of the bodyguards. “Giuseppi, Maverick and Bradshaw are in the building. Let’s get you into the conference room and Stefano will have them question you and Val first so you can get out of here.”
“Do you know who the shooter was? Or why he tried to kill us?” Val asked as he helped his father stand.
Vittorio noticed the older man trembling. Giuseppi wasn’t that old or frail. Was he ill? If he was, neither Val or Giuseppi would admit it to a Ferraro. “I didn’t have time to look at his wallet if he had one,” Vittorio said. “Someone shot that woman. Stefano thinks they were shooting at me.”
They proceeded from the alcove to the conference room. The door was open and Miceli and his sons were standing, trying to take in everything that was happening with their bodyguards attempting to shield them.
“It wasn’t one of us,” Val said, almost belligerently. “We brought a small contingency and your men were watching ours the entire time.”
Miceli dropped back to allow his brother and nephew into the room. He caught his brother in his arms and hugged him. “Did the fall hurt you?” He managed to glare at Vittorio. “You were hit very hard.”
“He saved my life,” Giuseppi said. “I’m certain of it.”
“There was no way to tell who the shooter was aiming for,” Miceli said. “It could have been anyone.”
Vittorio had to concede that he was right, although his gut told him that Giuseppi had been the primary target. “I agree, Miceli. You may as well make yourselves comfortable. No one is going to be able to leave until everyone’s been questioned. If anyone is armed or carrying anything illegal on them, now is it the time to get rid of it.”
Emmanuelle hugged him tightly. “Vittorio, that was a little too close for comfort. Too close. Whoever shot that woman might have been trying to kill you.”
“They didn’t, honey,” he reassured her.
“What was Stefano thinking, offering to exchange places with that woman?” she asked. “He can’t do things like that. I could have taken her place. It’s not like I’m pregnant.”
Val made a sound that had both of them turning to look at him. His vivid green eyes were narrowed and boring into Emmanuelle. “That’s bullshit to think that way, Emme. You’re not expendable because you don’t have children. That’s your mother talking.”
Giovanni slid between Val and Emmanuelle, a fluid, easy motion that didn’t seem intrusive but was. He kept his back to Val, while looking at his sister. “That poor innocent woman had nothing to do with whatever beef that shooter had with one of us in this room. Or all of us. As head of our family, of course Stefano would make the offer. It also allowed Vittorio the time to get to the man from our private stairway.”
Vittorio had known, sooner or later, one of the Saldis would ask how Vittorio managed to get up to the second story without being seen. Giovanni had easily answered the question as well as cut off Val’s access to Emmanuelle.
She never even glanced at Val, treating him as if he didn’t exist. “You’re right. I just panicked when I heard him. Francesca is so fragile right now. She doesn’t think of herself that way, but she has to be so careful. The drug they’re putting her on makes her shake night and day. It’s crazy.”
She poured herself a cup of coffee and turned back to Vittorio. “I’m going to talk to Grace and explain about Eloisa.” She glanced in the direction of the shadows on the far side of the room where her mother was hidden and unable to reveal herself. Fortunately, the room was long and Eloisa wasn’t able to hear the conversation.
Vittorio ruffled her hair. “There is no explanation for Eloisa, but thanks, honey. I’ve made up my mind to talk to her. The charity event is this coming weekend. We have to be on the same page by that time. It only gives me a few days to prepare. I have the feeling that Haydon Phillips will try to hit us there. It’s the first time he can really get to her.”
All the while talking to his sister and brother, Vittorio was aware of the Saldis in a little group together talking quietly at the opposite end of the room. Val kept casting annoyed glances toward Emmanuelle, but he stayed by his father’s side. Somewhere close, Taviano hovered, blending into the background, forgotten.