Geno didn’t want her to have the wrong impression.He is a sadist through and through. He has no problem torturing someone. He doesn’t feel sick or disturbed by it. In fact, he gets off on causing pain to others, men or women. That’s what he fears the most in his relationship with any woman he ends up loving.
Evidently, not Emmanuelle, Amaranthe pointed out.
Geno turned that over in his mind. Dario certainly would kill someone who dared to hurt Emme. He was certain if anyone touched Brielle they’d suffer long and hard before they died at Dario’s hands. What did that mean exactly? If they were really going to save Dario from himself, that was the question they would have to answer.
“Let’s get a plan in place,” Geno directed aloud. “Emmanuelle, you’re good at writing up whatever we need to put in the papers. Make it good. We want everyone to see that the family is coming together to support Amaranthe in her first performance in New York City. We have reserved boxes, the best in the theater, and for the first time, they will be filled with Ferraro family members.”
“Way to put the pressure on,” Amaranthe said. “I’ll probably make a fool of myself.”
“That would be impossible,” Geno stated.
•••
Two hours after the news broke that the Ferraro family intended to support Amaranthe’s first performance, they received a report from Deangelo Rossi, one of Geno’s investigators. He’d been keeping a close eye on Jenny Porthman’s devices. Lucca had provided the necessary way in, and once Rossi had that, he was able to see whatever Jenny was doing and who she talked to.
“Jenny Porthman received a message from an unknown person. He instructed her to have her mother ensure Jenny and three others are hired as ushers in the theater for all performances. It’s common practice to hire extra staff during performance week. Jenny’s mother is on the board of directors, and she has a lot of pull. She can easily get Jenny and the others hired,” Rossi informed Geno.
“Were you able to trace where the text originated from?” Salvatore asked.
“It bounced all over the world,” the investigator said, “but in the end, the message came from a café here in New York. The café is one known to us. A lot of hackers use it.”
They talked it over, deciding whether it would jeopardize their plans if they prevented the four girls from being hired as ushers. Priscilla Clake was known to them. She was seventeen and had been taking dance lessons in the studio for several years. She had been a friend of Jenny’s until recently. Amaranthe noticed there appeared to be a rift between the two teens, yet she was one of the girls the unknown person had instructed Jenny to have hired as an usher.
Deana Miller took lessons at the studio in Little Italy. Amaranthe had never instructed her, but she had been a student there for going on fourteen years. Two months earlier she suddenly stopped coming to dance. She had a good reputation as a hardworking student and the other instructors had told Amaranthe it was a pity she stopped coming because she was an excellent dancer and had such potential. She was seventeen years old. Amaranthe had made a note to visit her and determine whether she needed a scholarship to continue the program. Reading over her file, Amaranthe could see her family had struggled to pay the fees. Deana always had a part-time job to help. She seemed an unlikely candidate for the Boutlers to get their hooks into, but then so was Priscilla.
Leslie Van Ray was the final girl on the list that the Boutlers wanted as an usher. She was sixteen and also trained at the academy in Little Italy. There didn’t seem to be a connection between Jenny Porthman and either girl from Little Italy. Certainly the two girls didn’t move in the same circles as Jenny. Rossi had looked for a connection between the Leslie Van Ray, Deana Miller and Priscilla Clake and hadn’t found one there, either. It appeared as if the girls were chosen at random.
Geno didn’t believe the four girls were chosen randomly by the Boutler family to assist them. Jenny’s family had money, and she had access to that money. She was good at manipulating her mother into giving her whatever she wanted, but the other three girls didn’t have nearly herwealth. Priscilla came the closest to Jenny’s family financially, but the other two weren’t even close.
He considered what Amaranthe had told them about sextortion. Had the Boutler family managed to con the girls into sending nude pictures of themselves? Or videos? Had they been compromised and now were they being threatened with sextortion if they didn’t do what they were told? Geno was certain that was the most likely possibility.
Since the girls were minors, Geno would have preferred they be far away from the theater when the Boutlers made their move, but he didn’t want to chance tipping the family off that they were walking into a trap.
The days of rehearsals went without incident. Amaranthe had her own personal protectors in the form of riders hidden in the shadows in her dressing room, in the wings of the stage and everywhere else she went. She was never alone. Geno and his brothers listened to her every argument, but they ignored her protests. In the end, he was grateful she found humor in the situation, rather than get angry over it. She could have. He even accompanied her into the bathroom. He was that paranoid.
Geno despised the fact that he’d agreed to allow Amaranthe out in public. He didn’t care that she was an elite rider. He only cared that she was his world, and if anything happened to her, it was on him because he hadn’t protected her adequately.
The night before the opening of her performance, he couldn’t sleep. He couldn’t even stay still. He’d made love to her slowly and gently, but once she had drifted off, he had to pace the length of the room, back and forth like a caged animal, furious with himself for giving in because she had those eyes, and he couldn’t bear to see her unhappy.
“Geno.” Amaranthe sat up, pulling the covers over her breasts. “What is it?”
He tried not to snarl like a wild animal, but he felt like one. Feral. With the way he’d been shoving his hand throughhis hair, he was certain he looked a little wild. “I was crazy to agree to this. To risk your life.”
Her dark eyes drifted over his face with that look that should have made things better, but only made them worse because he could lose her. He could lose seeing that expression he knew was love.
“I wouldn’t survive, Danzatrice Ombra.” He shoved both hands through his hair again and faced her. “I know that makes me sound pathetic and weak. I don’t really give a damn if I sound that way. It’s the truth. I’ve never had what you give me. Not from anyone. Is giving you what you want really worth risking your life? Is it, Amaranthe? Because I don’t think it is.”
She thought for a long time before she spoke. “Honey, it wouldn’t be worth the risk if this was just something I wanted to do. But it’s something Ineedto do. I’ve trained to bring justice to people like this since I was a toddler. I don’t know any other way of life. Essentially, it’s who I am. In my deepest core, it’s who I am. I know it’s hard on you to stand aside, and I love you all the more for it.”
He turned away from her abruptly so she couldn’t see his face. “It won’t matter how much you love me if you’re dead.”
Again, there was a long silence. He detested hurting her. He forced himself to go the staircase railing and stand in front of the bed. “It isn’t that I don’t believe in your skills. I know you’re good, maybe one of the best riders in the world, but you’remine. My heart and soul, Amaranthe. My everything. I didn’t have a reason for living. I know I’m supposed to live to serve the people in my territory and the other riders. I know my duty should keep me going, but I’d run out of reasons to stay alive. I understand Dario because I felt the way he does. Until you.”
Her dark gaze moved over his face. She never just touched him on the surface. She seemed to find her way inside of him and connected deeply. He rubbed his chest over hisaching heart. He hadn’t known he was capable of loving someone the way he loved her.
“My entire life centers around protecting people, Amaranthe, and I’m damn good at it. The one person who matters the most to me is the one who doesn’t want my protection. You make me feel... helpless. Useless. As if my world is spinning out of control.”
He dug his fingers hard into the back of his neck, into the knots that were so tight they felt like concrete. “I want to lock you up somewhere safe until this is over.”
