Shadow Rider (A Shadow Riders Novel Book 1)
Shadow Rider: Chapter 19

Francesca resolved not to do anything rash. Stefano had been good to her. There was always honesty in his touch. In his voice. She stuck her thumbnail between her teeth and chewed at it, trying to get past the hurt. She had never felt good enough for Stefano. That wasn’t on him–it was on her. Tears burned so close, but she didn’t dare shed them. Any moment Emilio’s or Enzo’s phone would ring and Stefano would order them to turn around and bring her back. A little hysterically she made up her mind to jump out of the car if that happened. She wasn’t going back . . . not until she’d had time to think this through.

She could go to Joanna’s for the night. Just sit quietly where Stefano’s overwhelming, intimidating presence wouldn’t color her judgment. Her finger dropped down to the ring he’d given her. So beautiful, like him.

The car pulled up to the curb and she was out before either of her bodyguards could exit. She didn’t look at either of them, but rushed into the safety of the deli. Pietro waited behind the counter. He looked up when she entered, a strange look on his face. He was already filling the cases.

“I’m sorry I’m late,” she apologized hastily, rounding the counter, more to keep Emilio and Enzo from being able to herd her back out to the car. She glanced out the window. Sure enough, Emilio was on his cell, his eyes on her through the glass. Her heart began to pound. She clenched her teeth. She wasn’t going to be pushed around.

“You have the day off today, Francesca,” Pietro announced unexpectedly. “I won’t need you.”

She froze, her hand going to her throat in a defensive gesture. Barry Anthon had made his move. “Pietro,” she began. “Whatever he told you, it’s just not true. You’ve gotten to know me . . .” She wouldn’t beg. She just didn’t expect Joanna’s uncle to take Barry at his word without at least giving her a chance to defend herself.

“Girl, what are you talking about? Your man called, and he needs you today. I have no problem calling in Aria or anyone else if Stefano needs you. You work hard, Francesca. I didn’t expect you to stay on after you got engaged and I really appreciate that you did, so a day or two off here or there isn’t a problem.”

Stefano had called him. The relief that it hadn’t been Barry was enormous, but she still wasn’t going to let Stefano push her around. The door opened and Emilio and Enzo entered, both standing just inside, arms crossed over their chests.

“Let’s go, Francesca,” Emilio said. “Stefano wants you home.”

Her chin went up. How dared he order her home. “I don’t particularly care what Stefano wants right now, Emilio. I’m working.” She turned to Pietro. “If you don’t want me working right now, that’s fine. I’ve got other things to do.” She had no idea what those other things were, but she’d think of something.

“Francesca.” Emilio straightened, looking every inch a true Ferraro. He might not have the same last name, but he could be intimidating when he chose. There was a warning in his voice.

“No.” She was adamant. “I’m not going back there. Pietro? Do you need me today or not?”

Pietro hesitated, glancing uneasily at Emilio and Enzo. She immediately wished she hadn’t put him in such a position. She put a conciliatory hand on his arm. “I forgot you said you already called Aria. That’s great. I had some things I wanted to do anyway. It will give me time to get them done.”

Pietro looked relieved and he patted her. “Talk to Stefano first, Francesca. Whatever is happening between you, trust him to clear it up.”

Trust. It really boiled down to trust. That–and her insecurities. Still, she wanted to take some time to think things all the way through. That shouldn’t be asking too much, even from a very decisive man like Stefano.

She nodded at Pietro, gave him a cheerful little wave and marched right between Emilio and Enzo. Enzo got the door for her and she turned away from the car, toward Lucia’s Treasures. She really liked Lucia and Amo. She loved the clothing they sold. It was far beyond her pocketbook, but looking was always fun.

Enzo stepped in front of her and Emilio came up behind her, boxing her in, close to the side of the building.

“Francesca, get in the car,” Emilio said.

“It’s not going to happen.” She found herself seething, grateful for a target. “Stefano Ferraro doesn’t tell me what to do. He doesn’t own me.”

Enzo shook his head. “Babe, don’t fight battles you can’t win. Pick them with him. Whatever happened this morning to upset you both needs to be worked out.”

She glared at him. “First of all, it’s no one’s business what happened this morning. Second, I have every right to work things out in my own way. And I’m going to do just that.” She took a step to get around him and he blocked her with his much larger body, cutting her off so she was pushed almost entirely up against the wall. “Step back. You can’t force me to go with you.”

Enzo glanced at Emilio and then to the street. Francesca followed his gaze and her heart sank. Of course they were just buying time, arguing with her, and she fell right into their trap. Stefano stalked toward them, looking every inch a dangerous, prowling predator. He walked right up to Francesca, up close, crowding her body, one arm wrapping possessively around her waist and pulling her in tight to his side. Locking her with enormous strength to him so there wasn’t a doubt in her mind that if she struggled, he’d subdue her immediately and easily.

“Thanks Emilio, Enzo.” Stefano nodded to them and turned her away from the car and began walking in the direction she’d chosen to go, taking her with him. “You didn’t stick around to let me explain. Were you running from me?”

She couldn’t tell if there was a note of hurt in his voice or not. His tone troubled her, and she glanced up at his face. His mask was in place. The scary one.

“No. I was trying to sort things out in my head.”

He stopped abruptly and caught her chin in his hand. “You want to sort out a problem with me, dolce cuore, you do it with me.”

“I had to go to work,” she muttered, because he might have a point.

“Bullshit, Francesca. You heard the crap my fucking mother spouted, you were hurt and didn’t understand half of what she said and you ran like a rabbit.”

She glared at him. “I did not. I was hurt, yes. And you’re right. I had no idea what she was talking about when she said I was a ‘rider’ and that you took the first one to come along. Or that you’d have to settle for a marriage of convenience if you didn’t marry me. None of that made sense.” The only thing that she’d really understood was that Stefano had lost a sibling–one he loved–and he blamed his mother.

“Tell me about your brother,” she prompted.

He took a breath, his face darkening. His jaw set. His eyes were alive with pain, but his features remained an expressionless mask. He began walking again, Francesca tucked tightly to his side. For a long while she was certain he wouldn’t respond. They’d walked an entire block, past Lucia’s Treasures and Petrov’s Pizzeria, and then halfway down another block before he cleared his throat.

Stefano’s arm tightened until she almost couldn’t breathe, but she didn’t protest. Instead, she rested her palm on his very rip

ped stomach. Beneath his three-piece pin-striped suit, she felt his muscles ripple. Emilio and Enzo trailed them, close enough to help if trouble presented itself, and a discreet enough distance away that Stefano and Francesca could talk in private. They also were able to discourage others from going up to Stefano and Francesca just by shaking their heads. She was vaguely aware of them and what they were doing, but mostly, she concentrated on Stefano, willing him to talk to her.

“Ettore was born eleven months after Emmanuelle. In our family it is necessary to have several children. My mother wasn’t–isn’t–the mothering type. She didn’t want children, and she certainly didn’t want to be married to a man she didn’t love. Their marriage was arranged. My father is a man who is very difficult to explain. He has a very large ego. He’s good-looking and he knows it. Eventually he began to have affairs. He was discreet, but he had them. He paid no attention to any of us. I think having children cramped his style. If a woman got too clingy, my mother would have a chat with her. Their strange lifestyle didn’t leave a lot of room for any of us.”

She didn’t make the mistake of giving him sympathy. She couldn’t imagine growing up that way. Her parents had loved her sister and her. When they died, Cella had stepped up and given her that same unconditional love.

“I saw what my cousins had. Aunts and uncles loving one another and their children. They tried to make it better for me–for us–but they couldn’t be in our home 24-7. So I decided that I’d make a home for us.”

She knew he had. It showed in the way his brothers and sister reacted to him. Loved him and one another. They were a tight-knit family with Stefano at the helm.

“Ettore had respiratory problems from the moment he was born. He was small and his lungs weren’t developed. He was in the hospital for two weeks. My parents went to see him twice. Aunt Rachele and Aunt Perla–you haven’t met them yet, only their children–took me every single day to see him. The nurses let me put my hands in the gloves and touch him. Eventually I could hold him.” He swallowed hard and looked away from her.

Francesca pressed her hand tighter against his abdomen, matching her steps to his because he’d begun to walk faster. She could see they were headed for a small park in the middle of the neighborhood.

“He just never got strong. My parents were extra hard on him. I told you, we were required to train from age two. They refused to give him more time. Neither spent any time with him, and if they came into contact with him, they were irritated by him. He learned very fast to keep out of their way and my brothers and Emmanuelle took to deflecting their attention immediately if they spotted him.”

“I don’t understand.” Francesca couldn’t help but break her silence. “Why would they be irritated by a child?” There was genuine confusion in her voice because it didn’t make sense to her. The boy obviously needed love and attention, not annoyance or anger.

“He wasn’t perfect, Francesca. In my home, growing up, nothing but perfection was allowed. Our training. Our education. Our ability to speak languages. We had to be not good at everything, but great. Ettore tried, but he couldn’t keep up. We all tried to help him, tutor him, work with him on physical training, but he was always behind. And the martial arts and boxing took a toll on his body.”

“How? Wouldn’t that strengthen him?”

He shook his head. “He didn’t heal from the inevitable bruises and injuries we got. He was slow at other things, too, things that were necessary in our work. I tried to talk to the parents about him, but they wouldn’t listen to me. He was far too sensitive for our kind of work.”

She still didn’t know what his kind of work was, but if helping out a seventeen-year-old girl who was being horribly abused was anything to go by, she was fairly certain she knew Stefano meant even reading the reports on such things hurt Ettore’s heart.

“That’s so terrible, Stefano. He should have been protected.” She wanted to wrap her arms around him and hold him tight. She knew what it was like to experience loss. Stefano obviously loved his brother very much. More like a parent with a child than a sibling.

“He should have been, but when he was sixteen, the parents insisted he become active. We got into a terrible fight, but they pulled rank on me. Ettore died. I went to get his body and I carried him home myself. I never allowed them to make a decision regarding any of my siblings after that.” There was steel in his voice.

The parents. That was how he referred to the man and woman who had given him life. Stefano loved family. Her fingers curled in his vest, and she turned her head to press a kiss into his side, regardless of the fact that they had a lot more things to work out. Her heart ached for him. She had to blink away tears of sympathy and swallow the terrible lump that had formed in her throat.

He looked down at her bent head. “Amore mio, you are far too soft to be without my protection. When you’re upset or hurt, or you don’t understand, trust me. Talk to me. We’re going to be together a lifetime, and I don’t ever want you to be afraid or hurt and not come to me. You’ll hear a lot of ugly things.”

They had entered the park and he guided her toward a bench. The rain had left everything looking brand-new and shiny. He halted, stepping in front of her, tipping her face up to his. “We live our lives in the spotlight quite a bit of the time and it’s necessary. People can be very ugly. You have to trust me to look after you and protect you. You have to let us.” His thumb slid over her lower lip and then brushed back and forth over her chin.

“I didn’t run away, Stefano,” she denied softly. “I just needed time to process.”

He nodded as if in understanding. “You can’t possibly process without having the facts, Francesca.” His fingers curled around the nape of her neck, his thumb sweeping her cheek as if he couldn’t get enough of her skin.

“It was a shock to hear the things she said.”

“I’m certain that’s true, bambina–she is very judgmental and demanding. Above all, she wants the Ferraro name pure.”

Her heart clenched hard in her chest. So hard it was painful. She had enough scandal tied to her name to sink an entire continent of Ferraros.

Stefano cupped her face gently in his palms, bending so that his forehead touched hers, breathing her in. Breathing for both of them. “We manage to create enough scandal ourselves without our women worrying that they might not be good enough. I love you. I love everything about you. You make me happy. It isn’t because you’re a rider–it’s because you’re you.”

She swallowed hard. There it was. The “rider” business. Something about what his mother said was the truth, although she heard the ring of honesty in his voice.

“Did I notice you because you’re a rider?” he continued. “Of course I did, dolce cuore–how could I not when so few come our way? But once we connected, once I was that close to you, I knew.”

She stepped closer to him, her hands going inside his jacket and under his vest to clutch his shirt. She wanted to touch bare skin, to be absorbed by him. Melt right into him. Since that wasn’t an option, she settled for curling her fingers into his shirt and feeling the heat coming off of him. There was a lot of heat.

“Are you going to explain to me what a rider is?”

Stefano lifted his head, his hands sliding from her face reluctantly. He turned her toward the bench, and Francesca sank down onto the wrought iron. It was cold until he sat beside her and pulled her into his arms. He liked being close to her. He insisted on touching her when he was close. She liked that. A. Lot.

“Once I tell you that, there’s no going back from it. Eloisa was . . . indiscreet. You should never have heard that term.”

“You have a lot of secrets,” Francesca observed.

He was silent, something scary working in the depths of his eyes. “Does that scare you?”

“Everything about you scares me, Stefano, but that doesn’t seem to matter. I’m still here. I would have worked this out on my own.”

“You work things out with me,” Stefano said firmly. “It has to be that way,” he added hastily when she stirred in protest. “Once you know all the secrets, they have to remain secrets. There’s no talking to Joanna or anyone else other than immediate family. We’re close for a reason. We depend on one another. We have to. Can you accept that, Francesca?”

“I want a family, Stefano, and I like how yours is so close, so yes, that’s an easy one to accept.”

The tension hadn’t left his body. She could feel it there, coiled and ready to strike to protect him. But from what? Her? Stefano suddenly shifted, one arm going under her knees, the other around her back. He lifted her easily and sat her on his lap, his arms circling her. She recognized the move as aggressive–claiming–rather than sweet. Her heart began to pound.

“In our family it is necessary for someone like me to produce children if at all possible. Those children have to be created with another person like me.”

“A rider.” She supplied the term he was so reluctant to use.

He nodded. “Yes. Another rider. When I said children plural, I mean we would have to try for a large family.” He sighed. “I don’t know who I’m kidding. I want a large family, and I want my wife staying home and taking care of them. I want her to get up with me in the middle of the night and change their diapers and feed them. I want her to shower our children with love every minute of the day. I want her to be strong enough to stand up to me and balance my need to keep them all safe.”

She understood the tension in him. He’d never had that–not what he wanted for his children. Francesca slid her hand up his chest to stroke the tension from his hard jaw. “Honey, I grew up in a house filled with love. I want nothing less for our children. I don’t want someone else raising them. I want family picnics and laughter and trips to the beach that cover all of us in sand that we drag back to our car.”

“You’ll stay home with them?”

She laughed softly. “And be a kept woman? Seriously, Stefano.”

“You’ll be my wife. The mother of my children. That means you’ll be the heart in our home. Not kept, Francesca, important. The most important of all. I grew up being both mother and father to my siblings. I saw what I wanted for them and for my own children when I visited my aunts and uncles. There was love i

n their homes. Our children will have to train as I did, but that should be balanced out with love and acceptance. With the ability to recognize each child as an individual with different needs.”

She fell in love just a little bit more. How could she not? She heard the longing and need in his voice. He was baring his soul to her. Laying himself on the line. Whatever a “rider” was, it was unimportant next to what he was revealing to her. That was work; this was about his heart and soul. He was giving her that. Stripping himself bare so she knew exactly what he wanted and needed in his life.

“I have to know if that appeals to you, Francesca. I don’t want to lose you. I want to give you the world, anything you want. At the same time, you need to know the things most important to me. Our family. You. Me. Our children and my siblings. You’ll be the heart for them as well. Can you do that? Am I asking too much of you?”

She heard uncertainty for the first time in his voice. Her man. Strong. Invincible. Arrogant even. Yet he was uncertain when it came to her. He was asking for a home filled with love for his children. For him. For his sister and brothers. Asking if she would be right at the center of that. She knew that position would also put her in charge of the neighborhood, the people he obviously loved and considered under his protection. He would give her those people as well.

“I love you, Stefano. I want to be the mother of your children. I wouldn’t know any other way of parenting than to show them as much love as possible. I’ll certainly insist on raising them with you. I’ve worked since I was thirteen years old. I’m not certain I would know how to stay home, but I imagine having multiple children is work in itself. So, yes, I love your idea of a home and family and I am certainly on board with it. However”–she turned his face toward hers and looked him in the eye–“there will be no more telling my boss I’m not working, or telling Emilio and Enzo to bring me home.”

He leaned that two inches separating them and brushed kisses from her cheekbone to her chin. “Can’t promise that, amore. You run away from me like that and I lose my mind. I forget everything but the need to get you back.”

She burst out laughing, she couldn’t help it. She didn’t want to encourage him, but he was just too funny. “You’re impossible.”

“But very much in love with you, Francesca,” he said, framing her face with his hands, looking into her eyes. “I’m so in love with you I can’t even breathe without you. I know absolutely, I was born to be your man. Our shadows connected and that truth was there for both of us to see.”

It was a beautiful declaration and her eyes burned with reaction. Stark. Raw. He meant every word. She even knew what he meant by their shadows connecting. She’d felt that jolt of urgent chemistry and the rightness of Stefano Ferraro. She often felt emotion when her shadow connected with someone else’s, but she’d never felt such a physical and emotional connection as she had when her shadow touched his.

Although he was incredibly possessive and always stating in no uncertain terms that she belonged to him, he hadn’t said she was born to be his woman. He had said he was born to be her man. For some reason those words touched her as nothing else could have. She took a breath and let it out. She wanted everything he was offering, no matter how controlling and obsessive he was. No matter how secret their family life would have to be or what a “rider” was.

“I can live with all of it, Stefano, because I suspect I just might have been born for you.”

He dropped his chin to the top of her head and just held her in his arms for a long while. She watched the people moving around the park. A few joggers. A couple strolling hand and hand. It was cold and when she shivered, Stefano put her on her feet.

“Let’s go home, bella. We can spend the day together. Maybe ask the siblings over for dinner tonight. But I just want a restful day. Eloisa always wears me out.” He stood up, locked his arm around her waist and began walking back toward the entrance. Emilio followed them. Enzo was nowhere to be found.

Francesca gave an exaggerated sigh. “I don’t know about that woman as a motherin-law, Stefano. She doesn’t like me. At. All. In fact, she said she was friends with Barry Anthon’s parents.” She tried to hide the anxiety in her voice, but she was fairly certain he heard it anyway.

“Don’t worry about Eloisa,” he assured. “First of all, she isn’t anyone’s friend outside the family. She’s close to her sisters and brothers, but no one else. She doesn’t let anyone in. She might know Barry’s mother, but she doesn’t like her. Margaret Anthon is a society queen. Eloisa, for all her faults, can’t take that kind of snobbery. Margaret doesn’t touch a single charity unless there’s something big in it for her.”

“That’s a little sad. About your mother, I mean,” Francesca pointed out. “That she doesn’t have friends. What about Emmanuelle? Surely she’s friends with her daughter?”

He shook his head. The car waited at the entrance to the park, Enzo in the driver’s seat. Stefano opened the back passenger door for her. Francesca slid onto the cool leather seat, scooting over to make room for her fiance. Emilio slipped into the front seat.

Stefano shook his head. “Not Emmanuelle. If anything she was nearly as bad with Emme as she was with Ettore. She was incredibly hard on both of them. We all tried to shield them, but during training, we had no real say at all. Emme doesn’t ever talk about it, but she keeps her distance from Eloisa and Phillip the way we all do.”

There was pain in his voice, and Francesca immediately threaded her fingers through his and brought his hand to her mouth, kissing his knuckles. “Honey, you did your best. Emmanuelle’s happy. She loves you and her brothers and cousins. I think she’s amazing. You did a good job with her.”

“She is pretty amazing,” Stefano agreed, pulling her hand to his thigh and holding it there over his solid muscle. “I’m very proud of her. She doesn’t have a mean bone in her body, but she can be steel when she needs to be.”

“She can fight, too,” Francesca said. “You’ll have to teach me. She wiped up the floor with the three bimbos.”

He raised his eyebrow.

She scowled at him. “Don’t pretend you don’t remember your three exes. Janice. Doreen. Stella. The horrible threesome with a penchant for doing coke in a bathroom.”

“Ah. Them.”

“They pled guilty to possession with intent to sell. They have access to high-priced lawyers and yet they took a plea deal. That didn’t make sense. They have a good career going . . .”

He shook his head. “They’d been doing more partying than recording, and their last tour was a disaster. Stella was so drunk she fell off the stage, and Janice OD’d right after. The PR people had a nightmare trying to cover that up. Their excesses made them a terrible liability for their label. This last stunt put them over the edge and the label dropped them. Their career is gone.”

“Did you have something to do with them losing their label?”

He shrugged. “No one fucks with my woman.”

She narrowed her eyes at him. “They were arrested and received a hefty sentence.”

He shrugged again and she sighed. She couldn’t actually feel sorry for the three women, especially since they’d tried to shove cocaine in her face.

“Emmanuelle beat the crap out of them and didn’t even break a fingernail, and she did it when she was in high heels.”

He burst out laughing. “You sound admiring. I’ll teach you a few moves, bambina, but you’ll have bodyguards from now on, even when you go to a restroom. I have a female cousin or two trained in security.”

“Of course you do.” She rolled her eyes. “Emilio and Enzo have a sister, do they?”

He nodded. “Enrica. I’ve already asked her to come on board.”

“Did you think you might want to consult with me first?”

“I told you, I don’t argue. You like that shit and I’m just not going there with you when something needs to be done, like hiring a female bodyguard to watch you everywhere.”

“So Emilio and Enzo can go back to looking out for you?” Her tone was just a little shy of challenging him, but she had faith in Emilio and Enzo and wanted them looking out for Stefano, not her.

Stefano laughed again, the notes warm and alluring. The so

und washed over her like the sun, bright and warm. She didn’t hear him laugh nearly enough and it was disarming. At the hotel, Emilio opened the door for them and Stefano slid out, retaining possession of her hand so that she followed him out of the vehicle and was drawn close. She realized Stefano always did that. He liked her close. She found herself smiling in spite of the fact that he hadn’t answered.

In the privacy of the elevator, she leaned into him. “Will your mother call Barry Anthon and tell him where I am? Or ask him questions about me?”

His eyebrow shot up. “You’re my fiancee. You have my ring on your finger and I told her in no uncertain terms that we would be married as soon as possible. She understands that, whether or not she agrees or likes it. That makes you family.”

“I’m confused, Stefano. She really didn’t like me. Won’t she try to replace a way to stop us from being married? Barry would be her perfect solution.”

The doors opened and they stepped into the apartment. “It doesn’t work that way, Francesca. Not in our family. Family is family. You protect your family. Close ranks around them. My mother is all about family to the extent of everything else. She would never betray you to Barry Anthon or anyone else. It just isn’t done.”

She tried to grasp what that meant. The enormity of it. His mother had been so adamant. Clearly, mother and son had major issues. Still, he was absolutely certain she wouldn’t call Barry or his mother. “I don’t . . .” She trailed off, shaking her head.

Stefano stopped abruptly and tipped her chin up to his. “She would protect you. Physically protect you. Step in front of you if a bullet headed your way. As long as my claim is on you, any one of my family would do so.”

She would have done that for Cella, or for one of Cella’s children. She didn’t want to think that Cella would never have a child for her to protect.

“You have all of us. And Emmanuelle. She’ll have children. They all belong to you now, Francesca. Can’t you feel that when you’re with them?”

“This is all so new to me, Stefano.” She’d been beaten down so far by Barry Anthon and his men that she had lost herself. Her strength. Her belief in anyone. His family was so opposite of everything she’d come to believe it was difficult to comprehend that they could be real. “Sometimes I feel like I’m in the middle of a fairy tale and any minute I’m going to wake up and you’ll be gone.”

He kissed her gently. A brief brush of his mouth over hers. “That’s never going to happen, amore mio.”

She loved the feel of his lips. Soft but firm. Demanding and commanding. Warm and then hot. She could kiss him forever.

“Stop or we’ll be right back in bed.”

She couldn’t help but laugh softly. “Is that a bad thing?”

He shook his head. “Never, but I was a little rough last night. And the night before and all the nights before that. I think your body needs a little time. Besides, I want to spend time with you outside of bed, and you need to eat. You skipped breakfast.” That was an accusation.

She shrugged. “I work at a deli. I can always eat there.”

“I’m changing. Since we’re staying in, I’ll go for comfortable. And don’t think I didn’t notice that you said you can always eat there, not that you do.”

She laughed and wandered into the kitchen. She liked to cook and she could just as easily fix eggs as call down an order to the hotel kitchen. She had two omelets nearly made when he entered the room in a pair of soft blue jeans and a T-shirt that stretched tightly over his chest. She drew in her breath, allowing her gaze to drift possessively.

“What are you doing?”

“Taking in the awesome sight that is mine.” She pushed the omelets onto a plate and carried them to the small, much more intimate table than the one in his dining room. She’d already set it with utensils and napkins.

They ate breakfast together and she found herself enjoying every moment with him. It was easy being with Stefano. Out of the public eye, he was different. He lost his aloof, arrogant demeanor and appeared softer and relaxed. He smiled often and laughed occasionally. He always made her feel as if she was his entire focus. They played chess–he won three games. He worked with her in his training room, teaching her to break out of a choke hold and get away when a very strong man grabbed her wrist. They practiced for an hour, and then he made love to her right there on the floor.

They spent time just talking and then listening to music, dancing together in the living room. His siblings came over and they trained with her watching, shocked at the violence and speed as well as how good they all were. She found their martial arts training to be fascinating and beautiful to watch. She liked that Emmanuelle kept up with her brothers.

They ate together before his family left, and that was fun. Emmanuelle and Ricco helped her make pasta and salad. It was fun and easy, much more so than Francesca ever thought it would be. There was a lot of laughter and teasing, mostly between the siblings, but they weren’t shy about including her.

After his family left, Stefano made love to her twice more, both times very gently, once on the floor by the fireplace and the second time on the couch in the living room. In the end, she found herself draped over him, skirt and blouse back on, but her panties and bra nowhere to be found.

She started to move, to look for her underwear, but Stefano pulled her down on top of him, so that she sprawled on his chest and he rolled slightly, tucking them both against the back of the long, wide couch. He caught up the remote and turned on the television. She wasn’t much of a television watcher, but she decided that didn’t matter. Lying on top of Stefano, surrounded by his unique masculine scent and his incredible, very hard muscles, his fingers playing in her hair, she decided, was the best.

Francesca closed her eyes and let herself drift. Her ear was over his heart. He was warm and his hands in her hair felt soothing. She may have fallen asleep for a time, but she woke when she heard the newscaster’s voice on the television set. No, it hadn’t been the voice that woke her. Stefano’s muscles had contracted, rippled beneath her in reaction, just for a moment, but she was so in tune with him she felt the difference, the alertness immediately.

“In local news, a group of schoolchildren out on a field trip stumbled across a gruesome scene. The body of thirty-four-year-old Scott Bowen washed up onshore. His neck was broken. According to the chief medical examiner, Dr. Aaron Pines, Bowen could have broken his neck when falling into the river.” The voice droned on but Francesca was focused on the photograph flashed on the screen. She recognized him immediately. He was the man who had put a knife to her throat. She would have known him anywhere.

“Stefano?” Her hand crept defensively to her throat. She didn’t know what she was asking. The two muggers had disappeared, he’d said so, and the last she’d seen of them, Emilio and Enzo were putting them into a car. They’d done the same with Bowen. Now he was dead, his neck broken. She couldn’t help herself; she shifted her body weight, intending to slide off of Stefano.

His arms tightened. “Don’t. Don’t be afraid of me, Francesca. Not ever.”

“Did you kill him? Did Emilio or Enzo?”

“No.” He was silent a moment, stroking soothing caresses down her spine. “Let me tell you a little about Bowen and his friends before you go shedding any tears for him. They’ve robbed countless people and each robbery has become more violent than the last. They’ve put several people in the hospital, people who cooperated with them. It was only a matter of time before they killed someone. No one has been able to stop them, not the police, not even us, and we talked to them. They just kept getting worse.”

“So you knew about them before they tried to rob me.” She lifted her head to look into his eyes. There was no guilt. No remorse. No expression of any kind. Just cool honesty.

“Yes. But, Francesca, sooner or later, we would have had to deal with them. Someone needed to stop them. They put their hands on you. They put a knife to your throat. That made it sooner.”

Her heart skipped a beat and then began to pound wildly. She turned his declaration over in her mind. He had done something to Bowen. To Bowen’s friends.

“Bottom line, dolce cuore, that’s who I am. When the cops can’t do something to protect citizens, it’s my turn. You have to decide if you can live with who I am. The real me.” His arm was an iron band around her waist, but his hand was gentle as he continued to stroke caresses along her spine.

She heard the note in his voice. Uncertain. He wouldn’t change for her. He couldn’t. And he was asking her to accept him. Every part of him. She closed her eyes and pressed deeper into his chest. On some level she’d known all along, but still the admission caught her off guard. Could she live with that? With a man who took the law into his own hands? He was always loving with his family, with her, with his neighbors. Over-the-top protective. A little scary. Arrogant. He wanted a home, a wife and children, and she knew absolutely she’d be the center of his universe. She didn’t doubt that for a minute.

“You asked me to help a seventeen-year-old girl last night. You knew what that would mean. You knew what you were asking me to do.”

She started to protest, but then remained silent. She did. She knew. She’d been a victim of a man, the same man who had murdered her sister. She had no doubt that Barry Anthon would have murdered her if Cella hadn’t dropped her cell phone in the mail before she’d returned home. She wanted justice for Cella and the cops would never give that to her. Only a man like Stefano Ferraro.

She took a deep breath and turned her head to press a kiss into his throat, closing her eyes. She’d already committed to him. In her heart, in her soul. Almost from the first moment she’d met him, she’d been mesmerized by him. Once she got to see him, once he’d let her into his world, she’d fallen hard and fast. She’d just known.

There was that first moment she’d been aware of their shadows touching. It sounded crazy but, from the time she’d been a child, if her shadow touched someone else’s shadow, she “felt” them. With Stefano that knowledge had been deep and instantaneous. The chemistry had been off the charts. Most of all, she’d known he was a good man in spite of all the evidence to the contrary. She’d fallen and there was no going back.

“I’m in love with you, Stefano,” she said softly, “so I live with whatever it is you have to do.”

That declaration earned her his body again. This time he started out slow and ended up fast and rough. It was perfection.