Ricco moved with his fluid, flowing walk, although she could tell he was really hurting. She was fairly certain no one else could. Emilio and Enzo moved in on either side of them. She kept her arm firmly around his waist, helping to support him without looking as if she were.
He went straight to Lucia and the teenager, who were pressed against the side of the building. He took Lucia's hand and bent to brush a kiss across her cheek. "Are you both all right?"
Nicoletta, her arms around Lucia, nodded. "I texted Amo. He's on his way. I'm going to take Lucia to the deli and get her something to drink. I've already locked the store."
She appeared suddenly very grown-up, not at all the young, uncertain teen Mariko had been introduced to. She was transformed, somehow, by the crisis, but she looked scared and resigned. She looked like a girl hunted – and haunted – yet standing up now that whatever the trouble was had found her.
"Nicoletta."
Ricco's voice was so gentle it turned Mariko's heart over.
"We don't know what this is about yet. We're going to wait and see before jumping to conclusions. We're heading to the deli as well, so we'll walk with you. Emilio and Enzo are with us, and my family will be here any moment."
So would the police. The sirens were louder than ever, and clearly that made Nicoletta nervous as well. Still, the girl's hands on Lucia were steady and she nodded, turning the older woman toward the deli. Ricco and Mariko walked behind them, and as they did, Mariko for the first time could see the shadows on the teenager. She threw tubes out, tubes that sought connections with other shadows. Her breath caught in her throat. The girl was more of a mystery than ever. Clearly she was a shadow rider.
Ricco walked upright, making every effort not to lean on her, but she kept her arm firmly around his waist, fitting under his shoulder when she never would have walked so intimately with a man. Strangely, she didn't mind. In fact, she liked thinking of him as hers to take care of and she dreaded getting to the deli where Francesca would take over. She wondered why he'd had to advertise for a rope model if he had Francesca.
Instinctively, she knew Ricco wouldn't want her to ask him if he was all right. They both knew he wasn't and he wouldn't want to acknowledge the truth of that, or let anyone else know. She was well aware he was still recovering.
Looking up at him, at his handsome, rugged features, one couldn't tell that every single step was agony, but she could. She was connected to him through their shadows and she felt his pain. He was stoic, as every shadow rider had been taught to be, but she didn't like that he was so exposed. Out in the open. Every eye seemed to be on him.
She knew the impression they were giving to the watchers. She appeared to be his current girlfriend, something that didn't sit well with her. She didn't like the idea of being one of so many. His women never lasted long, most no more than a night, and the idea of the paparazzi getting ahold of her picture with him was distasteful. Still, she couldn't let go of him or move away.
"Thank you."
He said the words so softly she almost didn't hear. She glanced up at him again and found his eyes fixed on her face. He knew what she was feeling. As she was growing up no one could read her, not even her beloved brother. She kept a serene mask in place despite every humiliation, every beating. She scrubbed floors and trained harder than every male rider, uncaring how sore she was and never allowing anyone to see how much she hurt. She had more practice than any other rider that she knew of in hiding how she felt, yet Ricco read her.
"You're welcome." What else was there to say?
A beautiful woman with Italian flawless skin, lots of generous curves, and a wealth of black hair stood holding open the door of the deli. Instinctively, Mariko knew this was Francesca. Francesca put her arms around Lucia and drew the older woman and teen inside the store, but her eyes were on Ricco, assessing the damage to him. Mariko knew it looked bad. His clothes were torn and bloody from the fall off the hood of the truck to the street.
"No gunshot wounds, cara," Ricco assured her. "It looks worse than it is."
That was such a lie. Surely she wouldn't believe him, but Mariko could see the relief in her eyes as she turned away to help Nicoletta with Lucia. Ricco didn't let go of Mariko. If anything, he held on to her tighter. His touch all at once seemed possessive, although what had changed, she didn't know.
"Mr. Ferraro." A shorter man, clearly the owner of the deli, hurried toward them. "Is everything okay? What can I do? What do you need?"