Shadow Rider
Page 149
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“Giovanni went to the place where Barry’s staying?”
“Did you think we were getting him to talk about where he was staying because we were interested?” She slid onto one of the tall chairs at the counter and leaned her head into her hand. “Let’s talk weddings. That’s so much more interesting than Barry Anthon.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
Stefano stood between his brothers, searching out the best shadows that would lead him to his chosen destination, the Bronx. He had a very bad feeling about this particular job. Something inside him kept urging him to move faster, to get it done. A shadow rider couldn’t afford to make one mistake. He was the protector of his family—the entire family in every city or town around the world. He was their key to survival.
Each move was planned carefully and meticulously. They never cut corners and they never hurried. They never made anything personal. If anything happened to a member of their family, they called in cousins—investigators and riders—from another city. That way, there was never any blowback or suspicion. Still, if he weren’t so disciplined, if it wasn’t so ingrained in him to check and recheck every single fact before entering the tube for the ride to the final destination, he would have given in to the urgency pushing at him so hard.
“I’m not feeling good about this one,” he confessed to his brothers. He stood just behind Giovanni and Taviano as they blocked him from the possibility of prying eyes as well as any cameras the paparazzi might have on them.
Below them, their New York cousins had arrived, music blaring, ready to take Stefano’s two younger brothers to several clubs, where the members of Salvatore’s family would be gathered publicly so there was no way, come morning, anyone would suspect them of having anything at all to do with any deaths in the city. No one would ever be able to connect the New York family, even in the event the social worker who had originally gone to the Ferraro greeters in New York and had laid out the problem of the seventeen-year-old girl changed her mind and went to the police. The chances of that happening were slim, but still, the Ferraros paid attention to every possibility and planned for it.
“I can get ‘sick’ or drink too much and have to go to my hotel room, or back to Salvatore’s,” Taviano offered, frowning straight ahead. They didn’t make amateur mistakes like looking over their shoulder while talking to their brother. “I’ll meet you there and back you up. The gang her uncles belong to is one of the bloodiest in New York.”
There was worry in his voice and Stefano couldn’t blame him. Not once had he ever admitted to the feeling of urgency and that something might be wrong, because it had never happened before. He hesitated, wondering if he should have his brother come along. The feeling in his gut was very, very strong. He’d never once ignored his built-in warning system. Still, the high-profile visibility of his family members partying with local family members was what kept their family safe from suspicion.
“We stick to the plan,” Stefano said after a moment’s pause. “I’ll contact you the minute I’m clear and back on the plane.”
“We’ll be waiting,” Taviano murmured. “Have you chosen your ride?”
“It’s a go. I’ll be slipping out right behind you. Franco will take care of the plane so we’re ready to get back home as soon as possible. I don’t like leaving Francesca with Anthon in town.”
Giovanni smirked at his cousins as they hurried toward the plane, waving their arms and shouting to hurry up. “Anthon bit off more than he could chew. He’s not going anywhere for a few days.”
“Ricco, Vittorio and Emmanuelle will make certain she’s safe,” Taviano added.
Stefano knew that, but they weren’t going to be in bed with her when the nightmares came. He didn’t like her being alone. He also didn’t like being away from her whether Anthon was in town or not. He wasn’t about to admit that to his brothers. He’d never hear the end of it.
“Let’s get this done,” he said, signaling his brothers to descend the stairs to the tarmac below.
He’d chosen his shadow. It was one that was wrenchingly fast. He would begin the ride into the city, heading toward the Bronx as quickly as possible. His gut feelings had always proven to be true and he wasn’t about to ignore this one. He had a sense of urgency that told him something wasn’t right and he needed to move.
He stayed close behind Giovanni until his shadow connected with the one he needed. The stripes in their suits, so thin as to be barely discernible, helped to camouflage the brothers as they stepped off the plane onto the stairs. The specially made suits blended with every shadow so that the Ferraro riders disappeared, making them indistinct.
“Did you think we were getting him to talk about where he was staying because we were interested?” She slid onto one of the tall chairs at the counter and leaned her head into her hand. “Let’s talk weddings. That’s so much more interesting than Barry Anthon.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
Stefano stood between his brothers, searching out the best shadows that would lead him to his chosen destination, the Bronx. He had a very bad feeling about this particular job. Something inside him kept urging him to move faster, to get it done. A shadow rider couldn’t afford to make one mistake. He was the protector of his family—the entire family in every city or town around the world. He was their key to survival.
Each move was planned carefully and meticulously. They never cut corners and they never hurried. They never made anything personal. If anything happened to a member of their family, they called in cousins—investigators and riders—from another city. That way, there was never any blowback or suspicion. Still, if he weren’t so disciplined, if it wasn’t so ingrained in him to check and recheck every single fact before entering the tube for the ride to the final destination, he would have given in to the urgency pushing at him so hard.
“I’m not feeling good about this one,” he confessed to his brothers. He stood just behind Giovanni and Taviano as they blocked him from the possibility of prying eyes as well as any cameras the paparazzi might have on them.
Below them, their New York cousins had arrived, music blaring, ready to take Stefano’s two younger brothers to several clubs, where the members of Salvatore’s family would be gathered publicly so there was no way, come morning, anyone would suspect them of having anything at all to do with any deaths in the city. No one would ever be able to connect the New York family, even in the event the social worker who had originally gone to the Ferraro greeters in New York and had laid out the problem of the seventeen-year-old girl changed her mind and went to the police. The chances of that happening were slim, but still, the Ferraros paid attention to every possibility and planned for it.
“I can get ‘sick’ or drink too much and have to go to my hotel room, or back to Salvatore’s,” Taviano offered, frowning straight ahead. They didn’t make amateur mistakes like looking over their shoulder while talking to their brother. “I’ll meet you there and back you up. The gang her uncles belong to is one of the bloodiest in New York.”
There was worry in his voice and Stefano couldn’t blame him. Not once had he ever admitted to the feeling of urgency and that something might be wrong, because it had never happened before. He hesitated, wondering if he should have his brother come along. The feeling in his gut was very, very strong. He’d never once ignored his built-in warning system. Still, the high-profile visibility of his family members partying with local family members was what kept their family safe from suspicion.
“We stick to the plan,” Stefano said after a moment’s pause. “I’ll contact you the minute I’m clear and back on the plane.”
“We’ll be waiting,” Taviano murmured. “Have you chosen your ride?”
“It’s a go. I’ll be slipping out right behind you. Franco will take care of the plane so we’re ready to get back home as soon as possible. I don’t like leaving Francesca with Anthon in town.”
Giovanni smirked at his cousins as they hurried toward the plane, waving their arms and shouting to hurry up. “Anthon bit off more than he could chew. He’s not going anywhere for a few days.”
“Ricco, Vittorio and Emmanuelle will make certain she’s safe,” Taviano added.
Stefano knew that, but they weren’t going to be in bed with her when the nightmares came. He didn’t like her being alone. He also didn’t like being away from her whether Anthon was in town or not. He wasn’t about to admit that to his brothers. He’d never hear the end of it.
“Let’s get this done,” he said, signaling his brothers to descend the stairs to the tarmac below.
He’d chosen his shadow. It was one that was wrenchingly fast. He would begin the ride into the city, heading toward the Bronx as quickly as possible. His gut feelings had always proven to be true and he wasn’t about to ignore this one. He had a sense of urgency that told him something wasn’t right and he needed to move.
He stayed close behind Giovanni until his shadow connected with the one he needed. The stripes in their suits, so thin as to be barely discernible, helped to camouflage the brothers as they stepped off the plane onto the stairs. The specially made suits blended with every shadow so that the Ferraro riders disappeared, making them indistinct.
