“Nicoletta, put the knife down,” the third voice, probably Alejo, said. Coaxing. Amused that she thought she could defy them. A worried undertone that Benito was already going to be angry because they hadn’t brought Nicoletta to him immediately.

“I can’t do this anymore.” The desperation in the girl’s voice caught at him.

Stefano took the shadow right through the house directly to the room where all four Gomezes were grouped. Taviano rode his shadow completely across the room. Both shadows instantly connected to the shadows playing throughout the room. The men felt the jolt of connection. Small feeler tubes ran from Nicoletta’s shadow to merge with theirs. They could feel every emotion. Her terror. Her determination.

Nicoletta pressed herself against the window. Her clothes were torn. Her face was swollen and bruised. Blood trickled down her cheek from a cut over her eye and more dripped from her cut lip. There were bruises on both arms. Fingerprints around her neck. She’d been beaten repeatedly, but she’d fought back. He could see defensive wounds on her arms and hands. Even her knuckles were bruised. She had fought them hard.

“Nicoletta.” Cruz stepped closer. He was worried, his eyes on the knife. “You can’t fuck around with Benito. Put the knife down and just come with us. Alejo packed some of your favorite clothes. In a few days, Benito will let you come get the rest of your things. Put the knife down.”

She made a single sound. Despair. Horror. Desperation. Stefano knew it was too late to stop her. He wasn’t close enough to her. She lifted the knife, turned it toward her own body, ready to plunge it into her chest. Stefano’s breath hitched. He read the determination on her face. The three men must have seen it as well. Alejo reached toward her imploringly, as if he could stop her that way. Cruz, the leader, leapt for her. Diego remained absolutely still, a look of horrified fascination on his face. If she died, all three of the brothers knew Benito would kill them.

Taviano got to her first. His shadow had taken him behind her and he emerged, catching her wrist from behind, fingers ruthlessly finding pressure points so that she had no choice but to drop the knife. She cried out and struggled, fighting desperately as Taviano subdued her, trying not to hurt her. He was completely exposed, out of the shadow and all three of the brothers saw him clearly.

Stefano burst from the tube behind Diego, catching his head between both hands and wrenching hard, in the most basic kill move he’d been taught since he was a child. He dropped the body on the floor and entered the tube to slide up behind Alejo. He killed him in the same manner. Quick. Without mercy. Completely impersonal, although he had to work to keep himself under control.

Cruz heard the bodies fall. It had only taken seconds to kill both men while Cruz’s attention was centered on Nicoletta and Taviano. He whipped out a gun and pointed it at Nicoletta’s head even as he looked frantically around the room. He’d caught flashes of the intruder, but only that, a shadowy figure that moved too fast to see.

“I’ll fuckin’ kill her,” he snarled, meaning it.

Taviano shoved Nicoletta behind him, using his body as a shield. She let out a soft little cry, a protest maybe, a shocked gasp that anyone would stand up to her uncles and deliberately put their body in front of a gun for her.

“Who the hell are you? How’d you get in here?” Cruz demanded, the gun rock steady. His eyes kept darting to the two bodies on the floor. Neither moved. Neither made a sound. They looked dead, but no one else appeared to be in the room. He’d watched Taviano struggling to keep Nicoletta from killing herself. They’d both been right in front of him so who had killed his brothers?

Stefano came up behind him, emerged from the tube and locked onto his head. The moment his hands fastened on Cruz’s skull, the man pulled the trigger, but Taviano had already dove for the floor, taking Nicoletta with him, covering her body with his own.

Cruz tried to fight back, to turn the gun on the opponent he couldn’t see, but Stefano had been practicing the move since he was two years old. It was as easy for him as breathing. He snapped the man’s neck and dropped the body. “Justice is served,” he murmured.

Silence fell, broken only by Nicoletta’s ragged breathing. Taviano rolled off of her and stood up, reaching down for her. She cringed away from him, lifting her hands defensively. He caught her wrists in a gentle grip and pulled her to her feet. Her horrified gaze went to the bodies on the floor.

“Don’t look at them,” he ordered softly. “Look only at me.”

Her eyes jumped to his face. She stood, her body trembling, breathing labored, her gaze caught and held by his. The light from an overhead bulb, dim now from age, threw out shadows. He could see hers, a dark shape on the wall and floor, tubes running from it to connect with every shadow in the room, including theirs.