CHAPTER SEVEN
The event room, like the other two restaurants, was very large and spacious, but it was also filled with more people than Amaranthe had considered would be there. She also hadn’t thought that each rider would have bodyguards.
Geno.She breathed his name.
She knew Stefano was there. He’d been texting Geno steadily, threatening him, although she was fully aware he’d been teasing—at least she hoped he was. She recognized his bodyguards. They’d been at Geno’s house. She knew they were called Emilio and Enzo, and they were never far from Stefano. Even if Stefano gave them his death stare, they ignored him, which she admired them for. Neither man was the least intimidated by him. Amaranthe was used to standing before the International Council, and still, if she told the truth, Stefano Ferraro intimidated her just a little.
She had been certain Elie would return, and he had come with two bodyguards but without his wife. She’d wanted to meet Brielle. She wished Francesca had come as well, but she understood why Stefano hadn’t brought her. Heconsidered it too dangerous when they all were sure the ones murdering riders would most likely be in the restaurant somewhere. They would never pass up the opportunity to get close to so many members of the Ferraro family gathered in one place.
Right here, Danzatrice Ombra. You aren’t alone.
Amaranthe was already feeling uneasy, and she didn’t think it had anything to do with such a large gathering.Do you feel something sinister close?
Yes.No hesitation.We knew we would be walking into an ambush.
A bomb? There are a lot of innocents in this building, she was compelled to point out. It didn’t feel like a bomb to her.
More personal.
That’s what I think, too.But they were taking chances with lives. They had no way of knowing.
We can’t live our lives in a cave.
Geno was right about that. She looked around the room. Like the rest of the building, the event room had been designed with care to every detail. It might be her favorite of all the rooms. The table was long and already held fresh warm bread and wine in elegant glasses. She saw the table could easily accommodate at least twenty people. The ceiling was high, and a very beautiful chandelier hung over the center of the table casting light throughout the room.
Amaranthe had never seen a chandelier like it. “That’s so beautiful and unique.”
Geno smiled at her, clearly pleased she liked it. “I saw a similar one when I was visiting with a friend in Africa and took photographs for Salvatore and Lucca. They were just as impressed as I was. They flew out to talk with the artists, a couple there, and brought the designs for the room. I believe there is something like three thousand hand-rolled clay beads. Stoneware. There’s a mixture of crystal beads as well. Salvatore can tell you exactly how many and how it was constructed.”
“It’s gorgeous.”
She looked around the room again. The fireplace glowed softly, adding to the ambiance. The stone floor gleamed. Double doors led to a covered terrace where it was clear the family could eat outdoors if they chose.
Valentino Saldi and his wife, Emmanuelle, were seated beside Elie. Emmanuelle was a beautiful woman. She was curvy with dark hair and vivid blue eyes. She looked very much at ease in the room filled with males. Amaranthe knew her reputation as a shadow rider. She had often gone to Europe and filled in for riders in countries when there was a shortage of riders. She didn’t shirk duty. Not ever. The way Valentino looked at her, Amaranthe believed Geno—that the crime lord had married her for love.
Stefano was seated beside a man she knew to be his brother, Ricco Ferraro. Ricco had trained as a young rider in Japan. He was incredibly fast in the shadows and he’d been the central figure involved in the huge scandal that had brought down three of the houses of riders in that country. He practiced the art of Shibari, was considered an adrenaline junkie and was the family race car driver.
Beside Ricco was Ricco’s wife, Mariko. She was from the very famous line of Tanaka riders in Japan. Shockingly, she had blond hair and hazel eyes, taking after her American mother. She might look demure and shy, but she was fearless in the shadows, whether she took rotations on her own or was the perfect partner with her husband.
Dario Bosco sat across from Valentino. It was no surprise that Dario was there. She knew that if Valentino was present, Dario would be. Dario had his own territory to rule over, but it didn’t matter, he considered his first job to be head of Valentino’s security, and he refused to relinquish that position. Amaranthe had to concede there was something noble in taking that position. After all, Dario’s position was considered equal to Valentino’s by everyone. Clearly, that didn’t matter to Dario. Their bodyguards satat the same tables or stood along the walls with the Ferraro bodyguards.
Beside Dario was the youngest Ferraro male, Taviano. He looked like a replica of his older brother Stefano, right down to the piercing eyes. Like Stefano, he appeared very sophisticated. Younger. Fewer scars, although she could see he had intimidation down.
Seated beside Taviano was his wife, Nicoletta. Nicoletta was a woman Amaranthe very much wanted to meet. There had been whispers about her. The Archambault family, in particular Jean-Claude, was excited about her. The council was excited about her. They wanted her in France to work with and had done their best to try to persuade Stefano to send her to them. She had no formal training in the shadows when the Ferraros began working with her, yet her times were unbelievable.
Don’t you think it’s significant that Nicoletta, you, me and Elie are here in this room? All of us could have been, or are, a part of the program the council has in place to police the Archambault riders. Are your cousins as fast as you? What about your brothers?
Everyone had looked up the moment they entered the room. A hushed silence had fallen. Ordinarily that would have bothered her, but she was trying to figure the significance of what had just occurred to her. There were several riders in the room who were blindingly fast in the shadows. After them, there were those that might be even faster. What did that mean? Because it couldn’t be a coincidence that there were so many Archambaults migrating to the Ferraro family. Jean-Claude knew it and wanted to put a stop to it. Or did he? He knew the connection to his family through their grandmother. It might be a couple of times removed, but she was still an Archambault.
Geno knew immediately what she was thinking. His gaze followed hers to the two men lounging against the wall with the bodyguards. Salvatore and Lucca Ferraro.
Geno’s brothers were very much like him—only he was right in saying they fit the Ferraro image of sophistication. They were tall and handsome and very fit-looking. She expected Geno to be upset that they had come against his express orders, but instead, there was instant softness, affection in his mind, although, looking up at him, there was no change in his expression. Along with that affection and yes, real love, there was alarm. Geno had become very alert to any possible danger. He scanned the room again, this time much more meticulously. She found herself doing the same.
“I see the two of you have no idea what staying put means,” Geno greeted his brothers.
Both Lucca and Salvatore separated themselves from the bodyguards and sauntered across the room, their boots never making the slightest whisper of sound on the gray-and-black stonework. Their gazes moved over Amaranthe, taking in every detail of her appearance. They were every bit as sharp as Geno, she decided.
“Little sister,” Salvatore greeted. He had a mesmerizing quality to his voice. “You must not be quite sane to let Geno put a ring on your finger and trap your shadow.”
