Ricco hated that he’d caused his brothers and sister so much concern. He knew he had to change, turn his life around. It was time. He just didn’t know how.

“Ready?” Stefano asked as they approached the double doors leading to the parking lot. No one broke stride, all moving with the same confident step. The town car had already been brought to the entrance. It was only a few feet away, but the paparazzi, several rows deep, had flashes already going off.

“Yeah,” Ricco said. He wasn’t. He could barely walk upright. Every single step jarred his body and reminded him he was human.

He was afraid he would fall before he reached the privacy of the car, but he kept walking. He had to get out of the hospital before he lost his mind. He’d had his own private wing complete with bodyguards, but that hadn’t stopped the madness of the press or his fear that they’d catch him at his most vulnerable.

Stefano and the rest of his siblings had stayed the three weeks he was kept unconscious, at least that was what Francesca had whispered to him. They only left if a job was imperative. Once he was awake, it was mainly Stefano with him while the others took care of work. He felt their love, and in that moment, facing the paparazzi with his siblings surrounding him, he knew it had been worth every sacrifice he’d made to protect them. He’d do it all over again in a heartbeat.

Ricco kept his head up as they moved as a single unit to the town car with its tinted windows. Emilio and Enzo cleared a path through the reporters. None of the Ferraros even looked at them. Ordinarily they were friendly with the paparazzi. They needed the reporters and photographers to provide alibis for them. Today, the family just wanted to get Ricco home.

To his dismay, Stefano slid into the car with him. Ricco sighed and shook his head as Tomas shut the door on the frantic cameras and shouted questions.

“Stefano.” God, he was tired. He lifted a hand to wipe at the beads of sweat dotting his forehead. “You don’t have to escort me home.”

“I wanted a private word with you.”

Evidently the fact that his first cousin was driving the vehicle and Emilio was in the front seat didn’t matter.

Ricco laid his head against the cool leather. “I’m listening.”

“I’ve been patient since you returned from Japan.”

Ricco stiffened despite all his training. It was the last thing he expected Stefano to bring up. He’d been barely fourteen when he’d been sent to Japan, and had just had his sixteenth birthday when he returned. It seemed a lifetime ago. He’d tried to bury those memories, but nightmares refused to go away. They haunted him no matter how much liquor he consumed.

“You have to talk to someone about what went on there. It’s colored your life. You’re the best rider we have, Ricco, but you’re too reckless. You don’t care about your own life, and that’s something I won’t allow you to risk. You’ve gotten worse, not better.”

He couldn’t deny that. “I’ve never once failed a mission. Not one single time, Stefano.” Ricco could barely breathe. His brother couldn’t possibly be saying what he thought he was.

“No, but you don’t give a damn about whether you live or die.”

It was the fucking truth, and if he opened his mouth, Stefano would hear it. Ricco forced air through his lungs and stared out the window at the buildings as they drove through the streets of Chicago. Outwardly, he looked calm. Confident. There was one truth he could give his brother. He turned back to face him. “There is no surviving without being a shadow rider. You take that away from me and I’ve got nothing to hang on to.”

Swift anger crossed Stefano’s face. “That’s fucking bullshit, Ricco. You have us. Your family. How do you think I will do without you? Or Emme? The rest of them? You’re important to us. Do you even give a damn about us?”

He loved his brothers and sister fiercely. Protectively. He’d alienated himself from them – for them. Fury burst through him, that rage that sometimes threatened to consume him. “What does that mean? You think I would do this if I had a choice —” He broke off. That was a mistake, and shadow riders didn’t make mistakes. He couldn’t afford to have Stefano launch an investigation. It was the painkillers, loosening his tongue when he knew better.

Stefano fell silent. That was a really bad sign. He was highly intelligent and little got by him. Ricco tried desperately to think of something that might distract his brother, but nothing came to mind. He hurt too much. Every muscle. Every bone.

Most people didn’t realize how physically demanding it was to race a car for the length of time a race took, let alone wrecking at such a high speed. Even with all the safety measures built into the car, the jolting and spinning on one’s body was incredible. Add an actual crash into the wall and his body felt as if he’d been beaten by an assembly line of strong men with baseball bats – or run over by several very large trucks.

“I get what you’re saying to me, Stefano, and I’ll do something about it. I must be a rider. You won’t have to replace me in the rotation. As soon as I’m healed, I’ll be back to work.” He poured truth into his voice, knowing his brother could hear it.

That wasn’t going to be enough and he knew it. He made a show of sighing, so it would be more believable when he caved. “I need to change my life.” There was nothing truer than that. “I can’t wait for a woman to walk down our streets throwing shadows out like Francesca did. I need to find someone now. I’ve been giving it some thought, but I had decided it wouldn’t be fair to find someone, allow them to fall in love with me and then have to give them up to marry a rider just so I can produce children.”

All riders were expected to marry another capable of producing riders, even if that meant an arranged marriage. Emme had it the worst because she was a woman, and if she didn’t find her man by the time she was thirty, her marriage would be arranged. The men had a few more years, but there was no just falling in love and getting married to anyone. That was one of the prices they paid being shadow riders.

Stefano’s dark gaze never left his and Ricco forced himself to continue. “I’ve thought a lot about this. I’m an artist. I’ve continued studying Shibari and I love the artistic elements, but the only place to actually display or practice my art is in one of the clubs.” Ricco felt grounded when he practiced rope art using the human body as a canvas.

Stefano blinked, his only reaction.

Ricco nodded. “I know I can’t be protected in the kinds of clubs I’d have to frequent. Sooner or later the paparazzi would find out and it would be in every magazine from here to hell and back. But if I find a good rope model, one I can work with in the privacy of my home, I can photograph my art. I’ve always wanted to do that. I have my own darkroom and can develop the photographs myself. You know I’m a good photographer. Eventually I can put the photos on canvas or in book form. I just need to find the right model. I’m hoping if I do, I’ll feel a strong connection with her.”