As an athlete and a rider, it was a great way to develop skills, but as a human being and a child, it didn’t do so much to help him understand relationships. He didn’t really know his parents, even from their occasional and very brief visits. He’d learned to be a brash, arrogant, too-full-of-himself rider, praised for all the wrong reasons. Girls fell for his good looks and his name. He came from a family of a great wealth, so as a young man in Paris, he could easily find women who would want to be seen with him at all the right events.
He had things easy for all the wrong reasons. He’d gotten into the clubs and then the underground clubs with his money. The kinky sex had at first intrigued him and then become a huge part of his life. It was part of a rider’s life to be written up in magazines, photographed with women on their arms at every opportunity. They were supposed to be in the blaze of lights, hiding right out in the open, always having an alibi if any criminal was assassinated, but eventually, Elie’s lifestyle was too much for those in leadership of the Archambault family. They wanted to rein him in.
“Now you’re stuck with me, Emme, and by association, Val and Dario, you are as well,” Elie said, striving to look complacent. “And, Dario, I do expect you to come to the wedding wearing a suit.”
Dario heaved a sigh. “This family business is such bullshit. Emme, I blame you. Before you seduced Val, all I had to do was beat up a few guys, or kill them. Then you tell me I’ve got to make nice with your brothers and attend these family dinners every Sunday. Now you expect me to show up at weddings, too.”
“You poor thing,” Emmanuelle cooed, making it clear she had zero sympathy for him. “You love Sunday dinners. You can’t get enough of Taviano’s and Francesca’s cooking.”
“Or yours,” Valentino added. “He practically lives at our home in the evenings just so he can eat.”
“That was the deal,” Dario reminded, unrepentant. “If I took the bullshit position of head of the family until you found someone else you trusted to do it, I could still eat with you. Which reminds me. How come you haven’t found anyone? I’ve cleaned up the territory—well—mostly cleaned it up. Found new men and brought it all under control. We’re making money for you and I’ve even cleaned up the ports. Isn’t it about time you managed to find someone to take my place so I can guard your ass?”
Valentino shared an amused grin with Elie. Elie knew Val had no intention of finding anyone else to take Dario’s place. He wanted his cousin to stay exactly where he was.
“It isn’t that easy, Dario.”
“I’ll just bet it isn’t. I know you’re not even trying.”
“It has to be the right man. Someone we both trust implicitly,” Val said. “If Elie wasn’t French, I’d suggest him, but we can’t choose a Frenchman. We’d have a war on our hands.” His grin faded and he leaned closer to his cousin. “I don’t want to lose that territory, Dario, and all the other families are poised to take it if we can’t keep it.”
Dario sighed. “I get it. We’re not losing the territory. I’m holding it for you.”
“For us. This is our famiglia. We own everything together.” Val threaded his fingers through Emmanuelle’s. “We hold it together or we lose it together.” He looked around the table, including Elie.
Stefano Ferraro had been the first man ever to make Elie feel as if he had a home and family, as if he truly belonged somewhere. Now he had acceptance from Valentino and Dario as well, just as if he was part of their family. He knew that was also due to Stefano taking him in and he would be forever grateful.
Elie nodded his head. He didn’t even mind the hit put out on him so much at that particular moment.
CHAPTER TWO
Elie stood just one step down from the priest about to formally marry him to his bride. He really should have taken more than a cursory interest in her. Stefano Ferraro was walking her down the aisle because, apparently, she didn’t have any family willing to accompany her to the United States. What the hell was that all about? His protective instincts were already kicking in. She might be a complete stranger, but she belonged to him. She was his.
Nobody treated his wife with the kind of utter disdain that would leave her alone in a foreign country as she married a stranger. He couldn’t conceive of parents who would do such a thing to their daughter—especially shadow riders. If nothing else, they should be grateful she was marrying to produce children for their community. Hell. He hadn’t looked at her age. He was just as guilty as her fucking parents.