Her fingers clutched at his suit jacket, terror on her face, but the drug was fast acting, a good thing, as loud voices and pounding on the front door announced they’d run out of time. “Okay, angioletto, let’s get you the hell out of here.”

Stefano took her from his younger brother, lifting her slight body, cradling her tightly against his chest, wincing a little as he looked into her bruised, swollen face.

“I’ll take her, Stefano.”

Stefano shook his head. It wasn’t that easy riding with another person, one unknowing. He wasn’t taking a chance with Taviano or the girl. The one and only other time he’d ridden a shadow with another rider in his arms, it had been his brother Ettore, already lost to them, so far gone there was no bringing him back. His chest tightened. He couldn’t go there.

He held a young girl. A child really. She was important to all Ferraros and she’d been hideously violated. That alone went against everything he believed in. He was taking her home to the best parents he knew. The most loving. The ones that needed a daughter when they’d lost so much. They would give her the understanding and compassion she needed to overcome what monsters had done to her.

“Let’s get the fuck out of here, Tav,” he snapped.

Stefano held Nicoletta tighter. He wasn’t losing her. Not to the shadows, not to the gang members breaking through the front door and not to the shame and despair she felt. He stepped into the portal and let it take them both. He flew past the men rushing through the house toward the bedroom, and out the open front door. He’d chosen a larger tube, one that connected with the shadows in the streets and he rode it as far as it would take him, blocks away from the Gomez house and the angry mob gathering there. He felt Taviano moving in the shadowy tubes parallel to him.

They jumped easily from one portal to the next, heading back toward the airport and the safety of the private jet waiting. Franco had the door open, lights spilling on the stairs so that they had shadows to ride all the way to the interior of the plane. The moment they emerged from the shadows, Franco closed the door and turned toward them.

“Emmanuelle called and told me to be prepared. She’s alerted Giovanni. He’ll return as soon as possible. He has to play his role out, though, just to be safe.” Franco pulled the medical kit out and handed it to Taviano. “I have the bedroom ready.”

On the private jet, there was a small room they kept for the family members who needed to sleep. The seats were comfortable and laid all the way back to provide more space if necessary, but the room had a double bed inside of it. It was kept made and ready for their late-night escapades.

Stefano carried Nicoletta into the room and laid her on the bed. “She’ll wake soon. We have to clean her up before that happens. She’s not going to want a bunch of strange men touching her after her ordeal.”

“I’ll do it.” Taviano made it a statement. “Franco, I’ll need warm water. Washcloths and towels. Did Emme leave any clothes on the plane? If not, I have a couple of flannels in my go bag. Bring me one of them.”

“Tav,” Stefano said. “You don’t want to invest too much in her. We’re turning her over to Lucia and Amo. Our family will watch over her, and we’ll provide for her, but we can’t stay involved with her. You know that. It’s too dangerous. Especially you. She knows our faces. She saw me come out of the shadow and kill her uncles. She could burn us. Bury us. If she goes to the cops . . .”

“She won’t,” Taviano said. “You’re afraid for me, not you.” He took the bowl of water Franco handed him, dipped a cloth in it and sank down on the bed beside Nicoletta. “You connected with her. She’s too afraid of Benito Valdez to ever do something as foolish as going to the police. She can take the name Fausti and be Amo’s niece come to live with them. We can give her a new identity. She’s not going to turn on us.”

Stefano watched Taviano dip the cloth into the water and gently dab at the blood on Nicoletta’s face. His youngest brother wasn’t nearly as easygoing as he liked to appear to the world. In spite of trying to bring his brothers and sister a little joy in their childhood, all of them bore the scars of absentee parents as well as whatever vicious handling had taken place during training overseas. Their father was gone most of their lives, doing whatever he chose to do, while their mother became a brutal trainer, snapping orders, demanding perfection and snarling coldly at them when they weren’t perfect.

Each of them had been sent away for a year at a time to train elsewhere in the world. Ricco had come back scarred, tough and cold as ice. He lived on the edge all the time and Stefano regarded him as a ticking time bomb. Vittorio was a peacemaker, but something burned bright and savage under all that cool. Giovanni was the most volatile. One moment he was rational and the next his temper burned out of control. Taviano appeared to be gentle. Kind. He had a sense of humor. But he wasn’t any of those things as a rule. Stefano had tried to find out what had happened to each of them in those years they’d spent with other trainers, but none of his siblings would answer him.