She frowned, realizing he was serious. He’d have the women arrested on drug charges. She knew they were guilty of using and if they had a large supply, they very well could be guilty of selling. “Shouldn’t being arrested and having to defend themselves in court be enough karma for them?”

“No.”

Every brother and cousin as well as Emmanuelle replied at the same time. She could see the paparazzi were already moving into position to get pictures of whatever scandal was happening at the club. The circle of men tightened around her and Emmanuelle as the police brought out the three singers and flashes went off like mad. Most of those dancing on the floor turned to watch the three women being escorted out.

Janice, Stella and Doreen looked terrible. Their makeup was smeared all over their faces and they looked as if they’d been partying for hours, vomiting and sleeping on the bathroom floor, plus they looked bruised, with swollen faces from Emmanuelle kicking their asses. The photographs that would appear in the magazines were not going to be flattering in the least.

Francesca couldn’t help the little pang of pity. “Maybe we should . . .”

“Enough, bambina. They’re getting what they asked for. They would have forced drugs on you and painted you in a light that was far from flattering.”

“I’ve been painted in that light for a long time, Stefano.”

He took her hand and tugged her close to him. “I believe I owe you a dance or two.”

“Uh-oh, Stefano,” Ricco said. “At your five o’clock.”

Beside her, Francesca felt Emmanuelle stiffen. She reached out without thinking and took Stefano’s sister’s hand. She had no idea why. Emmanuelle oozed confidence and poise. Nothing seemed to shake her—until now. The tension surrounding the brothers and cousins shot right back up until it stretched to a breaking point. Carefully, mostly because Emmanuelle’s fingers tightened around hers as if she was a lifeline, Francesca turned her head in the direction of five o’clock.

A tall, very handsome man emerged from the crowd, striding toward them. He had broad shoulders and very dark, nearly black hair spilling down his forehead into vivid green eyes. He wore a white shirt and expensive dark slacks. A second man kept pace with him, a little shorter and clearly arrogant. He moved with the fluid motion of a boxer and the crowd parted for him.

“Valentino Saldi and his cousin Dario Bosco,” Vittorio identified. “Son of a bitch, what would they be doing here?”

Stefano shrugged. “Apparently Tidwell got his throat cut tonight right in the middle of Giuseppi’s home. Giuseppi must not have believed me when I told him we were having a celebration tonight and I was nowhere near his house.”

The brothers grinned at one another, exchanging smug looks with their cousins. Francesca’s heart gave another hard jerk. She was missing something important, but already the men had schooled their faces into their expressionless masks.

“Who the hell is Tidwell?” Salvatore asked.

“He was Francesca’s landlord,” Emmanuelle explained. “I told you about what a pervert he was, remember?”

“Pure slime. He was staying at Giuseppi Saldi’s house. Giuseppi’s nephew is married to Tidwell’s aunt. They both were staying there for protection—can you believe it—from us,” Stefano explained. “She claimed she was swimming in the pool and he was in a lounger right beside it. The pool is indoors and right smack in the center of Saldi’s house. When the aunt emerged from the pool, there was her nephew dead, throat cut and no one heard or saw a thing. I guess they sent Valentino to the club to check our alibis.”

“That’s horrible,” Francesca said. She couldn’t really conjure up much distress, not when the man had raped women and had planned to rape her. Still, she felt sorry for his aunt.

Stefano swept his hand down Francesca’s back in a caress meant to comfort. “If you prefer not to endure the stench of all things Saldi,” he said to his cousins from New York, “you don’t have to stick around for introductions.”

“We’d prefer to stay,” Salvatore declared.

Francesca expected Emmanuelle to drop her hand, but she didn’t. If anything she moved a little closer to Francesca as if for protection. Francesca didn’t get it, not with all her brothers and cousins towering over them, but she shifted her body subtly to bring herself just in front of Emmanuelle, partially blocking her from the newcomer’s sight.

“Stefano,” Valentino said, walking right up to the group, showing no fear or hesitation. “My uncle told me you were having a party, but he didn’t say what you were celebrating tonight.” His sharp gaze took in the strangers from New York as well as Francesca, before coming to rest on Emmanuelle. “I see you even let the little princess out tonight. I wouldn’t have thought she was old enough for a nightclub.”