He dropped the body back into the chair and slid back into the portal. In a matter of minutes he was riding the shadows back outside the house. Only then did he emerge from the slide in order to make a call.

“It’s done.” He ended the call and was once again inside the portal, riding toward the airport.

His brothers would be apprised of the status of the job. Stefano would sleep on the plane and they would continue with their outrageous behavior, following through until they could safely get back to the plane and all three could return home.

Franco Mancini waited for him. The door to the plane was open, Franco inside, lying on one of the beds. He sat up the moment Stefano entered, his eyes moving over his cousin to ensure he was unharmed.

“Quiet tonight,” he informed Stefano. “I haven’t heard from your brothers.”

“Don’t expect to. Vittorio might show up around four or five, but Ricco is with the Lacey twins again. He’ll be wallowing in his rope art and sex.” Stefano didn’t bother to keep the worry out of his voice. Ricco walked the edge of control lately and nothing his brother had said to him seemed to rein him in.

Franco was silent a moment as Stefano removed his shoes and sank down into a plush seat. Franco poured him a drink and handed it to him. “Ricco is careful. Always. I know he seems reckless, Stefano, but he’s never failed to do his job. He’s quick and clean and never has a high afterward.”

Stefano sighed, pressing the glass of Scotch to his forehead. It was true. Ricco, when sent on a job, performed like the well-developed weapon he was. He didn’t hesitate, and he certainly didn’t fuck around. He got the job done. It wasn’t about Ricco’s work. It was about the way he played. That bordered on out of control.

Stefano couldn’t help but worry. He knew what it was like to live in a world of unrelenting violence with no way out. They’d been born shadow riders. They’d been trained for one thing from the time they were toddlers. There was nothing else for them, and there wouldn’t be until they were too old to ride the shadows and perform their duties. They would be regulated to other jobs within the family. There was no way out for any of them.

“Stefano,” Franco said, his tone clearly reluctant.

Stefano looked up quickly, his gaze moving over his cousin’s face, recognizing that something was wrong and he wasn’t going to like it. “Tell me.”

“Emilio reported in.” Franco deliberately poured himself a cup of coffee.

Stefano’s heart nearly stopped. For a moment he could barely breathe. “You’re stalling for time,” Stefano accused. “Fucking just tell me.” He could hear his heart pound. His mouth had gone dry. “Did something happen to Francesca?”

Franco winced. Stefano’s tone cut like a whip. He nodded. “Emilio and Enzo took care of it, but she left our territory to go shopping with Joanna. They ran into a couple of punk-ass robbers and one held a knife to her throat. Emilio said he drew blood.”

There was silence. The air vibrated with fury. Heated. Intense. “Are you fucking kidding me?” Stefano spat. “I had two teams on her. Two. Giovanni was supposed to be keeping an eye on her as well, and someone cuts her with a knife? What the hell? I thought I spelled out for them just who she is. What she is. Who she belongs to.”

“They know, Stefano,” Franco said, his voice low. “They protected her. She isn’t really hurt.”

“You just told me some fucking robber held my woman up at knifepoint and drew her blood.” Stefano could taste his own fury. He had never been so enraged in his life. “Emilio had better have that fucker locked up and waiting for me.”

“He does,” Franco assured.

“Did Emilio take Francesca to a hospital?”

“It was a shallow cut.”

“He doesn’t know where that knife has been or even if the blade is clean, which it probably isn’t. She could get an infection. How the hell did it happen on his watch?”

“Stefano, you told Emilio to hang back, not to get caught,” Franco reminded. “The moment they realized she was in trouble, they shut that shit down.”

“But not before she got cut. Where? Where did he cut her?”

Franco took a sip of the hot coffee, wishing he were anywhere but inside the aircraft. Danger shimmered in the air. It was stifling hot. Stefano could explode into violence in a heartbeat and when he did, it was always deadly.

“Her throat. But it was shallow, Stefano, barely there.”

Stefano erupted into cursing. Franco poured more Scotch into his cousin’s glass. Every member of the Ferraro family had their job to do. Always they lived for the good of the family. The shadow riders were absolutely necessary to the family’s livelihood. They were rare, and when a couple could produce them, they were encouraged to have several children. Stefano never treated any family member as less than he was, but he was always in charge. Always.