Shadow Reaper (Shadow #2)(27)

Maybe she was wrong and his concern wasn't about her at all. "What should I call you?" she asked Ricco. In Japan she would have addressed him only formally. She didn't want to have to call him master or sir, but she would if it was necessary.



"I prefer not to stand on formality, but if it helps you to feel more at ease with me by keeping everything strictly businesslike, Mr. Ferraro is fine. Otherwise, Ricco."



She thought about that. Would a man determined to establish dominance over her want her to be informal with him? Probably not. "Ricco, then." Her accent made his name sound much more intimate than she'd intended. "I know you were in a terrible accident. Are you okay now?" Her eyes met Emilio's in the mirror. "Should I be looking for signs of physical distress?"



       
         
       
        



She hated the anxiety running through her system, making her breath catch in her lungs. For him. She recognized that she was worried about his health, and that was just plain laughable considering what she was there to do. She looked up at him, contemplating.



She'd come there trying to keep perspective, trying to be fair, when the cost to her would be so high. So dear. Already she knew her answer. She was looking for dirt. Very few people didn't have something they wanted to hide. Ricco Ferraro was hiding most of what and who he was from those around him, but that didn't make him a criminal. She needed him to be a criminal.



"It's been weeks, and I've gone through physical therapy. I still have to go a couple of days a week, but I'm much better. The headaches come and go. I haven't had blurred vision in a few days, and I haven't been dizzy in a couple of weeks." There was honesty in his matter-of-fact voice, but something warned her he didn't like talking about his recovery in front of his cousins.



She waited until the car had pulled smoothly up to a curb and Emilio had opened the door for them. She slid out and waited on the sidewalk, looking around her. This was the famed Ferraro territory. It started right on the edge of little Italy and went on for several blocks. She had studied it before she'd ever come, and she'd spent time riding the shadows from one end to another, familiarizing herself with the layout.



Ricco's hand on the small of her back startled her. He didn't make a sound when he moved and that was definitely a problem for her. How she didn't sense that he was close, she didn't know, not when every cell in her body seemed specifically tuned to him. He gestured toward the small glass door with gold hand-painted letters that simply read Biagi's. Many of the shops had only one name on the door, as if that were enough.



The aroma was a mix of coffee, sausage and fresh bread, making her stomach react. She hadn't eaten since she'd arrived in the United States. The entry was narrow, and it looked like there would be a long wait. Ricco didn't try to push his way to the front of the line, but the moment they stepped inside, all conversation ceased. Enzo and Emilio had squeezed in behind them, blocking the door, and she felt claustrophobic. She detested small places and now they were packed in like sardines in a can.



One by one heads turned until it seemed that every single person was staring at her. Ricco seemed to sense her dismay and he shifted, putting his body between hers and the rest of the room.



"Mr. Ferraro," the hostess said brightly. "Your table is ready. Emilio, we have yours ready as well." 



"Thanks, Imeldia." Ricco sent the woman a smile and moved through the crowd, murmuring to several people.



Mariko noted Emilio and Enzo kept pace tightly behind him, as if they feared someone might try to hurt him  – or that he might fall. She let her gaze sweep the restaurant as they followed the hostess back behind her small greeting table to another room that opened into a large floor space. The floor was tiled with wide red squares and the tables were very simple. Nearly every table was taken. Just as had happened in the entryway, every person looked up and conversation ceased.



"Does this always happen?" she asked as Ricco pulled out her chair. She was happy to see that the table was more secluded than the rest, one step up in a little alcove.



The hostess handed her a menu, hesitated, and when Ricco continued to look only at Mariko, walked away. Mariko realized that although Ricco had nodded to many of the customers, clearly knowing them, his attention had been centered on her. He made her feel as if she were the only woman he saw  – maybe the only person.



"Does what always happen?" He seated himself across from her. "Everything is good here. Imeldia's parents are phenomenal chefs."