“Someone who loans out large amounts of money, not penny-ante crap,” Vittorio said. “It has to be someone Miceli is indebted to, owes a favor, something of that nature.”
Stefano was already texting his cousin. “She’ll find them, Vittorio. You know she’s never missed yet.”
“Who runs the girls?” Emme asked. “That’s another lead right there. High-end, it sounds like. They aren’t going to trade that kind of debt and put someone like Grace into a stable. She’s special and they know it.”
“That would be Marco Simoncini,” Ricco said. “He runs all kinds of girls from street-level to very high escort girls. If you want to party, you call Marco.”
“How would you know that?” Mariko asked very softly. Her large eyes were fixed on her husband’s face.
“Yes, Ricco, how did you know that?” Giovanni asked.
Ricco threw a buttery pastry at his brother, who caught it before it hit him in the head. “Everyone knows Marco runs the girls for Miceli.”
“I didn’t know,” Mariko said. She turned to Sasha. “Did you?”
“No, I wasn’t informed. What about you, Francesca? Did you know?”
“No, but I’m betting Stefano knew.”
“That’s because almost everyone knows,” Stefano said, leaning in to steal the laughter from his wife with his kiss.
“Did you know, Emme?” Mariko persisted.
“I’m afraid I did,” Emmanuelle admitted, her lips twitching. “Marco is very loud about his girls. More, he tried to recruit me once. Ricco, Stefano and Vittorio paid him a visit. He quit harassing me. I didn’t need them to bail me out, but they insisted it would raise too many questions to have a girl beat up one of the Saldis.” She gave a little sniff.
“You could have done it, too,” Vittorio said, pride in his voice. He brushed a kiss on top of her head. “Marco’s ego would have insisted he try to retaliate. We would have gone to war.”
Emmanuelle shook her head. “Val would have taken care of it.” The moment the words left her mouth, she pressed two fingers over her lips as if she could have stopped them.
“Has anyone heard from Eloisa?” Vittorio asked, turning the attention away from his younger sister. His mother was notorious for her cold, cutting remarks. She had made things so uncomfortable for Francesca that Stefano had forbidden her to come to his home. “Does she know Francesca is pregnant?”
“No.” Stefano’s voice was clipped. “Francesca has to be as stress-free as possible, and we all know anytime Eloisa comes around, stress levels go through the roof. She’s still banned. I fear, since she can’t come at Francesca, she’s going to lose her mind when she hears you’re engaged to Grace Murphy—a girl raised in foster homes.”
Vittorio sighed. “I should tell her face-to-face, but I need to get back to the hospital.”
“You’re wiped, Vittorio,” Stefano said. “You need to sleep. In any case, the news has probably leaked.”
“I’ll tell Eloisa,” Emmanuelle volunteered. “You go see your fiancée and as soon as you give the word, I’ll come to meet her. We all need to look as if we’ve been around her quite often, so others believe you’ve been dating her. Others meaning the Saldis.”
That was so like Emme. Vittorio squeezed her hand. “Keep me informed, whatever any of you or Rosina and Rigina uncover. The cops are going to want to keep after us, so make certain you’re seen and have alibis just in case Phillips or Gori and Sarto end up dead.”
Stefano gave him another one of his sharp looks but refrained from speaking. Vittorio sent him his cool smile, the one that meant he had everything under control. He’d been thrown finding Grace existed, but being with his family had settled him. His family would hopefully find Haydon before the Saldis did. They needed him alive to tell them who wanted Grace. No one was taking her from Vittorio, and Stefano and every one of his brothers and Emmanuelle knew that was a fact.CHAPTER THREEIt was just her luck to be in the worst possible circumstances when she met the hottest man in the entire world. Grace Murphy wished the earth would just open up and swallow her, hospital bed and all. The Ferraro family certainly had a strong sense of responsibility when it came to someone getting shot in their parking lot. Even that was embarrassing, having her own foster brother try to sell her into prostitution to pay his gambling debts.
She was like everyone else, following the life of the Ferraros in magazines bought at the grocery store or flipped through at the beauty parlor. She’d always been drawn to Vittorio, finding herself reading every single thing about him. Now, here he was in person, sprawled out in a chair, more beautiful than the photographs could capture, as big as life. Bigger even, the reality of him taking up an enormous amount of space, his wide shoulders and long legs keeping her attention riveted on him.