Shadow Rider
Page 100
Slowly, Francesca nodded. “Let me tell him.”
Emmanuelle gave her a look. “You’ll give him a lame version, and that’s not going to fly, Francesca. What they tried to do to you was criminal. You could have been seriously hurt. All because they were jealous.” She toed Janice with her Jimmy Choo sandal. “You’re going to lose everything, you skank. Your money, your career, your friends, everything. He would never have dated you, any of you, not in a million years.” She poured contempt into her voice. “Trying to harm Francesca because she’s everything you’re not is just plain stupid.”
“Emmanuelle,” Francesca intervened softly. Emmanuelle had the Ferraro trait of being intimidating. “Let’s go.”
Emmanuelle looked as if she wanted to start with physical violence all over again, but she stalked to the sink and washed her hands, smiling sweetly at the attendant and then pushing a large tip into her hands. She caught Francesca’s arm and they left the restroom, the three women still on the floor, afraid to move, afraid of going against Emmanuelle’s orders before she left the room.
Uneasiness crept into Francesca’s mind. The three women were terrified of Emmanuelle—or at least of the threats she made.
“Stefano can’t really wreck their careers, can he?” she asked, already afraid she knew the answer.
Emmanuelle just leveled a look at her. Francesca’s heart lurched and then began to pound. The moment they had taken four steps out of the restroom and Stefano got a look at her, he claimed her, taking her hand and pulling her into the shelter of his body. His hand swept over her hair in a little caress.
“What happened?”
He chose to look to his sister for an explanation rather than to Francesca. Her temper flared. “Seriously, Stefano? Your skanky women tried to assault me—that’s what happened.”
She was rather shocked at the instant reaction. The crowd of his brothers and cousins went silent. Ricco in particular looked horrified. His gaze met Stefano’s over her head.
All of them reflected the same emotions. All of them. The brothers and cousins. Shock. Anger. The collective rage was so strong it was difficult to breathe with the violent tension filling the air. Stefano looked like thunder, a dark storm gathering in his vivid blue eyes. Stefano actually made to move past her, heading toward the restrooms, his face reflecting his rage.
“I’m all right.” Francesca caught his arm, halting him, hastening to reiterate. “Emmanuelle came along and went all superwoman on them.”
“What exactly did these women try to do to you?” He bit out each word between clenched white teeth, all the while smoldering with fury.
She swallowed down the truth and went for a less dramatic version. “They had the idea that if I had a little of their cocaine on my face you’d not find me so attractive.”
Emmanuelle coughed delicately behind her hand. Francesca glared at Stefano’s sister, giving her a wide-eyed plea after. Francesca couldn’t believe how angry the Ferraro clan was over the incident, and she feared for the three women when they emerged from the restrooms. Emmanuelle had already beaten them up. Aside from pressing criminal charges, which Francesca wouldn’t do—she was never going to the police again—there wasn’t much else to be done.
“I said exactly.” Stefano caught her chin and tilted her face up toward his, his blue gaze inspecting every inch of her, looking for damage. “Exactly.”
There was no getting around Stefano in this mood, or the others for that matter. They had sucked all the breathable air available and left behind a heavy layer of oppressive anger. “The three of them, Janice, Doreen and Stella, seem very upset that you aren’t continuing your relationship with them. They were in the restroom doing a little pick-me-up cocaine right off the bathroom sink, which has to be totally unsanitary . . .”
“Francesca. Dios, woman, you are making me crazy. Just tell me.”
Someone snickered. She thought it was Vittorio and she was grateful to him for lightening the mood because the air became a bit less oppressive and she felt like she could actually breathe.
“Their idea was to smash my face in the powder. Doreen grabbed me from behind and Stella helped her. Janice tried to rub the coke into my nose and mouth.” She rushed the story, hoping by telling it really fast, no one would actually hear the panic in her voice—the panic she had refused to feel when the three women had attempted to assault her.
Stefano cursed loud and long, first in Italian—and he was very inventive—and then in English—and he was very expressive.
Emmanuelle gave her a look. “You’ll give him a lame version, and that’s not going to fly, Francesca. What they tried to do to you was criminal. You could have been seriously hurt. All because they were jealous.” She toed Janice with her Jimmy Choo sandal. “You’re going to lose everything, you skank. Your money, your career, your friends, everything. He would never have dated you, any of you, not in a million years.” She poured contempt into her voice. “Trying to harm Francesca because she’s everything you’re not is just plain stupid.”
“Emmanuelle,” Francesca intervened softly. Emmanuelle had the Ferraro trait of being intimidating. “Let’s go.”
Emmanuelle looked as if she wanted to start with physical violence all over again, but she stalked to the sink and washed her hands, smiling sweetly at the attendant and then pushing a large tip into her hands. She caught Francesca’s arm and they left the restroom, the three women still on the floor, afraid to move, afraid of going against Emmanuelle’s orders before she left the room.
Uneasiness crept into Francesca’s mind. The three women were terrified of Emmanuelle—or at least of the threats she made.
“Stefano can’t really wreck their careers, can he?” she asked, already afraid she knew the answer.
Emmanuelle just leveled a look at her. Francesca’s heart lurched and then began to pound. The moment they had taken four steps out of the restroom and Stefano got a look at her, he claimed her, taking her hand and pulling her into the shelter of his body. His hand swept over her hair in a little caress.
“What happened?”
He chose to look to his sister for an explanation rather than to Francesca. Her temper flared. “Seriously, Stefano? Your skanky women tried to assault me—that’s what happened.”
She was rather shocked at the instant reaction. The crowd of his brothers and cousins went silent. Ricco in particular looked horrified. His gaze met Stefano’s over her head.
All of them reflected the same emotions. All of them. The brothers and cousins. Shock. Anger. The collective rage was so strong it was difficult to breathe with the violent tension filling the air. Stefano looked like thunder, a dark storm gathering in his vivid blue eyes. Stefano actually made to move past her, heading toward the restrooms, his face reflecting his rage.
“I’m all right.” Francesca caught his arm, halting him, hastening to reiterate. “Emmanuelle came along and went all superwoman on them.”
“What exactly did these women try to do to you?” He bit out each word between clenched white teeth, all the while smoldering with fury.
She swallowed down the truth and went for a less dramatic version. “They had the idea that if I had a little of their cocaine on my face you’d not find me so attractive.”
Emmanuelle coughed delicately behind her hand. Francesca glared at Stefano’s sister, giving her a wide-eyed plea after. Francesca couldn’t believe how angry the Ferraro clan was over the incident, and she feared for the three women when they emerged from the restrooms. Emmanuelle had already beaten them up. Aside from pressing criminal charges, which Francesca wouldn’t do—she was never going to the police again—there wasn’t much else to be done.
“I said exactly.” Stefano caught her chin and tilted her face up toward his, his blue gaze inspecting every inch of her, looking for damage. “Exactly.”
There was no getting around Stefano in this mood, or the others for that matter. They had sucked all the breathable air available and left behind a heavy layer of oppressive anger. “The three of them, Janice, Doreen and Stella, seem very upset that you aren’t continuing your relationship with them. They were in the restroom doing a little pick-me-up cocaine right off the bathroom sink, which has to be totally unsanitary . . .”
“Francesca. Dios, woman, you are making me crazy. Just tell me.”
Someone snickered. She thought it was Vittorio and she was grateful to him for lightening the mood because the air became a bit less oppressive and she felt like she could actually breathe.
“Their idea was to smash my face in the powder. Doreen grabbed me from behind and Stella helped her. Janice tried to rub the coke into my nose and mouth.” She rushed the story, hoping by telling it really fast, no one would actually hear the panic in her voice—the panic she had refused to feel when the three women had attempted to assault her.
Stefano cursed loud and long, first in Italian—and he was very inventive—and then in English—and he was very expressive.
