“Who is she?” Stefano asked.
“Her name is Amaranthe Aubert. She arrived in the country five months ago from a region in the South of France. She dances and teaches ballet at the Ferraro Performing Arts Theatre Company. She is also working in Little Italy at their Performing Arts Center. From all accounts she’s an excellent dancer.”
“I take it your investigators have checked up on her in the short time they’ve had?”
Geno nodded. “She’s danced all over the world. I’ve got a file on her, but nothing about her makes the slightest sense. At least there’s no reason she should be sitting in a chair waiting to be taken apart by a man willing to be as brutal and as disconnected from emotion as I can be. I had even planned to ask Dario for help if need be.”
“You changed your mind.” Like Geno, Stefano hadn’t taken his gaze from the prisoner.
“Something is very off here, Stefano. This is the third time she’s done what she’s doing. That stealthy scan of her surroundings. I don’t go to the ballet. I’ve never had the time or the inclination to go until just now, just watching her, and that’s a huge red flag given the circumstances.”
Both watched as Amaranthe’s dark eyes slowly moved around the room, taking in everything from the ceiling to the walls to the floor.
“I guarantee she knows the exact position of every single tool in that room. She’ll be able to tell you the distanceto every exit. She probably knowsourescape routes,” Geno said. “No ballet dancer would be sitting there that cool after being dragged into a basement by two bodyguards and tied to a chair with torture instruments surrounding her. She may be trying to look scared and intimidated, but she’s not in the least afraid. Her brain is working on something.”
Stefano considered the various possibilities, just as Geno knew he would. “You’re keeping everyone away from her because you believe she’s an assassin.”
Geno’s nod was slow in coming because he didn’t want to believe it. She looked the least likely person in the world to be an assassin.
“The first murders were Viola and Marcelle. The hat shop was robbed, and both were stabbed repeatedly. Brutally. In fact, each had twelve stab wounds. It appeared personal to me, Stefano. Viola was seventy-two. Marcelle seventy-five. There was no need to kill them. Marcelle would have turned over the cash. The police were called. Naturally, our family was approached. For me that was a relief, although I would have insisted we investigate anyway. Viola and Marcelle were family.”
The moment the murders had been reported to the police, he knew friends from Little Italy would end up in the parlor of his parents’ home.
The way their family business worked was simple—yet not. Anyone could ask for a meeting with his parents. In their world—the Ferraros’ world known as shadow riders—his parents were described as “greeters.” They had a psychic gift, one that made them able to discern whether someone they spoke with was lying. Former shadow riders often took the job of greeters because every rider had to be able to discern a lie. Geno knew the gift was also aided by the casual conversation they had with the petitioner in the beginning of the interview establishing breathing patterns, heart rate and inflection in the voice.
No cell phones were allowed. No recording. Those asking for a visit were invited guests simply having tea orcoffee and telling his parents what crime had occurred, what evidence they had and any suspicion they had of who might have done it.
The greeters listened but didn’t participate in that part of the conversation, never taking part in discussions of crimes and never making any promises. That way, if a policeman slipped through their precautions, there was no chance of being trapped. If the greeters believed a crime had been committed and were willing to have the Ferraro family investigate, they never said so.
The greeters never indicated in any way that they were going to help. They simply inclined their heads, gathered whatever evidence had been brought to them and murmured their sympathies. They made polite conversation and then indicated the meeting was over, adding that someone from the family would check in with them occasionally to see if they needed anything.
At that point, all evidence was turned over to the investigators. The New York Ferraro family had two sets of investigators. Usually, one team investigated the petitioner and the other the suspect. Geno’s cousins Lanz and Deangelo Rossi were exceptional investigators. There was very little they couldn’t do on a keyboard. Team two was also made up of cousins, Beniamino and Davide Latini, and they were equally as skilled. Geno relied on them not only for their skills as investigators but for their accounting skills as well.
“In this case, there was very little evidence left behind. Anyone killing with a knife, particularly when stabbing that many times, usually will cut themselves and leave traces of their own blood behind, but they didn’t. There wasn’t so much as a hair. No fingerprints, no partial sole print of a shoe despite all the blood.”
“A pro,” Stefano said.
“A professional wouldn’t stab someone that many times. He would kill quickly and cleanly. He’d get the job done and leave.”
Geno took another long look at the woman slumped in the chair, looking fragile and defeated other than those eyes. Her eyes were dark brown, so dark they were nearly black. They didn’t seem to miss much at all. Her lashes were thick and long, very feminine, adding to the dramatic sweep around her large eyes. Already, the lashes were falling, and she once again appeared to be that shaken prisoner, the epitome of a defenseless woman terrified of her captors.
“The second murder victims were Noemi and Caio. It was an exact match of the first one right down to the number of stab wounds and occurred thirty days after the first. Like clockwork, if you will excuse the pun, since it was a clock shop they robbed. No watches or clocks were taken, only the money in the safe. Although I’m not convinced there was money in the safe to take. The safe was open, but that doesn’t mean Caio and Noemi had money in it,” Geno said. “That was the conclusion the police came to, that it was a robbery.”
“What makes you think it wasn’t a robbery?”
“I think these are revenge killings, Stefano. And I’m beginning to believe another shadow rider family is involved.”
Stefano sighed. “I was afraid you were going to say that.”
“It’s the only way they could get to my parents.Bothof them.” Geno indicated the woman slumped in the chair. “I came up with a trap to catch a thief. I believe whoever has been doing the petty crimes is helping the one doing the murders. The petty crimes are being committed to spread dissension and cast suspicion on our family. Unfortunately, I think I may have been outsmarted and brought the assassin right into my home, where she wanted to be all along. She was able to get to my parents, but she couldn’t get to me.”
Stefano studied the woman with his piercing eyes. Unlike Geno, he could step back from the situation and be completely unemotional. “I’m not in the least affected bythe woman, whereas it is very clear to me that you are. Have you heard her speak?”
“Not yet. Nor have I seen her shadow.”
“Yet you’re convinced she’s a shadow rider.”
“I think she is, yes,” Geno agreed. “And elite. Cool under fire. She’d have to be to stick her head in the lion’s den. If she came here without backup, without a way to send her family members the coordinates to aid her, she has to believe she can kill me and escape.”
