Looking at him, Emmanuelle felt a small shiver go through her. Giuseppi always seemed to be a sweet old man. He told her stories and laughed with Greta, bringing his wife flowers, sneaking her the occasional doughnut that she wasn’t supposed to have. Right then, looking into his eyes, Emmanuelle saw the killer in him, the head of the Saldi crime family, which he’d ruled with an iron fist for so many years.
“We need to know if Miceli knows about this house, Giuseppi,” Giovanni pushed. “And if we can count on any of your men to aid us if he sends an army after you and Val.”
Giuseppi smiled at her brother—a shark’s smile. “Who would have thought that the Ferraros and Saldis would have to fight together to survive?”
“Why is Miceli so determined to take over?” Emmanuelle asked.
“Human trafficking makes a tremendous amount of money, Emme,” Giuseppi said. “Val tried to tell me some time ago that Miceli was selling women. I thought, at first, he meant the strip clubs. We have plenty of strip clubs. I visited all of them. We have high-class clubs and very raunchy clubs, but the ladies know the score, and no one makes them do anything they don’t want to do. I visited every single one of them with Valentino and Dario. We made surprise visits and talked to the staff and girls. I saw no hint of human trafficking.”
“I thought Miceli had his own territory,” Giovanni said.
Giuseppi steepled his fingers but did so directly over his weapon. “True, but he must answer to me. I checked every one of his clubs. His girls were not treated with the same respect as mine, but they made no complaints, and I made certain to speak to them privately. If they were trafficked women, they certainly did not seem to be, and Valentino didn’t think so, either.”
“Val didn’t drop it,” Emmanuelle guessed. She knew how stubborn Valentino could be when he was certain he was right.
“No, I tried to get him to focus on who was pushing drugs and weapons in Ferraro territory, who was killing and leaving bodies to take us to the very brink of war with Stefano, but he said he was certain Miceli was throwing out red herrings to get us to look at anything but trafficking. I argued with Valentino so many times. Terrible arguments.”
For a moment, Emmanuelle felt sorry for the older man. He looked tired and sad. His wife had been dying, and his son had been angry and accusing his uncle of horrific, vile and treacherous deeds. How many times had Val tried to call her? To text her? She’d blocked him, and he’d found other ways to get around it and had communicated with her until she couldn’t stand it and shut that down as well. He’d needed to reach out to someone he trusted and talk over his worries about what Miceli was up to. She’d been too hurt to listen to him.
Giovanni wrapped his palm around the nape of her neck. “I take it Val found Miceli’s trafficking ring?”
“Someone was abducting beautiful, very young girls, taking them off the streets all over the country. Very young. Underage. Virgins. So, fourteen or fifteen. They would bring them in from other states and hold them in a warehouse. Five to eight at a time. Little, terrified girls, in these tiny, dirty cells for however long it took to bring in five of them, and then they’d clean them up and put them up for auction. Miceli would hold an exclusive event and auction these children to the highest bidder. They’d bring in millions for him.”
Emmanuelle’s stomach turned. “How did Val know?”
Giuseppi frowned. “He knows things. He always has, even as a child. I should have remembered that, but Miceli is my brother, and I didn’t want to think he would do what Valentino said he did.”
Emmanuelle had the feeling the older man wasn’t talking about human trafficking, but she didn’t ask.
“To answer your question, Giovanni, as far as I know, Miceli has no idea about this house, but one can never be certain. As far as my men, I would guess I could gather about twenty-five if needed, but I couldn’t guarantee that they would all be loyal to me.”
“Let’s put that on hold,” Giovanni suggested. “Since we’re just not certain if Miceli got to anyone else. Val would skin us alive if anything happened to you.”
“I need to get an update on his condition,” Emmanuelle said. If she didn’t, she was going to lose her mind. She forced a smile. “If Dario’s good, I’ll send him this way.”
Giuseppi nodded. “You do that, Emme.”
Emmanuelle needed to get out of the room and just take a deep breath. Valentino had been investigating Miceli for human trafficking. More, he’d been risking his life. Miceli was a vicious little weasel and he wanted complete control over the Saldi empire. Valentino had talked about his worries in this very house with her, how he was afraid that Miceli might try to kill Giuseppi and that he was certain it was Miceli who was behind the car bombing that killed his parents, making him an orphan.
He told her Miceli’s legitimate sons, Angelo and Tommaso, had once intimated that it might have been Giuseppi who had disposed of his youngest brother, Valentino’s father, but Val had violently disagreed and wouldn’t even entertain that idea.
Emmanuelle noted that Taviano and Nicoletta, her youngest brother and his wife, were there, talking with Enzo and Ricco about securing the house and grounds. She gave them a wave and a smile of thanks. Her family. They came when called. All of them. There was Elie. He sent her a grin and shook his head, striding toward the back of the house.
Sasha, Giovanni’s wife, strode in, Enrica, Emme’s cousin and a trained bodyguard, at her side. Both women were cool under fire. Sasha was hell on wheels with a rifle. Enrica was the sister of Enzo and Emilio, the top bodyguards of the Ferraro family, and she’d trained with her brothers.
Demetrio, Drago and Leone, all three bodyguards and fierce protectors of shadow riders, split up and walked outside, taking up the assignments given them by Enzo and Emilio. Emmanuelle was fairly certain one or more would be on the roof. She knew they were good with rifles.
Tomas and Cosimo Abatangelo talked quietly with Enzo for a few moments and then went outside as well. Their youngest brother, Raimondo, was sent down the hall toward the security room. He looked a little sulky, but he went without argument; a good thing, or she knew Enzo would have ordered him to leave. They were setting up for possible war, and there was no room for insubordination.
Emme first went into the hallway bathroom and scrubbed her arms and hands, and then used a paper towel to open the master bedroom door. She didn’t want to carry in any more germs than she already was. The smell of blood hit her hard. Dario sat in the leather chair near the door, his gaze fixed on the men and women surrounding the bed and the patient there. Clearly, someone had already seen to his wounds. He had his shirt off and there was a wide bandage around his ribs and another around his left bicep.
“Have they said anything?” Emmanuelle found herself whispering.
“That it isn’t nearly as bad as it looks. Mostly, that he lost tons of blood. They’ve started getting it back into him, and if they can keep that coming, he’ll be fine,” Dario said. “Where did they get all the blood? I mean, it’s clear that your brother is giving him that blood, but …”
Dario took a deep breath. He pulled his gaze from the bed, the blood and the gore with an effort and met her eyes. “Thanks, Emme. I don’t know what I would have done if you hadn’t come.”