Total pages in book: 137
Estimated words: 126060 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 630(@200wpm)___ 504(@250wpm)___ 420(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 126060 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 630(@200wpm)___ 504(@250wpm)___ 420(@300wpm)
As the head of the New York City Shadow Riders and his branch of the Ferraro family, Geno bears the weight of dual responsibilities on his broad shoulders. There's nothing more important to Geno than protecting his territory and his famiglia. So when his own parents become the latest victims in a string of vicious murders, Geno is ready to go scorched earth. He thinks he has the assassin in his sights, but he's unprepared for the firestorm their connection ignites....
Amaranthe Aubert's lithe dancer's body conceals a spine of steel. Even held captive and faced with the threat of lethal interrogation, she's not about to cave under pressure. She had nothing to do with the murders, no matter what the ruthless man in front of her believes. But before Amara knows what's happening, Geno connects to her in the shadows, stripping her bare of all artifice. Now, she has no way to hide her true reason for being in New York--and nowhere to run from the man who's very presence steals the very breath from her lungs....
*************FULL BOOK START HERE*************
CHAPTER ONE
Geno Ferraro leaned one hip against the wall as he looked through the two-way mirror at the prisoner seated very uncomfortably in the metal chair in the middle of the interrogation room. The room was all about efficiency. Drains, overhead sprays and hooks, long counters laid out with power tools and instruments one could use to help the prisoner regain their memory very quickly if they’d mysteriously lost it. A shower. A toilet. A sink. Even a tub. Just about anything one needed for a successful interrogation if one was serious. He was very serious. Murder was a serious crime—doubly so if the victims were one’s parents.
“Something’s wrong, Stefano. I can feel it,” he said, never once taking his gaze from the prisoner. “I don’t want her to see you or my brothers. No one else. Fiero and Donte Latini, my main personal protectors, picked her up and brought her here. It couldn’t be helped that she saw their faces, but I don’t want her to see anyone else until I know what’s going on. I sent for you because I need someone I can trust implicitly to help me figure this out.”
Geno had been head of the Ferraro family in New York for years. The Ferraro territory was a crime-free, safe place for those who lived and worked in the neighborhood. His neighborhood. He knew every shop owner. Every resident. This was his community, and he was responsible for it. He took that responsibility very seriously. Ferraro territory started right on the edge of Little Italy and ran out all the way west through Tribeca to the Hudson River.
“I don’t just know every one of the businesses and those living in my territory, Stefano, I know most of those in Little Italy. They know me and my brothers and our famiglia. They know they can count on us if there’s need. Mama was raised with her second cousins, Viola and Noemi. Both married and became nurses. When they retired, they went to work in their husbands’ shops. Viola’s husband, Marcelle, had a hat store. Noemi’s husband, Caio, had a very high-end watch shop.”
Stefano Ferraro regarded the prisoner with shrewd assessing eyes. He ran the Ferraro territory in Chicago and had interrogated many prisoners under tough circumstances. He turned that piercing gaze from the prisoner to his cousin.
“There have always been petty crimes, thefts, tourists getting pockets picked, I was told, but our family was never asked to help,” Geno continued. “Mama would visit her cousins and come home at times and tell us that the thefts were becoming more frequent, but no one thought to come to us. A few months ago, I could see concern on her face and strain on Papa’s. He’s always been distant, but he became even more so. I wondered why they didn’t insist on investigating.”
Geno pulled his gaze away from the prisoner to look at his cousin. Although they were somewhat close in age, he’d always looked up to Stefano.
“I rarely questioned my parents. Once they turned over the reins of the business to me, they no longer gave advice to me on any subject, including parenting. They made it clear they would only do their job and nothing more. My brothers, Salvatore and Lucca, don’t remember them any other way, but I do. Not even concerning themselves with the escalating problems in Little Italy, with their friends and even famiglia’s livelihoods and safety, made no sense to me.”
Geno shoved a hand through his hair. “Granted, in the beginning the crimes were petty. Stolen merchandise. Tourists being robbed with more frequency. But the thefts became more violent over a period of months.”
“I take it your parents refused to turn the series of crimes over to investigators,” Stefano ventured. His voice was low.
Geno sighed. “They wouldn’t even discuss the subject, not even when many of the business owners began to look on the Ferraros with suspicion.”
“Why would that be?” Stefano’s expression didn’t change.
“Many of the robberies occurred after hours. The safes were locked. There was no evidence of a break-in. No images were caught on surveillance tapes in the store or outside of it. Those who knew of our reputation began to worry that one of us was stealing and the others were protecting a family member.”
“And yet your parents refused to order an investigation.”
Geno nodded slowly.
“You could have ordered one.”
“I could have, but I was gone more than I was home. We’re short of riders, and I was continually taking rotations. I had hoped my parents would step up and see that there was a problem, especially as the robberies began to spill over into our territory. Not only didn’t that happen, but when it did and I insisted we investigate, they threw roadblocks in the way of the investigation.”
“That makes no sense.”