Shadow Rider (A Shadow Riders Novel Book 1)
Shadow Rider: Chapter 9

Francesca stomped out of her bedroom, hair still damp, dressed in a soft skirt that fell to her ankles and a camisole that emphasized her generous breasts and narrow rib cage. She’d never worn anything like it in her life, but she’d definitely seen both items before–she’d admired them in the window of Lucia’s Treasures. She had new underwear, a drawer full. Every pair of panties and each bra was exquisite–again, something so incredibly nice that she’d never worn before. She loved them, but they didn’t belong to her.

She needed clothes because she had to go to work, but this was too much. How had Stefano managed to acquire clothes at three or four in the morning? And it had to have been after three or four. And how had they gotten into her room?

“These aren’t mine,” she greeted him, trying not to stare. Of course he looked gorgeous, already dressed in a pin-striped three-piece suit, his dark hair gleaming under the lights at the breakfast table. He glanced up from reading what clearly had to be some kind of report, his blue eyes meeting hers. Her heart stuttered in her chest and her reprimand died in her throat. No one should look that good in the morning.

Stefano smiled at her, his gaze drifting over her. “You look beautiful. Good morning. I ordered breakfast. I wasn’t certain what you’d like so I took a chance on eggs and potatoes. They sent up fresh squeezed orange juice and coffee. There’s tea if you prefer.”

“Stefano, where are my clothes?”

He stood and reached for her. His long fingers settled around her elbow and he drew her to the chair opposite to where he’d been sitting. She sank into it more because her knees were suddenly weak than because she wanted to sit. She actually wanted to walk around, to continue feeling the swish of the soft material on her legs.

Once she was seated, he slipped into his chair opposite her and smiled–one of his amazing hot smiles, which sent her temperature soaring. She had to remind herself to stay on track because he tended to fry her brain.

“Sadly, there was a little accident with your clothes. Ricco said they didn’t survive, so of course, since they were entrusted to our care, the family provided you with new ones. By the time you get off work, we will have jeans and tees for more casual wear. There wasn’t enough time last night.”

She took a sip of coffee because she desperately needed the caffeine to deal with his obvious bull. “My clothes met with an accident?”

He nodded. “Sadly.”

She narrowed her eyes and gave him her best scowl. “Did your coat manage to make it back intact?”

He nodded. Sober. His handsome features suspiciously innocent. “Yes. I was relieved. My brother saved my coat, but couldn’t quite grab your duffel bag. It floated right down the river.”

“Oh. My. God. You are so full of it, Stefano.” Francesca took a bite of scrambled eggs and shook her head.

“I have no idea what you mean. I’m merely repeating what Ricco told me. I can’t imagine that he would lie.”

She had to work at not laughing. “Right.”

He lifted an eyebrow at her. “I trust you slept better last night after the hot chocolate. Emmanuelle swears it always works for her.”

She nodded. “I did. But we’re not finished with the clothes discussion. How did you manage to get everything in the middle of the night?”

He shrugged. “Amo Fausti, the owner of the boutique, is a good friend of mine. He opened the store immediately when I told him we’d accidentally lost your clothes.”

“In the middle of the night? You just called him and he opened the store?” Coffee seemed more important than food. She clearly needed to stay sharp around him. He was totally unapologetic.

“He’s a friend. You’ve already become one of his favorites, so he was happy to do so.”

That pleased her because Lucia and Amo were definitely favorites of hers. “And the clothes got into my room, how?”

Again he shrugged. “I knew you would need them in the morning. I put them away myself.”

While she was sleeping. She sighed. “As much as I love the clothes, I can’t accept them.”

He smirked. She would have resorted to violence but even his smirk was sexy and instead she just stared at him, astonished that a man could look as good as he did. It took a few moments for the Stefano spell to ease. She licked her lips and downed the orange juice. It was superb. Like his penthouse. Like the clothes. Like him.

“I suppose you could just wear my shirt to work. I like the idea of you wearing my shirt all day, but Pietro might object. On the other hand, you look . . . sexy in it, and that might draw in even more customers when word gets out. Although, if I’m being strictly honest, I’m not certain I want other men seeing you in just my shirt.”

“I can see that sparring with you requires at least two cups of coffee.”

“We’re responsible for the loss of your clothes. Of course we’d replace them. Change the subject.”

“Just like that.”

“Bambina.”

The way he said that one little word, as if it was an endearment, but reprimanded her, melted her insides. It was the tone of his voice. She liked that he called her baby or sweetheart and sometimes even beautiful. The way he focused so completely on her made her feel special. The appreciation in his eyes made her feel beautiful. She knew she wasn

‘t going to win the argument. Her clothes were gone and he’d bought her new ones–new, exquisite clothing that she never could have afforded on her own. Never. Not in her lifetime.

“And the makeup and other things in my bathroom?”

“Everything was lost.” He shrugged, dismissing the subject. “I’ll take you to work this morning. If you leave the store, text me.”

“Stefano, why in the world would I do that?” As if she could. She didn’t have a cell phone. She’d already told him that. It wasn’t like she had the money to rush out and get one, let alone pay for a plan.

His eyes darkened to a stormy blue. Pinned her. The air in the room thickened with heat. His heat. “Because I asked you to.”

She supposed that was a good enough answer when she was sitting in his penthouse, eating his food, wearing clothes he bought and under his protection. “I can’t.” When his head jerked up and the room got even scarier, she held up her hand. “I said ‘can’t’, not won’t. Remember? I don’t own a cell phone. I told you I didn’t have one.” She could see him struggle for control.

“That was before I knew about Barry.” He leaned toward her. “Francesca. You have an enemy like Barry Anthon and you don’t have a cell phone to call 911 if he catches up with you?” His voice was pitched low. Velvet soft. Totally menacing. “It should be your first priority.”

Her heart pounded. “I couldn’t afford one, let alone pay for a plan. In any case, the police don’t believe me, Stefano. No one does. If he catches up with me . . .”

“I’ll be standing in front of you. I told you, I’m coming up with a plan. Just give me a few days. In the meantime, I want to know that you’re safe.” He glanced at his watch. “I’ve got shit to do this morning, but Emilio will be watching over you. I’ll send a cell to the store. Use it. My number will be programmed in, and I want to know where you are at all times. I’m not being controlling. I need to know you’re safe.”

“You’re controlling,” she corrected.

“True,” he agreed, sounding completely unremorseful. “But I still need to know you’re safe.”

There wasn’t any sense in arguing. Stefano was a law unto himself, and he would get her the phone and Emilio would be waiting right outside the store no matter what she said. She’d wanted his protection and now that she had it, she couldn’t exactly throw a tantrum over how he chose to give it to her.

“Okay.”

“Okay?”

She smiled at him. “I see no reason to argue when you’re just going to get your way. The food is delicious. I didn’t realize hotel food could be really good.”

“Our hotel provides the best of everything. Our chefs are amazing. The pastry chefs are as well. Tonight, after work, you’ll have to sample some of the desserts.”

“I can see if I stick around here for too long I’ll end up gaining weight. Pizza, pastries and amazing food.”

“You could use a few pounds. I don’t like that you weren’t eating. Dina told me you didn’t have anything to eat for a couple of days.”

“Dina? You talked to Dina?”

“Why wouldn’t I? She lives in our neighborhood. She’s part of us. She prefers to live on the street so we make her as comfortable as possible. She has a small wooden lean-to we built for her in the alley behind the hardware store, which she can go into at night. When the nights are too cold, she comes to the main house and sleeps in the garage. There’s radiant heating through the floor. She has a bathroom there and warm blankets. It’s the most she’ll let us do for her, other than new warm boots once a year and sometimes clothing. I don’t know what happened to her coat. She had a nice one.”

She leaned her chin on the heel of her hand and tried not to devour him with her eyes. She loved that he took care of the homeless woman in their neighborhood. She’d so misjudged him. “That’s amazing.”

“Not really. She’s a human being with a few problems. Her entire family was killed in a car accident. Her husband, three boys and a daughter. She was the only survivor. No relatives. She just gave up. We’ve tried to get her help. She used to teach school. High school. She had all kinds of awards and her students loved her. After the accident she turned to alcohol to dull the pain. She left her home, just walked out of her house one day and drifted. She ended up here.”

There was an underlying sadness that fascinated her in his tone. He genuinely cared about Dina, she realized, and that took her breath away. Stefano Ferraro was many things, and most of them were amazing, sexy and wonderful. She liked him. He might be bossy and arrogant and controlling, but that was only one small part of who he was.

“How do you know all that? Dina barely spoke to me.”

“I prefer to know everything there is to know about those in our neighborhood. Especially a woman who is living alone on the streets. It’s freezing here at times and I certainly didn’t want anything to happen to her. It took some persuading for her to use the garage, but she knows where the key is and now she’ll go there. We see to it that she’s fed, but we have to be careful how we do that. She doesn’t like too much attention.”

She noticed he used the term we a lot. She presumed he referred to his family. “You’re very close to your family, aren’t you?”

“My siblings and cousins, yes. I suppose my aunts and uncles as well.”

He didn’t name his parents; in fact, he’d been very specific about those he was close to and he’d left them out. She wanted to ask but decided she’d better not.

“Were you close to your sister?” His voice was pitched low. Gentle.

“Cella? Yes. I adored her. She raised me after our parents died. She didn’t have to–she was very young herself–but she insisted it wasn’t a burden.”

“Of course it wasn’t. There’s no way your sister saw you as a burden.” His voice was soft. Persuasive. But certain. As if because family wasn’t a burden to him he couldn’t conceive that it would be to anyone else.

He mesmerized her. Everything about him. She forced herself to look away and finish her coffee. She’d managed to eat a little of the eggs and potatoes, but she’d gone without eating too often to have much room in her stomach to eat large portions.

“After work, I’ll show you around the penthouse. It has quite a few rooms. I have a training room for martial arts, weapons and boxing. We also have a workout room with weights and various machines such as treadmills. You’re welcome to use either one, but we need to finish up if we’re going to get you to work on time.”

“I’m finished.”

“You didn’t eat much.”

She didn’t reply. She was learning from his tactics. He didn’t like to engage in arguments; well, two could play that game. She smiled at him and rose, placing her folded napkin beside her plate. “Breakfast was wonderful, thank you. I’ll go brush my teeth and be right out. Thanks for the toothbrush. It’s very much appreciated.”

He rose with her and watched her go back to her bedroom. She knew that he did because she felt his gaze burning into her. He was so . . . potent. Virile. Masculine. He took up the entire room with his broad shoulders and his presence. She found she couldn’t take a breath without drawing him into her lungs.

Francesca reminded herself that Stefano Ferraro was way out of her league in every way. He might be interested in her, she couldn’t deny the chemistry was off the charts, but their union would never last. He’d grow bored with her very fast. He was a white knight riding to the rescue, and if she didn’t need that anymore he would lose interest.

When she met him in the foyer, Stefano was wearing his coat. She had been certain he would have had it cleaned first. He stood with another long cashmere coat in his hands, waiting for her.

“You bought that as well?”

“Come on, bella. I told you, I can’t be late for this meeting.” He stepped close behind her, dipping the coat so she could slide her arm in one sleeve and then the other. He turned her around the moment the coat settled on her shoulders and slid the buttons into place.

“I can do that.”

“I know. I like to do it.” He bent his head and brushed a kiss over her forehead. “The code for the private elevator allowing you into the penthouse will be in the phone I’m having sent to you. If you have a problem, text me right away. I’m already o

n the cell for you. You should have it within the hour.”

There was no point in protesting. She was being steamrolled, but she’d asked for it. Stefano was a force. One just got swept along when he decided something. They stepped onto the elevator together, Stefano crowding her closer than she believed necessary, although maybe it was the confined space that made her so acutely aware of him.

Her heart beat too hard. Her breasts ached, nipples pushing at the soft lace of her bra. Her sex pulsed, a persistent throb beating in tune to her racing heart. His long fingers curved around the nape of her neck, his thumb sweeping along her jaw.

“You’re so beautiful, Francesca,” he said softly. “And chemistry is a fuckin’ bitch. I promised myself I’d go slow with you, not scare you to death, but apparently that’s not happening.” He bent his head and took her mouth.

She shouldn’t have done it. She should have more restraint, but she couldn’t help herself; the moment his mouth brushed against hers, she parted her lips for him. Allowed his tongue to sweep inside and take her over. He kissed like he did everything else. With total confidence, with expertise. He started gentle and ended rough. The kiss was shocking in its intensity.

She felt possessed, taken, overwhelmed with sheer urgent need. Every cell in her body responded. She swore he poured molten lava down her throat and into her veins, where it moved through her, burning his name into her along the way to pool low and hot between her legs.

She’d never been kissed like that. She didn’t know anyone could kiss like that. Every nerve ending in her body sprang to life, on full alert. She couldn’t stop her hands from running up his chest to circle his neck, or her fingers from replaceing his hair. She gave herself to him, holding nothing back. Her mouth moved under his, following his lead, kissing him back while her body pressed tightly against his.

The elevator pinged and he turned her, so his body hid her from view of those in the lobby. He lifted his head reluctantly, his blue eyes moving over her face. “You good, dolce cuore? Do you need a minute?” He kept his hands on her hips, holding her so she wouldn’t fall flat on her face.

She touched her mouth with trembling fingers. “I don’t know. You should be outlawed.”

He smiled down at her, the smile slow and sexy, gorgeous as it lit his eyes. “You’re good.” He made it a statement. “Henry brought my car around. It’s right in front.” He took her hand and she went with him out of the elevator.

Instantly the atmosphere in the lobby changed. Heads turned. A few people whispered, but most were silent. Watching him. Watching them. She ducked her head and moved closer to him. Instantly, he swept her beneath his shoulder, locking her to his side protectively.

He didn’t look left or right, but she knew he was aware of everything and everyone in the hotel lobby. Nothing escaped his notice. She knew why she felt so safe with him. He commanded everything and everyone around him with every step he took. He filled an entire lobby with his presence. No one would dare try to harm her when she was in his keeping. It felt good to actually feel safe after so long.

He handed her into the car, giving her the illusion of being a princess. She snapped the seat belt around her, admiring the interior of the Aston Martin. Francesca waited until Stefano was behind the wheel and the car was gliding down the street, faster than she thought he should have driven it. Evidently, Stefano and his family had a lot of cars for their use.

“I wanted to tell you thank you.”

He glanced at her. Raised an eyebrow. She twisted her fingers together. It didn’t matter that he looked like the hottest man on earth and maybe the richest, he deserved to know. “For rescuing me from that apartment and gathering up what would be horribly embarrassing recordings. And for giving me a place to stay that made me feel safe. I haven’t felt that way in a very long time.”

He reached out and caught her hand, curling his long fingers around it. “Then I’m grateful I was the one to give that to you.” He frowned a little and brought her hand to his thigh, pinning it there. “Although you still had a nightmare.”

“I have them all the time, but when I did, you made me hot chocolate and spent time talking to me, making me feel better. And you somehow–I still don’t know how–managed to get me a closet full of beautiful clothes that actually fit. And the shoes are . . . awesome.” She lifted one foot to admire the boot she was wearing.

She waited, holding her breath, watching his face carefully. His smile was slow in coming, but when it did, it was worth the wait. He brushed his thumb over her knuckles once and a million butterflies took wing in her stomach.

“We’re here, bambina,” he said as he parked the car. “Do you have money for lunch?”

“Pietro allows me to eat at the deli. I’m not going hungry, Stefano, but thanks for asking.” She was embarrassed that he felt he had to ask, but happy that it mattered to him. After hearing him talk about Dina in such a caring tone, she knew every single person in his neighborhood mattered to him.

Francesca was shocked when Stefano slid out of the car, walked around the hood and opened the door for her. He held out his hand and she had no choice but to allow his fingers to close around her hand, or make a scene. She was acutely aware of people stopping on the sidewalks to stare. Store owners stepped to the windows to peer out. She found herself blushing for no reason. It wasn’t as if she was living living with him. She was staying at his penthouse, not sleeping in his bed. She knew if people thought that, they’d think she was after his money.

“I thought you had somewhere to go,” she murmured, trying not to look at him.

He kept possession of her hand as he escorted her into Masci’s. To her surprise, Pietro was behind the counter, pacing back and forth. He spun around when they walked through the door, his expression wary.

“Mr. Ferraro.”

“It’s Stefano, Pietro,” Stefano said in a low voice.

He shouldn’t have sounded menacing, but he did. The moment they entered the deli, Francesca knew something was wrong. Joanna sat at one of the tables. Her eyes were red-rimmed and her face splotchy, evidence that she’d been crying for some time. Francesca made a move toward her, but Stefano’s fingers tightened around hers. He tugged and she found herself up against his body, her front to his side, his arm a bar, locking her in place.

“There was some unpleasantness regarding Francesca’s place of living last night. She was in danger. I am not happy about that. I left her in your hands, Joanna.” He glanced at her over his shoulder, but then his gaze came back to rest on her uncle. “Joanna knew where she was staying. I imagine you did not.” He made it a statement but waited for Pietro to contradict him.

Pietro glared at Joanna and then shook his head adamantly. Joanna sniffed and then stifled a sob.

Francesca put one palm against Stefano’s abs on the inside of his open coat and shoved. Hard. Nothing happened. He didn’t budge, nor did he look down at her. “Stefano . . .”

He glared down at her. “Enough. This is between Pietro, Joanna and me.” Once again he looked at her boss. “She’s staying with me in the penthouse, but while she is working Emilio or Enzo will be close. I want her safe, Pietro.” His voice dropped an octave. “Do you understand what I mean by ‘safe’?”

Pietro nodded.

“At some point in the future I expect you’ll receive a visit from a couple of men who will tell you all sorts of tales about Francesca. When you don’t fire her, and you won’t, they will return and threaten you. The moment these men contact you, no matter what they say, I expect you to immediately, and by ‘immediately’ I mean that instant, report to me. Personally, Pietro. Have I made myself clear?”

Pietro nodded so hard and so much that Francesca feared his neck would break.

“Good.” Stefano dropped the iron bar of his arm, but turned his head and brushed another kiss along her temple. “Text me, Francesca. I won’t be happy if you forget.”

“We all endeavor to make you happy,” she murmured softly, and smiled innocently up at him.

He shook his head, his blue eyes glittering with a promise of retaliation, and her stomach did a slow roll in anticipation. He turned his head toward Joanna. “I trust we will see you at the club Friday night, Joanna. Emmanuelle said you’d be there.”

Joanna nodded. “I’m so sorry, Stefano.”

He studied her pale, splotchy face. “You fucked up, Joanna. You also apologized for it and it’s over. We’re good.”

Instantly a smile broke out, lighting Joanna’s face. Francesca wasn’t certain what she’d done to apologize for, but evidently when Stefano said it was over, Joanna must have known him well enough to believe whatever was between them was gone. Her smile said it all.

Stefano caught Francesca under the chin and turned her face to his. “I’ll pick you up after work. If not me, one of my brothers or my sister or a cousin.”

“I can walk.”

Swift impatience crossed his face. His eyes darkened. “Don’t piss me off, Francesca. Someone will be here.”

She gave an exaggerated sigh. “Can you please try to tone down the bossy?”

His smile was slow in coming, but when it did, her stomach did a slow roll. “I’ll try, just for you, but I wouldn’t count on it, dolce cuore.” He brushed his mouth over hers. A brief contact, but so hot, embers found their way to her belly. “Later, bella. Be good.”

Stefano was gone, striding from the store with his fluid, easy way, which made him look like a cross between a fighter and a dancer. He flowed over the ground, his long coat billowing around his legs as he made his way to the car. Francesca watched as those on the sidewalk stopped to look at him or stepped aside to make room for him. He didn’t ever have to pause. The crowd parted like the Red Sea for him. He waved to a couple of people, but he didn’t stop. He slid into his car and even traffic seemed to obey, allowing him to pull in immediately.

Francesca turned to Pietro. “What was that all about? You aren’t responsible for me, no matter what Stefano says. Seriously, Mr. Masci, I’m just grateful that you gave me this job.”

“No, no, Francesca. You’re a good worker. The best. I have no problem with you. Stefano Ferraro asked a favor of me, and I said I would do it for him and I let him down. I won’t again.”

She bit her lip, studying his face. “I don’t want you to think you’re in any way responsible for me. I’m a grown woman.”

“No, no, Francesca, you don’t understand what a great honor and privilege it is for one of the Ferraros to ask a favor of me. Since you’ve been working for me, they drop by, all of them, cousins, siblings, all of them. In my store. Daily. I’ve always done a good

business, but it is up over 100 percent since you began and that’s only a couple of days. It will grow even more.”

Francesca wasn’t certain what to say to that. She glanced over her shoulder at Joanna. “Let me put my coat away, hon, and I’ll be right out. I’ve got a few minutes before I have to clock in and we can talk.” She wanted to know what had Joanna so upset and Stefano declaring it was over the moment Joanna apologized to him.

As she hung up her coat, she glanced at herself in the mirror. Her lips still looked a little swollen from the very hot, very hard and aggressive kiss. She touched her mouth with trembling fingers. She’d almost gone up in flames, just spontaneously combusted right there in the elevator.

She didn’t look the same in her first ever designer clothes and even more fabulous boots. She shouldn’t be so happy over the shoes, but never in her life had she been able to afford such luxury. She loved them. The way they fit. The feel of the material of her skirt. Everything. It was impossible not to and she didn’t bother trying.

“Don’t get used to it, Francesca,” she murmured aloud to herself.

Joanna had a cup of coffee waiting for her, and Francesca sank down in the chair beside her. “Honey, you’ve been crying. What’s wrong?”

Joanna rubbed her temples. “I’ve been crying so much I gave myself a headache. I want to apologize to you, too, Francesca. I never should have told you about those apartments, let alone allowed you to live there.”

The breath left Francesca’s lungs in a long rush and deep inside everything stilled. “This crying jag is about me living in those apartments? You apologized to Stefano because he was angry with you over that?”

“Of course he was angry. He had every right to be angry with me. I’m angry with myself. Pietro is angry with me, too.”

“How did you replace out about it when it just happened?” Francesca asked, keeping her voice low and controlled. She pushed the coffee mug away from her with the tips of her fingers.

“Emilio, of course. He and Vittorio came to see me last night. They were both understandably . . . upset. They told me about that horrible man and what he did to women in his building.” Joanna’s eyes filled with tears all over again. “After everything you’ve been through, it’s awful to think of you being exposed to that.”

“Joanna, they had no right waking you up in the middle of the night and telling you all that,” Francesca said carefully. “You’ve been so kind to me. Without you, I’d still be on the street and in serious trouble. I appreciate every single thing you’ve done for me. This job, the money to get here. Just sticking with me, being my friend when so many ugly things have been said about me. The apartment isn’t your fault. I chose to live there against your advice. You have no blame in what happened, and the Ferraros certainly had no right to involve you.” Stefano was going to have to answer to her over that. Making poor Joanna cry and feel so much guilt that she apologized was just plain out of line.

“No. I’m your friend, Francesca. I knew you shouldn’t stay there. There were rumors about the owner. I knew he was a sleaze. Every woman within a mile or two has heard he’s been brought up on rape charges repeatedly and then the charges would be dropped.” She looked around the empty store. They weren’t open for another half an hour, but she still lowered her voice. “He’s connected to the Saldi family. The Saldis are Sicilian and they go way back. They’re reputed to be very violent, and he’s related through marriage. His aunt married one of the Saldis. I’ve heard she’s as bloodthirsty as they are, and the family protects him.”

Francesca took a deep breath. Joanna had known about the owner and hadn’t confided any of the information to her, only that it wasn’t a good place to stay and bad things happened there. Francesca had lived on the street for a short while. She knew bad things, but she associated most of them with drugs. It hadn’t occurred to her that the owner of the building had raped women. Still, to be fair, had she known, she might have stayed there anyway rather than risk the street while she worked to replace the money to get a decent place.

“I should have told you,” Joanna said. “If I had told you, maybe you would have stayed with me until you got on your feet.”

Francesca had to concede that she might have, but she wouldn’t make Joanna feel any guiltier than she already did by admitting it aloud. She shrugged. “It’s over now. I’m staying with Stefano . . .” Joanna gasped and a huge smile brightened her face. “In his guest room, you crazy woman.”

“How far from his bedroom is the guest room?” Joanna asked. “Because seriously, you might consider sleepwalking.”

“I don’t want to be one of ten thousand women who have been in his bed. I read all the magazines you gave me, and he’s a hound dog. He was with a different woman in every picture at every event.” Just admitting the truth out loud made her stomach churn.

“That’s the point, Francesca. It was always a different one and no one ever went to his penthouse. Not ever. Believe me, like all the other women around here, I’ve been on Ferraro watch since I was thirteen. Stefano has never seriously dated anyone. If he was sleeping with them, he didn’t do it in his own home.”

“Oh, he definitely had sex with them,” Francesca confirmed. “Because his kisses need to be outlawed. I didn’t think anyone could kiss like that.”

Joanna’s eyes got wide and her mouth formed a perfect round O. “He kissed you? Oh. My. God. This is so cool, Francesca. My best friend with Stefano Ferraro.”

“I am not with him. He’s doing what he always does, taking care of everyone in his neighborhood. He’s the white knight and I’m the damsel in distress. When I’m all fixed up, he’ll move on.”

Joanna burst out laughing. “You tell yourself that, girlfriend, if it makes you feel better. The rest of us know the truth.” She glanced at her watch. “I have an hour to make myself presentable and go to work.”

“And I’d better get moving, too, before your uncle fires me.”

“There’s zero chance of that happening,” Joanna assured her and leapt up. She gave Francesca a quick hug and then blew kisses to her uncle before rushing out of the store.

Francesca put an apron over her clothes, for the first time worried about getting anything on them. She helped Pietro put fresh food in the refrigerated cases. She could see the crowd, already beginning to line up on the sidewalk, waiting for her boss to open the doors. The number of people coming to the store definitely seemed to grow from one day to the next over the days she’d worked there. She was happy for Pietro, but it also made her nervous now that she knew part of the reason for the booming business was her association with the Ferraro family.

She spotted both Emilio and Enzo in the crowd. Emilio leaned one hip lazily against the wall, while he flirted with a young woman who kept tossing her blond hair from one side to another and then winding it around her finger. Emilio had angled his body so that he could watch the street and yet keep an eye on Francesca. He winked at her as he continued to talk to the blonde. Francesca burst out laughing. She was becoming very fond of Emilio. He might be flirting, but his attention wasn’t centered on the woman–he was totally alert to everything around him.

Enzo was in line, but standing at an angle that kept changing. He didn’t look into the shop, but was studying the street, the buildings across the street and the crowd around him. She realized immediately that between the two men, the street, buildings and sidewalk were covered all the time. She found herself impressed with them because clearly no one else seemed to be aware of what they were doing.

A sudden chill ran down her spine and she straightened from where she’d been arranging inside the cases the special Italian meats imported from various regions in Italy. A sharp prickle of awareness had her gaze sliding away from Emilio and Enzo to search the crowd. She’d had feelings like this before and they were always dead-on, and never boded well.

Her mouth went dry. Surely Barry Anthon hadn’t already found her. She hadn’t even gotten established. There was no way to build a reputation enough that he couldn’t tear it down. She took a deep, calming breath and forced herself to look through the crowd. Her gaze slid through the sea of faces until it rested on a man staring straight at her.

> He wore aviator-type sunglasses and had a ball cap pulled low over his eyes. His jacket was old and stained and very rumpled, but bulky so it was nearly impossible to tell his weight. He wasn’t six foot, because Enzo was close to him and she knew Enzo was at least that tall and the man was shorter. He looked vaguely familiar and she tried to place him. She’d seen him somewhere, but from a distance, just like now. He stared right at her, his mouth drawn into a thin frown of dislike. When he saw her staring back, he drew a line across his throat. He did it so fast and then turned and walked away, hands in his pockets, shoulders slumped, head down, that she almost wasn’t certain he’d really made the gesture. He walked rapidly and disappeared from her sight within moments.

Francesca stared after him, her heart beating fast, lungs seizing. Barry had to have sent him with that message. They’d already found her. She was going to have to decide whether to run or stay. She had no money and nowhere to go if she ran. If she stayed, she would be putting her friends in jeopardy. She stared after the man for a long time, long enough that Pietro had opened the doors and people were already crowding in, forcing her to go on automatic pilot and work.