“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.”
“It’s Val. I had to come. You knew I’d come the moment you typed nine-one-one.” She saw on his face that he’d hoped, but he hadn’t known. She’d held out a long, long time. Maybe she’d even made Val believe she was over him, as if that could ever happen.
“How can they know that Vittorio’s blood will match up with Val’s?” There was worry in Dario’s voice. On his face.
She hesitated. He kept looking at her. “Vittorio’s blood matches up with everyone’s. That’s our little secret.”
“That’s impossible.”
“He has a rare blood type, only a couple of people in the world have it. We don’t talk about it, Dario. Just like there’re things you don’t talk about, we don’t talk about that.” She changed the subject. “Giuseppi thinks he has at least another twenty-five loyal men, but I’m hesitant to let him call them. I’m hoping Miceli doesn’t know about this house.” She’d always wondered why Dario was so loyal to Valentino when he was actually Miceli’s son. He was illegitimate, and Miceli hadn’t acknowledged him for years, but he was his oldest son. No one had known about Dario for years.