The defibrillator shocked Geno’s heart back into rhythm while the doctor’s aide rushed to get the antidote for the poison. They’d texted the second aide in the laboratory, and he was already on his way.
•••
Amaranthe Aubert stared up at the unfamiliar ceiling, trying to remember where she was and why she was there. Her chest hurt. In fact, her entire body hurt, but her chest felt as if a massive hammer had smashed her repeatedly. She scanned the room carefully, looking for cameras. There were no bars on the windows. She wasn’t wearing clothes, but there was a robe hung beside the bed on a standing coatrack made of polished wood.
The room was beautiful with a hardwood floor and two wide windows overlooking the river. The bed was a queen and very comfortable. End tables with lamps sat on either side of the bed, and a reading chair was positioned across from the bed at an angle. The room was spacious and bright.
She sat up slowly, taking stock of her body and every sore muscle. She had no idea what day it was, but she was fairly certain she was inside the Ferraro home. The robe was close enough that if she stretched her fingertips, she could yank it to her. She hoped there wasn’t a camera. She hadn’t spotted one, but that didn’t mean there wasn’t one.
The robe fit as if it had been made exclusively for her.Geno Ferraro was very wealthy. He could afford to have robes made for women he had inadvertently abused in his interrogation room. She forced her mind away from that particular fiasco, unwilling to face the consequences of what might have happened to him and the mess she’d made of everything. Finding a bathroom was paramount on her list of things to do.
The first door she opened took her straight to a private bath. It was immaculate and held her favorite brands. Someone had bathed her and washed and conditioned her hair while she was unconscious. The thought of being that vulnerable unsettled her. She’d been on her own a long time and never once had she ever been taken prisoner. She’d never failed in a mission, either. Or made such a huge mistake where an innocent man may have lost his honor and ultimately his life.
She covered her face. She would have to own up to her mistakes. There was no getting around it. And if Geno was alive, she would have to confess to him and apologize. She couldn’t imagine facing him and telling him the truth. Why hadn’t she seen the truth? She’d never made such an error before. The worst of it was, he’d been her contact—her backup. She just hadn’t trusted him enough to talk to him. Pride. Ego. Fear. All those things. That shamed her.
She went back to her room and looked at the closet. If they had provided a robe and her favorite toiletries, perhaps there were clothes in the closet. Before she could explore further, a knock at the door had her scrambling back into bed.
The man opening the door was astonishingly handsome. He had dark eyes, chiseled features and very wide shoulders. He smiled at her. “My name is Elie Archambault. May I come in?”
Her heart sank. He certainly had the features of an Archambault. She nodded. Elie entered but didn’t approach the bed. He took the chair across from her.
“Jean-Claude received an urgent call from Stefano Ferraroon your behalf. He filed a report, which I have here for you to go over and add to. Before we get started, I need to inform you that I rarely act in the official capacity as an Archambault. I live in Chicago and work as a rider for the Chicago Ferraro family. Essentially, that would make Stefano my boss. I am, however, an Archambault, and I would never betray the code of my family. If you prefer someone else to give a ruling on this matter, I will inform Jean-Claude and he’ll send someone immediately.”
“I didn’t ask Stefano to file a complaint on my behalf.”
“Apparently, Geno Ferraro did.”
“I’ll have to take that up with Mr. Ferraro.”
“I’m afraid that’s impossible.”
Her heart dropped. For a moment her lungs refused to work. “I don’t understand. Are you saying Geno Ferraro won’t talk to me, or he can’t talk to me?”
“It’s imperative we stay on track here, Ms. Aubert. These are serious charges being made against Geno Ferraro. Torture. Consorting with criminals. You did attempt suicide. You wouldn’t have done so unless you felt there was no other way out for you.”
“I have no complaint, Mr. Archambault. If I had one, I would have filed it myself.” She was desperate to know Geno’s condition.
“Please call me Elie. These charges must be dealt with. Jean-Claude is not going to be satisfied after reading this report that nothing was done.”
“Elie, then. If anyone was at fault, it was me. And call me Amara.”
“How were you at fault, Amara?”
“I was instructed to go to Geno Ferraro if I ran into any problem. I was told he was the one man I could trust. Instead, when I had the opportunity to speak with him, I didn’t take it. I doubted him and in doing so put him in an untenable position. He believed me to be a traitor to the shadow riders and a party to those who murdered his parents. Itcertainly appeared that way. When I refused to answer his questions and he knew I was withholding information, he acted as if he might torture me. He didn’t. At the last moment, I realized he didn’t have any intention of following through with his threats. In fact, he saved my life by taking the poison himself.”
She kept all emotion from her voice with tremendous effort. Was Geno alive? Surely, she would know if he were dead. Their shadows were so tangled together, she couldn’t imagine that he could die without her knowledge. Still, she could barely breathe. She needed to see him—to just look at him and see for herself that he was alive and as arrogant as ever.
“That would be your sworn statement?”
“Do you think I want to admit to Jean-Claude that I screwed this up so badly? I wouldn’t lie. I still have to face Stefano and Geno Ferraro and tell them the truth. I have no idea what Valentino Saldi or Dario Bosco were doing in the interrogation room, but I certainly couldn’t talk about shadow riders in front of them.”
“You are aware that Valentino Saldi is married to Emmanuelle Ferraro, Stefano’s youngest sibling?”
Amaranthe shook her head. “I only familiarized myself with the New York branch before coming here.”
“The Ferraro family is very close. New York, LA, San Francisco, Chicago. If you’re talking to one, you’re talking to all of them. If one needs help, they all come. Essentially, they are the Archambaults of the United States. They don’t have too many other riders to help them out, so they rely on one another.”
“You don’t believe any of them would betray the others.”
