Her apartment was on the third floor. She unlocked it, and before she could say anything, Emilio gently set her aside and went in first. Enzo kept a hand on her shoulder to prevent her from moving as Emilio walked through her apartment. That had to be one of the most humiliating moments of her life. She didn’t look at Emilio when he emerged. She knew what she’d see on his face.

He handed her the keys. “All clear. Lock the fucking door, Francesca, not that it will do you any good.”

Yep. He sounded just like his cousin. And he was unhappy.

CHAPTER SIX

Stefano rode the shadows to Francesca’s apartment building, his gut in knots, his rather famous temper held in check by a mere thread. He was furious. Beyond furious. Emilio had been tense, quiet, and very upset when he’d described the apartment Francesca resided in. He’d bit out the ugly description between clenched teeth, a muscle working hard in his jaw. There was a storm of fury gathered in his eyes.

The Ferraro neighborhood stopped just two small storefronts before her building. Their block ended and they paid little attention to the state of properties bordering them. They couldn’t monitor the entire world, so they were careful not to interfere, other than to warn any criminal coming into their territory not to come back.

Why the hell had Joanna allowed her friend to get an apartment outside their territory? He wanted to pay her a visit, yank her ass out of her comfortable bed in her safe home and demand the reason. It was fucking bullshit to allow Francesca in harm’s way while Joanna was taking advantage of the Ferraro protection.

Joanna knew where the borders were. Francesca didn’t. Joanna knew that anyone living in their neighborhood was protected inside their borders and would be watched over and avenged if anything happened outside of them. Francesca was vulnerable where she was. Joanna knew that. The moment she heard Stefano claim Francesca as his, she should have insisted her friend move within the borders or at least come to him and tell him the situation. Anything could have happened to her.

Emilio had been very uneasy just entering the apartment building. Everyone in the Ferraro family was born with a psychic gift. Most weren’t shadow riders, but they were sensitive to the world around them. If Emilio said something was wrong in that building, there was no question that he was right.

Stefano stepped from the tube and waited until the car glided up, hovering at the curb, Taviano behind the wheel. He could have caught the ride with his younger brother, but he had needed to be alone. He was far angrier at himself than he’d ever been in his life. His first duty was to Francesca. He should have ensured her safety before anything else—even a job. Without her, there would be no future generations.

The Ferraro family needed her to survive. He needed her. Now that he knew of her existence, it was all he could think about. His own woman. He’d never really believed he would find her. To have her just show up, walk right through his territory, her shadow reaching for his, connecting so strongly with his that the jolt had felt like a lightning bolt flashing through his entire body.

He took a deep breath and tried to let some of the anger go. He would need to keep his foul temper under control to get her to cooperate. If Emilio lost his temper looking at this place, Stefano was fairly certain he’d lose his mind. She wasn’t staying—and there was going to be retribution.

There was no keypad on the outer wall beside the door. Anyone could enter, not just the residents. No safety features whatsoever. His gut tightened and his jaw clenched. With controlled violence, Stefano yanked open the door and stepped inside the building. He stopped just inside, taking a deep breath as he looked around him. The lighting was very dim, only a few of the overhead lightbulbs actually working. The elevator was to his left. It looked like a death trap. The stairway was to his right, and that didn’t look much better. Again, the lighting was poor. Half of the stairs appeared to be in the dark.

Enzo slid out of the murky darkness, coming from around the corner. Renato and Romano Greco, in their distinctive dark suits, the dark purple ties indicating to their family they were investigators, possessing the ability to hear lies, lounged near the door to the first apartment. Giovanni approached from the far corner. He didn’t look happy.

Renato gestured toward the door. “He’s in there. Name’s Bart Tidwell. He’s got a rap sheet you wouldn’t believe. Inherited the building from his daddy. The daddy was just as fucked up as he is.”

“What kind of rap sheet?” Stefano asked, knowing just by his gut instinct he wasn’t going to like it. He didn’t need the look of utter distaste on either of his cousins’ faces.