Total pages in book: 137
Estimated words: 126060 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 630(@200wpm)___ 504(@250wpm)___ 420(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 126060 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 630(@200wpm)___ 504(@250wpm)___ 420(@300wpm)
“Every stab wound was in the front and the pattern is exactly the same as on Viola and Noemi. It appeared as if the killer went straight from murdering Papa to stabbing Mama, and he stabbed her twelve times, just as he had stabbed Viola and Noemi. In fact, there was a transfer of Papa’s blood to Mama.”
“So the same knife was used on her.” Stefano frowned. “If there were two people, what did the second killer do?”
“Inject my mother with a drug to prevent her from fending them off.” That was the only conclusion Geno could come up with. “It had to be fast-acting and had to leave her system quickly for it not to show up when a tox screen was run. The ME didn’t find an injection site, either.”
It wasn’t easy to calmly discuss the murder of his parents, but over the years, as head of his family and the shadow riders, Geno had learned to compartmentalize. He needed a cool head and to be able to think quickly. While he had initially disliked what he considered the overbearing and exacting Archambaults when they had arrived to take over his life at thirteen, they had trained him in every aspect of leadership.
They worked day and night with him on every type of self-defense and fighting technique they could teach him. They were never satisfied with his speed or reaction time. The Archambaults were the fastest in the world, and training with them brought his speed up, improving his reflexes and forcing his body into becoming a machine it would never have been without them. Not only his body, but his mind as well.
The Archambaults had rotated trainers and stayed throughout the years until he was of age, even after his parents opened the doors to their rooms. They never once consulted with his parents, only him. Every decision he made was his alone, but they asked him why he made each decision and discussed the consequences with him after.
They insisted on talking to him in various languages and corrected him on accents. He didn’t have tutors the way his brothers did—the Archambaults tutored him while they worked out. He was forced to do several assignments at the same time to keep his mind working while his body did other things. They wanted certain muscle memory to be automatic, and eventually, even though in his teenage years Geno despised every single Archambault, he had to admit, they knew what they were doing. His brain worked at a high rate of speed even while he was in a fight for his life. He didn’t have to plan his moves ahead of time, his body worked smoothly and efficiently. He still trained every day and left nothing to chance. He paid attention to instincts and every gut feeling. He might have an occasional drink of scotch, but it was rare.
Geno found, as he grew older, that he was grateful for the men and women who had given up so much of their time to come and train him. In turn, he had trained his brothers and knew they were as safe as he could make them in the shadows. As suspicious as he had become when his parents had been murdered, he acted on his instincts as the Archambaults had taught him.
“You’re worried these killers aren’t just targeting your family,” Stefano suddenly guessed, leaning forward. “That’s why you held a private service for your parents and didn’t even allow me to attend, isn’t it?”
Geno nodded.
His parents were entitled to a show of respect from other riders. Normally, representatives from around the world would come to their funeral. But Geno and his brothers held a private closed service, sending out the word that they would hold a memorial service later.
“I couldn’t take a chance with other riders. Certainly not with you or your famiglia. You are like my own. The same with our cousins in LA and San Francisco. I wouldn’t risk you. I worry for Salvatore and Lucca all the time. Someone is behind this.”
“The kills are not the signature kills of a trained rider,” Stefano said.
Geno watched him closely. He always felt like he could learn from his cousin. Stefano was a shrewd man and very analytical. Not only was he a family man, but as head of the riders in Chicago, like Geno, he had carried responsibility from a very young age. He took that responsibility seriously and never stopped trying to do the best for his family. No one would ever have thought a Ferraro would have formed a partnership with a Saldi and yet Stefano had made it work. He changed with the times, but always kept his family safe. He played his hands close to his chest, not always consulting the council for the riders.
The Ferraro cousins were close. LA, San Francisco, Chicago, New York. They relied on one another because they were cut off from the other riders for the most part. Until Stefano had found his wife, Francesca, the others didn’t believe they had a chance of finding a partner they could love and raise a family with. He had given them all hope. Now his siblings were married. His family had taken in Elie Archambault, and Elie was happily married as well.