just had to prove your point. My baby brother. I was the one who held him in my arms. I was the one who got up at night to feed and change him. Not you. I picked him up when he cried and rocked him back to sleep.”

“He was weak,” Eloisa said in a small voice. “He needed to be a man. I tried to make him a man. You coddled him too much. You always did.”

“He was different, Eloisa, but you refused to see that because, God forbid, you and your husband couldn’t possibly produce a less-than-perfect child. Now Ettore’s just dead.”

Francesca’s heart broke for Stefano. There was genuine sorrow in his voice. The sorrow a parent would feel for the loss of a child. She took a step toward the living room, needing to comfort him.

“I’ve known Barry Anthon’s parents for some time, Stefano. He comes from good people,” Eloisa continued, as if they hadn’t just been discussing the loss of her son. “This deranged woman you call your fiancee accused Barry of murdering her sister–did you know that? It’s absolutely absurd. She’s got a police record. She’s a criminal as well as a mental patient. Give her money to go away. She’s not the only rider in the world. They’re out there. You just have to look around a little bit. Dio, Stefano, at least admit you wouldn’t have looked at her twice if she weren’t a rider. Be honest with yourself and with me.”

“That may be true, Eloisa,” Stefano said. “But I did look at her.”

Francesca closed her eyes. She’d heard enough, far more than she wanted to hear. Stefano’s reason for seeking her out hadn’t been compassion because she didn’t have a coat. It hadn’t been because he was attracted to her. Whatever being a “rider” meant was his true reason for going after her. For asking her to marry him.

She closed her ey

es against the tears burning in her throat and behind her eyes. She just had to get out of there with a little dignity and then she could sort things out.

Francesca took a breath, striding down the hall. “Honey, I’ve got to go. I’m late. I’ll text you when I get to work.” She burst out of the hall and was nearly all the way to the elevator before she allowed herself to “see” Stefano had company. “Oh. I’m sorry to interrupt you.” She flashed a fake smile at Eloisa and took the four steps to the elevator and summoned it with a stab of her finger.

“Francesca,” Stefano called out, and took a step toward her.

Fortunately the doors opened and she stepped into the lift and hurriedly closed the doors on his face. He knew. He knew she’d heard everything. It was written on his face. She didn’t care. She practically ran out of the hotel. To her dismay Emilio and Enzo were waiting for her. Emilio opened the door of the car and she slipped inside, praying Stefano wouldn’t call him until after he’d gotten her to work. Her fiance still had his mother to deal with, and she hoped that took a very long time.