Elie laughed. “Yeah, I actually had a little incident with Gee and Sasha once, but I thought it was just me. Caught them going at it in the parking garage. It’s private, but still.” He smacked her hand as she scooped up olives faster than he could get at them. “Woman, that’s going to cost you.”
“You’re lucky it was just once. They’re very inventive.”
“And Vittorio?” Elie lifted one eyebrow. “Grace is as sweet as they come. Well, other than Francesca. Although she’s hell on wheels in that event planning business of hers.”
“Vittorio is very dominant with Grace. He takes excellent care of her. Grace adores him and gives him anything he wants. It drives Eloisa right up the wall. She thinks Grace is a pushover because she doesn’t oppose Vittorio on much. I think Grace brings him much-needed peace, and I love her for that.”
“What you’re really telling me is that Vittorio is a bondage kind of man.”
Emmanuelle rolled her eyes. “I’m not going to say that out loud in a public place ever. Sheesh. He’s my brother. I’m going to pretend I never heard that word.”
Elie flashed another grin. “No wonder I fit in so well with your family. Bondage. Exhibition. Shibari. Having my way whenever and however I want it. Yeah, I fit.”
She glared at him. “Shibari? What do you know about Shibari? Don’t tell me you actually knew what Ricco did all along?”
“Of course. He’s a proven artist. One of the best. I’ve been interested in it for a long time and have gone to him and his mentor since I first came here. I was practicing when I was in Paris.” He sent her a quick grin.
“I’m covering my delicate ears. I don’t want to know anything else you do.”
Elie laughed, but his eyes didn’t light up. They stayed dark, almost lifeless. She hated that for him.
He changed the subject. “Taviano and Nicoletta? They just got married.”
“I honestly have no idea, but I imagine he isn’t any different from my other brothers, although he has to be gentler with Nicoletta.” Her brothers were all very dominant men. Shadow riders had to be, and when one came out of the shadows, the hormones and adrenaline raged. The combination was a very powerful aphrodisiac. She experienced it all the time.
Riding the shadows was extremely dangerous. Moving from one place to another at breakneck speed. Choosing the right tube and ending up at the correct address, usually in a city far from one’s own, in order to bring justice to a criminal who otherwise would get away with a major crime. There was no doubt that shadow riding was both exhilarating and dangerous.
They had lost Ettore, her youngest brother, in the shadows. Stefano had gone in after him, found his body and brought him out. He had warned Eloisa over and over that Ettore had no business in the shadows, that his lungs couldn’t take it, but in their family, imperfections weren’t tolerated. Ettore had been forced to work out longer and harder, to prove himself worthy of being a Ferraro. Had Stefano been aware of what their mother was doing, he would have put a stop to it, but Ettore had never told him. He had practiced and practiced and, in the end, his frail body hadn’t held up under the terrible severity of the shadows.
Emmanuelle leaned toward Elie, taking a chance. Looking at him directly. “Are you going to tell me what you actually did, Elie?” she asked softly. “You don’t have to, but I think you should tell someone, and you know I’ll love you no matter what.”
Elie hesitated. Looked away from her. It was the first time she’d ever seen shame in his eyes. She didn’t like it and felt that particular expression didn’t belong on him.
“I love you, Emme. If I tell you, it doesn’t put me in a very good light. You’re going to think less of me. A hell of a lot less of me, and I deserve it. It isn’t like I have that many people in my life who do love me. I count on you.”
“We all do things we’re ashamed of, Elie,” she assured him. “Everyone. There isn’t a person on earth immune. We’d all like to think so, but we’re not. You don’t have to tell me, but I’m here. I just want you to know that. You’ve held it in a long time.”
He sighed. “You get a lot of pressure being a Ferraro. You have to be the best of the best and train all the time. Can you imagine what it’s like being an Archambault? We go from family member to family member even as toddlers. There’s a hierarchy within the family, and depending on your abilities—and you’re continually assessed—you’re sent to various families to train. They’re all extremely strict, very exacting.”
He stopped when Berta the waitress approached to take the empty pizza pan from the table. “Dessert?” she asked brightly.
Both nodded. “The usual,” Elie said.
“Same with drinks?” Berta asked.
“Yes,” Emme confirmed.
Berta went away happy.
“I never had a chance to know my father. I was one of the really promising Archambaults. I picked up everything fast. Languages, art, anything I studied, including how to kill. First time out. It didn’t matter what it was. That meant I was sent from one family to the next. I liked being in the shadows, and I liked learning. But it didn’t give me a feeling of home. It didn’t ground me.”
Elie rubbed the bridge of his nose and looked at her. “I was taught languages and how to kill. I was taught to ride shadows and keep maps in my head. I didn’t know the first thing about being in a family. Growing up as a teen, you can imagine how they encouraged me to be the best at what I did. Faster, stronger. Not one time did they ever mention family. Not even my own parents. My mother or father. I became arrogant and full of myself. You know how you get coming out of the shadows, coming off a job, so hot you just want to grab the nearest partner and fuck. Well, it was easy for me. I was good at that, too. Really good at it, and from a very young age. That made me more than arrogant in that department.”
Emme nodded. It was the truth. And she couldn’t see too many women turning Elie down. She rested her chin on the heel of her hand and looked at him across the table. His voice was low with self-loathing.
“I’m not exactly Mr. Nice in the sex department, either, Emme. Just so you know. All this was going on while my father had cancer. I didn’t know. The powers that be decided I shouldn’t be told. They asked my mother not to tell me, and she didn’t. I wasn’t even there when he died.” There was bitterness in his voice for the first time. “I was eighteen. They were still deciding my life for me, and I was still letting them.”
“Eighteen is a kid, Elie, and if you had been moved from family to family, of course you were letting them decide your life. You didn’t know any other way to live.”
“My mother needed me and I didn’t go to her.”
“You barely knew her.” Emmanuelle didn’t point out that his mother had allowed the Archambaults to take her baby from her and send him from family to family, never bringing him home. She guessed it was because his mother and father liked being alone together. If they visited their son occasionally, that was enough for them. Not all people were meant to have children, and riders were forced to. It didn’t always turn out for the best—at least not for the child. His mother hadn’t insisted her son come home to her after her husband had died, either—and she could have. Emmanuelle didn’t point that out, either.