"It's fine," he said abruptly and pulled away from her.
She knew immediately he was embarrassed in front of his brothers and the other women. He didn't want them to know he was hurt, although how he could hit the street like that and not get hurt, especially after the car crash, she couldn't see.
"Don't be a dick, Ricco," Giovanni said.
"I'm not being a dick," he objected. He took the cloth from her and tossed it on the table. "I'm being brave. Can't you tell the difference?"
He said it straight-faced and it was all Mariko could do to keep from laughing.
"Amo is at the door, Pietro," Francesca said, already hurrying to allow Lucia's husband inside. "Vinci is with him."
"Our lawyer," Ricco told Mariko. He caught her hand, curling his fingers around hers and bringing it to his chest as he leaned into her. "I'm sorry for being a dick. Sometimes I just am, but I'll watch it."
Giovanni snorted his derision. "Sometimes? Don't believe a fucking thing he says, Mariko. It's all the time."
She could hear the affection in their voices. They included her in their circle, and it made her feel ashamed. She should have pulled her hand from Ricco's but she told herself she didn't want to embarrass him. If she was strictly honest with herself, that had nothing to do with it, but she just couldn't go there yet.
As Vinci and Amo entered through the front door, two more men came from the back of the store. Mariko knew immediately that these were also Ricco's brothers and one of them was definitely Stefano Ferraro, head of the Ferraro family. The family was legendary around the world, known to other riders, respected and admired. He strode in, his gaze taking in everything, the minutest detail, but mostly he was centered on his brother, noting every detail, every road burn, his color and breathing.
She had the strangest need, almost a compulsion, to shield Ricco from his brother's scrutiny. From all of them. She sensed he detested appearing weak in front of anyone, but especially his family. He didn't relax; if anything, he became much more tense. She moved closer to him, not understanding her need to shield him, but determined to do so all the same.
From the back, a woman hurried into the room. She was dressed in the same pin-striped suit her brothers were wearing, and there was no mistaking she was Emmanuelle Ferraro. She was absolutely gorgeous with her blue eyes and her thick dark hair. "Ricco!" She rushed right up to him and flung her arms around him, practically dragging him out of the chair. There were genuine tears in her eyes.
"I'm all right, Emmanuelle. A little truck can't hurt me," he assured.
"No, but the fall on top of your car going into a wall might," she objected. She hugged him again.
Mariko wanted to tell her that just touching him had to hurt him, but she kept silent, wondering when the last time she hugged her brother had been. Had she ever showed him the love she felt? Told him? She'd let Osamu Saito stamp out every joy in her, every bit of personality. As she'd grown, she moved through life in silence, hoping not to be noticed, afraid of drawing attention to herself.
She was big. Clumsy. Ugly. She'd brought shame on her family with her American looks and her undisciplined passion, which clearly meant she followed in the footsteps of her whore of a mother.
She was surrounded by Ferraros. They were shadow riders. Americans. Their reputation was impeccable. They weren't considered undisciplined; they were almost revered. They freely showed affection to one another, and concern. It was clear they loved one another. She couldn't imagine that they would go very long without expressing that love. She loved her brother – loved him with everything in her – yet she couldn't remember telling him, not since they were very little and she'd whisper it to him, afraid of being overheard.
Suddenly she could barely breathe. She was always calm, yet now, in the face of the knowledge that she might never find her brother, never be able to tell him that she cared, she couldn't breathe. Couldn't find a way to catch her breath. She wasn't being fair to Ricco, contemplating killing him when she knew she never would. He was too good of a man. But she'd come with the vague idea that she might, and now she was using him to hide while she figured out her next move. That wasn't fair, either.
She'd tried to live a life of honor, but practically overnight she'd become the very person Osamu Saito had pounded into her night and day – that person she'd always told herself she wasn't and could never be. Her throat closed and it seemed impossible to draw in air. Around her, the talk continued, the brothers reassuring themselves that Ricco, Lucia and Nicoletta were all right. They thanked Emilio and Enzo as well as her.