Geno knew it would only take one slice of that poisoned knife to kill him. The doctor had the antidote, but it would be difficult to find him in the labyrinth of the shadow tubes. Geno knew, because he’d had to find more than one body of a rider to return the remains to the family, and it hadn’t been easy. They’d never find him in time if he were cut with a poisoned blade.
He followed the faint trail made by the male assassin,noting this man was far more experienced than the assassin who had tried to kill Stefano. This one had all the marks of a skilled rider—one who had been using the shadows for a long time and was familiar with the different elements of each feeder tube. He had known the young woman he’d murdered, yet he hadn’t hesitated. In fact, as Geno pulled up the memory to examine it closely, there had been no sign of reluctance or distaste for the task. It hadn’t bothered the man to kill her.
As he moved through the shadow, Geno contemplated that idea. They knew each other, that was for certain. In the brief glimpse he had of the man, Geno might have pegged him for her distant relative, a cousin or uncle. Most likely an uncle. There was no love on his side. He couldn’t tell on hers. He hadn’t been looking at her face. He couldn’t see her expression. He’d read her body language. She had expected a rescue. She’d thought the man was going to shove the knife into Geno, not into her. Why hadn’t he? The chances of getting to Geno were slight, especially with the woman solidly in front of him. Geno would have allowed the woman to escape to fend off the man, and the assassin had to have known that.
Geno came up on several feeder tubes, forcing him to halt and check each one for evidence that the assassin had entered one of them. If the assassin had known Geno would have to release the woman once the knife came at him, why hadn’t he attacked? Geno would have done that to ensure her freedom. Yes, it would put him at risk, but now there would be two of them to take Geno down. It would be much better odds. After all, Geno was the ultimate target, wasn’t he?
The tracks were very faint in a fast feeder tube that looped to his right. Every instinct screamed at him that he was being led into a trap. He’d always trusted his gut. Had the girl been a deliberate sacrifice? Had the murderers known Miranda’s shop was being watched by his family? Had Geno made a mistake? He didn’t think so. It wascoincidence that they’d discovered Miranda was under a death threat.
He studied the feeder tube and the three closest to it. He could see the faint signs the assassin had left behind that marked the one he’d supposedly entered. The other two close to it were pristine. A rider could dive into a tube and clear the entrance without leaving a sign of passing if he wanted, but the portal would catch him and throw him into the slick fast-moving shadow before he was able to stop himself. Those small feeder tubes were pure hell when it came to riding them.
Still, his gut screamed at him he was in trouble. So where was the trouble coming from? He was a patient man when it came to hunting. He could be still for hours if need be. He remained exactly in place waiting to see if his quarry was in the entrance of the small feeder tube and if he had a partner creeping up behind Geno. He didn’t feel anyone behind him. He didn’t make the mistake of twisting around to see. Movement in the tubes displaced air and would tip off any experienced rider that he wasn’t alone.
Geno waited. The feeling of danger didn’t fade. He remained absolutely still just inside the mouth of the larger shadow where he could watch all three of the feeder tubes. It took another ten minutes before he felt a faint shift in the air right at the front of the feeder on his left. A gray outline appeared briefly and then the older man emerged fully from the feeder, stepping practically right into Geno. He was armed with a knife in each hand, holding them low, blade up, so he could sink the edge into Geno’s belly before he saw danger coming at him.
Geno caught both wrists in an unbreakable grip, directing the blades away from himself, his thumbs digging into the assassin’s pressure points as he stepped in close, crowding the man, knee between the man’s legs. The assassin shifted his weight, trying to step back into the feeder tube. At once, the speed and force of the tube threatened to rip the man from Geno’s grip. Instantly, the assassin threw hisweight backward into the feeder tube, deliberately trying to fall onto his back and take Geno with him, rolling his wrist to turn the poisonous blades upward toward Geno’s arms.
Geno recognized he was in a perilous situation immediately, not necessarily from the assassin but from the power of the feeder tube.
Behind them, Amaranthe slid, no more than a small shadow slipping beneath the assassin so when he fell, the man crashed precisely on the much smaller body. She wrapped her legs around his chest, both hands gripping his head, anchoring herself. The tube ripped at the three bodies, hurtling them through the shadows toward the next fork.
Geno seized the assassin’s wrists, refusing to release him, keeping the knives out away from the man’s body, no longer worried for his own protection. He was terrified the man might be able to use the poisonous blades on Amaranthe. The assassin fought like a man possessed. The slick feeder tube ripped and pulled at their bodies, spinning and tearing as if trying to take their skin, hair and eyes from them.
Beneath the assassin, Amaranthe seemed abnormally still, and for a moment Geno feared she’d been knocked unconscious by the violence of the shadow tube and the collision of the assassin’s body with hers. Her hands and feet didn’t loosen for a minute. She stuck to the assassin as if glued to him, but she was utterly still and quiet, barely breathing.
Geno realized what she was doing. In the violent turbulence of the shadow tube and with Geno’s larger, very muscular body presenting such a clear threat, she was waiting for the assassin’s brain to dismiss her. Geno aided her instantly by tightening his grip on the man and turning his wrists slowly but surely so the edges of the blades faced toward the assassin’s skin.
Adrenaline and fear for his life made the man shockingly strong. He resisted hard, concentrating on keeping his hands away from his body, his gaze locking with Geno’s.Hatred gathered in those dark brown eyes. Whatever the reason this man had for targeting the Ferraro family for murder—it was very personal. Geno could detect fear, but there was so much loathing, so much it swamped him. Without warning, the man suddenly gave the appearance of giving in, his strength evaporating for a moment, arms caving, allowing the blades dangerously close to his thighs.
Just that fast, he turned the knives toward Geno’s inner arms and pressed upward. As if she instinctively knew his intentions, Amaranthe struck, wrenching as she’d been taught from the time she was a young child, breaking the assassin’s neck before he could complete his intention.
Geno hung on to the dead man until they reached the end of the feeder tube. One of the knives was lost to them, but the fist had locked down on the other. Geno cursed silently. It would take some time to find that knife, and he would have to. He didn’t dare take a chance that a rider might stumble across it and get cut.
He dragged the heavy body from Amaranthe, leaving it in the mouth of the shadow so it couldn’t be seen while he examined it for any identification. Salvatore came up behind them, the second knife in his hand.
“Any idea who he is?” Salvatore asked.
Geno shook his head. “He knew the young woman he murdered though. Killed her without hesitation and it didn’t seem to bother him at all. She was shocked. Frankly, so was I. I expected him to go for me.” His voice sounded deeper, had a heavier rasp to it. He cleared his throat. He detested the fact that he’d held that young woman in front of him and allowed the murderer to plunge the knife into her. He felt partially responsible.
“Geno, you can’t take that on,” Amaranthe counselled.
“She was young, Danzatrice Ombra, about your age. She had her entire life ahead of her. I think that man was using her the way they use the teenagers, recruiting them with promises of big money. The way they bribed two of our longtime employees.”
“I’ve asked our investigators to look into our other employees just to make certain no one else is on their payroll,” Salvatore said.
“Good thinking, Salvatore,” Geno acknowledged. “We need to get back to Miranda. We’ll let someone find this body, but we have to take the knives with us. This location is far from Miranda’s shop. If the police ever connect them, they won’t be able to bring Miranda or us into it.”
The light would change in another few minutes, altering where the shadow lay, exposing the body. They stepped into the main shadow tube and rode it back to Miranda’s boutique.
There were police cars and tape surrounding the back of Miranda’s store. A small crowd had gathered, but two uniformed officers kept people from pushing near the yellow tape. Two men in suits stood just off the steps leading to the back porch. Lucca, his arm around Miranda, his body sheltering hers from prying eyes, was talking to the two men in the suits.
The man in the gray suit is Detective Patrick Bowden. He’s a good cop. Very thorough. Watch every word you say to him because he doesn’t forget anything. His partner is Terence Laker. They’re sharp. They’re friendly enough toward our family and willing to give us the benefit of the doubt—in fact, I grew up with Patrick—but they investigate any evidence that appears to incriminate us. We’re very careful in our territory.
Geno and Salvatore kept Amaranthe between them as they approached the officers, showed ID and were allowed through. Their bodyguards had timed bringing their car just up the block as if they’d ridden there.
“Mr. Ferraro,” Detective Bowden greeted. “I expected you.” He glanced at his partner and then at Amaranthe. He nodded to Salvatore. “Unfortunately, Ms. Crespi found a body right on her back porch as she was leaving her establishment. She called it in immediately. She’s very shaken up.”
Geno went directly to Miranda and pulled her into hisarms, one hand pressing her face into his chest, his body language protective. She was trembling. “You should be sitting down, Miranda. Have you already given your statement to the police?”
