“You keep them here,” she protested, leaning into him, anxiety on her face.

“We have our cousins from New York. The riders in this room are skilled.”

She looked as if she would protest again, but Stefano shook his head slightly and she subsided, giving him a worried nod. Biting her lip, she turned away from her husband.

Mariko couldn’t imagine too many people, man or woman, going against Stefano Ferraro when he had that particular look on his face. Grim. Ice-cold. Eyes gleaming with suppressed fury. It didn’t bode well for any member of the council who might think they had reason to oppose him.

“Gentlemen,” Stefano said quietly. “Please sit.” He indicated the chairs around the table and then waited until a rider from every family had taken a seat as well as the five International Council members. The riders of the Archambault family remained standing, along with the riders from the Ferraro families that had come from New York and Los Angeles. The Ferraro riders looked as grim as their cousins.

“In the history of our existence there has never been a time when riders have turned on one another. There are few of us,” Marcellus Archambault said. He was head of the International Council. “This attack on the Ferraro family was aided by someone inside our circle. There is no other possible explanation when those attacking the family members knew to shoot into the shadows.”

Beside him, Alfieri Ferraro, another council member, nodded. “This is my family. My cousins. Our family. We have to find who did this and bring justice to them.”

“Stefano Ferraro contacted us and told us a horrendous tale recording his brother Ricco’s time in Japan with our fellow riders there,” Marcellus continued. “If this is true, and we’ve sent investigators to Japan, then our world is about to be shaken. We’ve provided detailed accounts to all the riders here. Read them and leave the account on the table. Every copy must be returned and then destroyed.” He reached for his glass of water to allow the riders time to read the summary in front of them.

Kichiro Nakamura shook his head the entire time he read. He kept looking up to glance at Mariko and Ricco. Mariko moved closer to Ricco. She didn’t like the look on Kichiro’s face. At. All. From the moment she’d entered the room, he had kept his eye on her, and every time he looked down at Ricco’s and Mariko’s hands joined, he frowned. It was clear he didn’t like them together.

Ricco was very silent, his face an expressionless mask, but she could feel him so close to her. He was a volcano inside. He didn’t like any of these men sitting in judgment of him, considering he might be lying or knowing his personal business. He sat straight, shoulders wide and impressive in his pin-striped suit.

“You believe that three of the families conspired to keep this information out of our hands?” Kichiro demanded, tossing the paper onto the table. “You want us to believe that their sons murdered the entire Tanaka family?”

“Everything our investigators have uncovered so far has led us to that conclusion, yes,” Marcellus answered. “Isamu Yamamoto committed suicide after his wife died. He prepared a letter that his lawyer sent to the council upon his death. In the letter he admitted that his son, Nao, as well as Kenta Ito and Dai and Osamu’s two sons, Eiji and Hachiro, murdered the Tanaka family. Isamu, Dai and Mikio conspired to cover it up. They told everyone their boys were killed in a car accident, when in fact Ricco Ferraro killed them to try to protect the two remaining members of the family, Mariko and Ryuu. Ryuu was stomped repeatedly by Nao, breaking all his bones. Mariko fought to save him as well. She was barely three years old. Ricco fought Nao, causing his existing injuries. In the fight, Ricco was sliced several times with a sword. He has the scars.”

The riders around the table stared down at the report and then looked from Ricco to Marcellus as if somehow they could make it all go away.

“This can’t be the truth,” Kichiro said. “Those houses are respected houses. The Saito family took in Mariko and Ryuu and gave them a home for years.”

Ricco stirred then. The first time. Just that small movement brought him everyone’s attention. Mariko’s heart began to pound. He looked… invincible, like he did when he was shooting the attackers coming at him. Calm. Resolute. Scary dangerous. She tightened her fingers around his.

“Mariko was treated as a servant in that home. She was beaten daily by Osamu Saito. She was told she caused those injuries to her brother. Her heritage was taken from her, the legacy of the Tanaka name. She was given a new last name and told her family didn’t want her, that they’d abandoned her to the streets. The Saito family didn’t take her out of kindness.” There was a distinct warning in his voice. One that said if Kichiro persisted, they would do more than exchange words. The fact that, at fourteen, Ricco had managed to kill three promising riders and injure the fourth so severely would give anyone pause before they challenged him.

They shouldn’t have worried about him. They should have been watching Stefano. “Are you calling my brother a liar?” He looked relaxed, sprawled out in his chair, a tiger eyeing prey. His voice was very, very soft. So low they had to strain to hear it.

“Stefano,” Marcellus cautioned.

“I want to know if he’s calling my brother a liar. It’s a simple enough question.” Stefano didn’t take his eyes from Kichiro. Neither did the other members of the Ferraro family, and that included every cousin in the room. The tension stretched out until Mariko wanted to scream.

“Of course I’m not calling him a liar,” Kichiro clarified. “Ricco’s reputation has always been impeccable. It’s just the shock of finding out three of our most legendary families covered up such a brutal event and a Tanaka still remains.”

“Why didn’t Ricco’s family go to the council?” a rider from Russia asked.

“Ricco didn’t tell them. He was threatened by the three families. He was told they would kill his entire family if he breathed a single word to anyone.”

A collective gasp went up from nearly every rider.

Marcellus continued. “He was also told they would say they investigated and he had committed the murders of the Tanaka family.”

The riders looked at one another, frowning. “That wouldn’t make sense,” the Russian persevered. “All of us would have known if he was responsible; they would have brought him up on charges to the council immediately.”

“Isamu Yamamoto was part of the International Council as well at that time.” It was Kirchiro who reminded everyone, his voice thoughtful. “He served on both councils.”

“The idea that anyone could wipe out the Ferraro family is ludicrous,” a rider from England added.

Stefano stirred again, but Eloisa laid her hand gently on her son’s arm. She stood up and faced the council members. “I am not the head of my family. That falls to Stefano. But I have something to say. My child was fourteen years old. I sent him off to be trained, believing he would be safe in the hands of those riders meant to guide him. He was not. He was threatened, and he believed those threats as all children do. It changed the entire course of his life and who and what he was. Mariko’s life was changed for all time. Compensation must be made to both. Justice must be served. In the world of riders, everyone must know what happened. This I demand as is my right.”