Lando grinned at Ale. “I think she’s beginning to get the picture. Your friend Haydon made a deal. You pay his debts for him. You’re going to come work for us. A close friend of our boss wants you as his companion for a few weeks. Maybe longer. You make him happy and the debt goes away. It’s that simple.”
Grace’s gaze flicked to Haydon. “You sold me into prostitution? For your debts?”
Lando’s fingers settled around Grace’s arm. “Get in the car.”
“I’m not a prostitute.” She stubbornly refused to walk.
“I don’t give a damn what you are. The boss says bring you to him, you go to him,” Lando said. His fingers tightened like a vise and he yanked her toward the car.
Vittorio rode the shadow that would bring him straight to Ale Sarto. He wrenched the gun from Sarto’s hand and flung it away from them, so that it skittered across the parking lot, coming to rest under a BMW some distance away. He slammed his elbow into Ale’s jaw, breaking it, and swept his legs out from under him, stomping on his ribs to keep him down.
He leapt for the shadow, let it sweep him straight to Lando, and was on him so fast, Lando hadn’t had time to react to seeing his partner put on the ground. Vittorio wrenched Grace from Lando’s grip and thrust her behind him, out of harm’s way, as he attacked. Vittorio, always the one to seek solutions verbally, had no middle gear. Either he was talking logically, or he was acting, and when he went into action, he made every blow count.
He wasn’t trying to kill Lando Gori, but he wanted him down and out. Every punch, every kick, every single blow was a punishment. Vittorio was strong, and he trained every single day, as did the other riders. They trained against one another, and that meant speed and strength as well as technique. They all studied anatomy so they knew exactly where to strike to do the most damage. He broke bones when he hit or kicked, and Lando was on the ground, trying to reach inside his jacket for his weapon within seconds.
Grace tried to call out a warning, but Vittorio was already on it, kicking the gun from his hand.
“You’d better stop while you can, Lando,” Vittorio cautioned, using his soothing voice. He could calm with that voice and he did so now. “You know the Ferraro Club is off-limits. You were out of line, and you don’t put your hands on a woman on our property ever. You got your ass handed to you and you deserved it.”
Grace cried out. “Haydon, don’t. He helped us.”
Vittorio spun around to see the woman in motion, racing to get between him and Haydon. The gun from under the BMW was in his hand and he was aiming at Vittorio. Not at either of the Saldi enforcers, but at Vittorio. The bullet slammed Grace back into Vittorio and he caught her, turning so his body protected her against another shot.
Haydon threw the gun and ran. Vittorio dropped down on one knee, taking Grace to the asphalt. She was fully awake and looking at him. She had green eyes, the color of jewels, although shock was wearing off and excruciating pain settling in.
“Don’t move. Just let me handle this.” He gave the command without thinking, already mass texting his family and calling for an ambulance. “I’m going to take a look at the wound. Keep looking at me. At my face.” He could already see the bullet had done damage. His worst fear was that it had severed an artery and she would bleed out before help could get there.
She swallowed hard. Her lashes fluttered, but she was definitely courageous. Tears swam. He leaned closer, keeping his hand over the wound.
“This isn’t anything we can’t deal with. I’m Vittorio Ferraro. You are?”
Her lips trembled. She opened her mouth twice to try to form words. He would have told her to stay quiet, but he was a little terrified of her losing consciousness. “Grace. Grace Murphy.”
“An ambulance is on its way. I’m going to tell them you’re my fiancée, just to make things easier in the ER. We’ll get faster results that way. Let me take over for you and get this done.”
Vittorio stared down into her eyes, willing her to stay alert, to stay alive. He needed her to live, more than he needed to breathe. Very gently he pushed the hair spilling into her eyes from her face, his thumb as soothing as his voice.
“Just stay with me, kitten. I’ll get you through this.” She was writhing, her feet pushing up on the asphalt, trying to get away from the pain. Every movement only made it worse.
“You have to stay still, Grace. You can do that. I know it’s hard, but look at me. I’m right here with you. You can do it because I’m asking you to. Just stay still. Don’t let your body move.”
Every nerve ending had to be screaming at her. There were broken bones. His hand pressing on the wound couldn’t be helping. In the distance he heard the scream of the siren, but the ambulance wasn’t coming fast enough.
Her gaze jumped to his and stayed there. She swallowed hard, but he could see her make a brave attempt to stop the fight her body was making to run. He smiled at her. “That’s my girl. Keep breathing for me. They’re on their way.”
His oldest brother, Stefano, emerged from the shadows first, took in the scene with a quick look and then was on the other side of Grace, leaning down with his Ferraro smile and that way he had with women.
“This is Grace,” Vittorio said. “My fiancée.” That should tell his brother everything, and it did. Stefano glanced at him sharply and then down at the woman lying on the ground, trying desperately not to move in spite of the agonizing pain because Vittorio had asked her not to.
“What the hell are the Saldis doing here? The cops will be here any moment.”
Ricco and Taviano converged from two different locations in the parking lot. Both scanned their brother first to ensure Vittorio was free from wounds and then took in the entire scene.
“They do this?” Ricco demanded.
Vittorio shook his head. “His gun.” He nodded toward Ale Sarto. “It’s over there. Her foster brother, Haydon—don’t know his last name yet—tried to sell her for his gambling debts. Had her in the trunk of his car. They were going to take her, too. Haydon tried to shoot me after I dealt with Ale and Lando. She stepped between us. Her last name is Murphy. She was raised in a foster home with this Haydon. Check the trunk of the Honda for her purse. Get this information to Rosina immediately. As her fiancé I will be expected to know everything about her.”
Taviano was already up, on his phone and hurrying to the Honda where he recovered Grace’s purse. Vittorio kept his eyes locked with Grace’s. Shudders went through her body. Tears tracked down her face. Several times she started to move, but the moment he murmured softly to her, she fought back the urge.
“That’s my girl. Stay with me. You’re doing great. They’re here.”
She looked desperate. He felt that way. He wasn’t about to be separated from her. “No matter what, I’ll be with you,” he promised. He glanced at his brother. Stefano made things happen, even impossible things.
His oldest brother was on the phone to Giuseppi Saldi and the conversation wasn’t pleasant. Stefano was pissed as all hell and the cold, clipped way he was talking to Giuseppi let the man know there were going to be repercussions.
“Two of your men are here in my parking lot. My brother’s fiancée has been shot with one of their guns and the cops are crawling all over my club. What the fuck, Giuseppi? You making a move on my family?”