Eloisa’s face turned red. She blinked rapidly, repeatedly, as if she had something in her eyes. Her fists clenched. “Because,” she hissed, both fists clenched tight. “She is not my son. She is not Taviano. She is not you. I don’t care if you and your brothers and Emmanuelle hate me as long as you’re alive. As long as I know I did everything I could to make you the best riders out there. I sacrificed my entire life, my happiness, everything, in order for you and the others to live. To be prepared for a life you were born into. I wouldn’t have chosen it for you, but I had no choice, just as you have no choice. I won’t see you dead, Stefano. Not another one of my children before me. I won’t.”

Francesca’s fingers bit into his thigh in warning. His gaze flicked to her face. He could see she was desperately trying to tell him to be cautious, to hear what his mother was saying, the underlying message. To hear the desperation and fury in her. He’d seen that a time or two in other mothers. Protective tigresses when it came to defending their children. He’d just never seen it in his mother.

She’d always been as cold as ice. She’d overseen every aspect of their training in the United States, even when they went to other families to train. She’d made frequent surprise visits to ensure they were working as hard as she deemed necessary. She couldn’t go abroad with them, but she kept in touch, was just as demanding. His father had never shown any interest in their training. He’d never really shown any interest in them at all.

“Why don’t you divorce him, Eloisa? You’re retired. It won’t matter whether or not you can ride a shadow. It won’t matter to him if he doesn’t remember any of us.” He spoke as gently as possible. “He’s never been anything but hurtful to you.”

Eloisa held up her hand. It was shaking, but she kept it there, a barrier between them. “If I can’t ride a shadow, I can’t get to one of you when you might need help. I don’t care what Phillip does. It isn’t like I’m going to find the love of my life at this late date, but I can continue to make certain my children are as safe as I can make them.”

Stefano regarded his mother, wondering at her strange reaction. She sounded . . . caring. “Did you want to have children, Eloisa?”

There was silence. Francesca’s fingers dug deeper into his muscle. He stroked the back of her hand with his thumb, needing to touch her. Grateful she was so close to him, leaning into him, staying by his side in spite of the way Eloisa had spoken of her earlier. She kept his temper under control and allowed him to listen to his mother’s voice, judging it for honesty. He would never have asked his mother such a question, would never have gotten far enough in a conversation with her to even consider finding out more about her.

Eloisa was a very controlled, disciplined person, much like he was. She was also extremely private. She kept all emotions—other than anger—locked down. Now, she just looked vulnerable. He almost wished he hadn’t asked. Eloisa never appeared vulnerable or fragile. She looked almost as if she might shatter.

Twice she licked her lips and her gaze shifted away from his, but not before he thought he caught the sheen of tears. She shook her head twice. “I wanted a husband and children just like most women, but that wasn’t my reality. My reality was to give them a legacy they had no choice but to fulfill. I had gone through the training.”

A bitter smile twisted her mouth, one difficult to witness. Francesca’s palm stroked this thigh soothingly, as if she could feel his reaction and at the same time, keep him grounded and balanced.

“I know you think tua nonna e il nonno were loving, wonderful people, but they adhered to the old ways. They were taskmasters, far worse than I could ever be. The masters we were sent to were brutal, and I know you think the training was too hard on your brothers and sister, but that was what was drilled into us, that training was everything.” She shook her head, a little shudder going through her body. “Some of the trainers were cruel, but a necessary evil.”

“Is that what you think?” Stefano snapped, visions of Ettore rising up, sharp and murderous in his mind. His gut knotted and it was only Francesca’s restraining hand that prevented him from leaping up and pacing with restless energy to keep from shouting insults at his mother. “You knew the trainers were cruel and yet you sent my brothers to them anyway. You sent me but that didn’t turn out so well for the family, did it?”

“Stefano, you can’t ignore the fact that training is necessary. Without it, none of you could do what you do. It’s difficult, yes, but all other riders have gone through it.”