Shadow Fire
Christine Feehan
For Diane: it’s been a long road but we’re still hanging in there!
FOR MY READERS
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ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
As in any book, there are so many people to thank. This would never have made it to deadline without the help of Cheryl Wilson, who stayed up long hours editing when we were under the gun to get it in on time. Thank you so much, my dear friend, for going the extra mile. I’m so grateful to have you! Sheila English, dropping everything to get me the things I needed so I could stay in the chair. Denise! You took care of business for me and my dog when he was so sad. And Brian Feehan. What would I do without your constant encouragement? You always make me believe I can hit the deadline no matter what is going on. This was a tough one, and I loved this book and wanted it to make it to my readers, so thank you all!
CHAPTER ONE
Clearly I should have invested in pizzerias instead of strip joints and sex clubs.”
Elie Archambault paused in the act of bringing a slice of pizza dripping with cheese, salami and olives to his mouth, staring at the speaker before he burst out laughing. “No one makes pizza the way Tito and his father, Benito, do. There isn’t a pizzeria in the world that can top this one, right, Emme?”
Emmanuelle Ferraro Saldi reached over and casually grabbed the slice of pizza from his hand and took a bite, nodding to agree with him.
“Hey. That’s the last piece of salami and olive,” Elie protested. “Dario,” he added, “you shouldn’t talk about strip joints and sex clubs in front of Emmanuelle.”
Dario Bosco rolled his eyes. “Emme frequents strip joints and sex clubs. She knows more about what goes on in them then I do.”
Emmanuelle ignored the statement, making moaning noises deliberately as she ate the slice of pizza, and hastily gathered up the remaining olives that were loose on the platter.
Elie shoved his shoulder into hers. “You’re a demon, woman. I don’t know how your husband puts up with you.”
“He thinks she’s an angel,” Dario said, feigned disgust in his voice.
Emmanuelle wasn’t in the least bit fazed. She continued to eat the slice of pizza as if she was enjoying it immensely—which she was.
“Val never did have good sense that I could see,” Elie said.
Emme kicked him under the table.
Elie laughed. “We need our waitress back so we can order more pizza, but there’re so many people in here, I don’t think we’ll ever see her again.”
Petrov’s Pizzeria was packed, as it always was regardless of the day of the week. Saturday nights just happened to double the traffic. Fortunately, Benito always reserved two large booths, back in the shadows, for the Ferraro family and their bodyguards, just in case they decided to drop in.
Ferraro territory started right on the edge of what some people referred to as “Little Italy.” Most of the land, businesses and homes were rented or leased by the Ferraro family. All were protected by them. For years it was whispered that if one went to the Ferraros with a problem, that problem would inexplicably disappear.
Rumors swirled around the mysterious family, six brothers and one sister. They always wore their signature pinstriped suits and were often surrounded by bodyguards, although no one ever thought they needed them. Wealthy, arrogant and formidable, the members of the Ferraro family were known to be lethal if crossed.
Now, after Emmanuelle Ferraro, the youngest and only female, had married a Saldi, uniting the two families, the neighborhood was doubly safe. The Saldi family was a crime family, no two ways about it. No guessing. No rumors. Valentino headed the Saldi family now that his father, Giuseppi, had stepped down after his own brother had tried to assassinate him and take over. The neighborhood might not know why the Ferraros had helped the Saldi family, but Elie knew. He’d helped when Val had worked to bring down his uncle’s human trafficking ring.
“You sure you want to go through with this marriage of yours?” Dario asked Elie. “You haven’t even seen this woman.”
“Yes.” Elie’s reply was clipped, indicating he didn’t want to continue the discussion.
Dario sighed. “Since I can’t talk you out of it, at least come to the club tonight. It’s your last night of freedom before you’re stuck with some woman who might have a fucking headache every night.”