Shadow Rider (A Shadow Riders Novel Book 1)

The paparazzi were relentless over the next few days. Francesca found that she didn’t mind at all having Emilio and Enzo between her and everyone else. The reporters were everywhere: camped out at the hotel, trying to get a glimpse of her, and walking up and down the streets, entering shops to do their best to persuade the locals to help them get a picture of her or information on her. She was very, very grateful for the Ferraros’ relationship with the people in their neighborhood because no one gave her up.

She enjoyed work, especially lunch or breaks because she never knew when Stefano would call or text her to meet him in the employee restroom. He was an exciting, creative man, very sexual, and he made her feel as if she were the most beautiful woman in the world. She found herself laughing more. Relaxed. Happy. She was happy.

His brothers and sister dropped by his apartment often. They trained together in the large training hall Stefano had. She liked to watch them as they sparred, feet and hands a blur as they tried to best one another. They were all very fast and smooth, so much so that she couldn’t actually say with any certainty which brother or even Emmanuelle was better than the others.

She loved the camaraderie, how close they all were. It was very evident to her that the brothers watched over Emmanuelle, although they considered her an equal. She also realized that they didn’t talk about their parents. She knew Stefano’s parents worked for the family business, whatever that was, and that both were alive, but they were never really mentioned. It was odd when the siblings were so close.

Stefano was a man who liked to touch. When they were together, inside the apartment or outside, he had his hands on her. If they were alone he was initiating sex. She didn’t mind that in the least. Sex with Stefano was always incredible. She could almost forget Barry Anthon and the threat he presented. Almost. Still, she was uneasy, a little persistent feeling nagging at her that her world was too perfect, that she’d found happiness and he was going to come and rip it away.

“Francesca.” Pietro’s voice penetrated. “Stop daydreaming. It’s embarrassing.” He threw back his head and laughed at his own joke.

She jerked around, leaning against the counter, watching him laugh at her along with favorite customers, Lucia and Amo Fausti. She loved their boutique and the clothes they sold as well as the other treasures they had acquired from all over the world. Of course, she couldn’t afford anything and she’d learned not to admire too closely because somehow word would get back to Stefano and she’d have whatever she liked sitting on their bed when she got home from work.

“Ha. Ha. Very funny. I’m going to ruin your coffee, Amo,” she threatened. “I’ll accidentally put sugar in it.”

Amo shuddered. “That would be mean, Frankie, and you don’t have a mean bone in your body. You’re like my beautiful Lucia.”

That was the highest compliment Amo could have given her. He adored his wife, and Francesca wanted to throw her arms around him at such huge praise. He was the only person who ever called her Frankie and she liked it coming from him. “Thank you, Amo. As Lucia is amazing, I’m going to just bask in that for a while.”

“While you’re basking, could you finish their sandwiches and get Mr. Ferraro something to eat or drink?” Pietro asked.

Ricco leaned against the counter, looking hot, his arm around Lucia, nudging Amo with his elbow. “I don’t mind waiting, Pietro. I’ve got my favorite girl right here. Lucia and I are contemplating running off together. We’re discussing where we might go.”

“You’d need a big head start,” Amo said. “I’ve got a shotgun and I’d be coming after you. Can’t live without my woman.” He reached around Ricco and tugged Lucia under his arm. “I’d have to do you in, boy, and persuade her she can’t live without me.”

Ricco rubbed his forehead with his thumb. “I don’t know, Amo. Lucia is extraordinary. Everyone knows that. Shotgun aside, I might have to fight you for her.”

Lucia blushed like a schoolgirl. “You boys are terrible. What brings you downtown, Ricco? I don’t see you very often.”

“Keeping an eye on our girl,” Ricco said with a little shrug. Even that brief lifting of his shoulders seemed a powerful, fluid movement.

Francesca studied him while she made sandwiches for the Faustis. He was very handsome, gave off the aura of power and danger, a heady combination guaranteed to attract any woman, yet like his other brothers and sister, he wasn’t in a committed relationship. She knew Stefano worried about him. Of all the siblings, Ricco seemed to live on the edge the most. He drove that little bit too fast, lived his life a little recklessly, but he was always the first to back Stefano no matter what. She liked him, but then she liked all of Stefano’s siblings.

“Ricco, Emilio and Enzo are close,” she pointed out softly. “I appreciate you watching over me, but I’m fine.”

“Damn reporters are crawling out of the woodwork.” He watched her as she handed the sandwiches to Lucia and took money from Amo. When the couple retreated to the tables toward the back of the room, Ricco straightened and indicated that Francesca come around the counter and sit at a table with him. He chose one away from the few customers eating in the deli.

Francesca sank into the chair he held for her and waited until he brought coffee Pietro had made for them. “What is it? Is something wrong with Stefano?” She hadn’t gotten that from him, but now that he made an effort to get her alone, she was frightened. Ricco wouldn’t have come if it weren’t important.

“Stefano’s fine, cara. I would have said something immediately if he wasn’t. Things are heating up a little right now, and I wanted to make certain we’re taking extra precautions to protect you.”

Her stomach lurched and she pressed a hand there. “It’s Barry, isn’t it? You’ve heard from him.”

He shook his head. “Not yet, but we will. Stories are being written, Francesca. That’s what happens when you become engaged to someone like my brother. These fuckers dig deep and write any shit they can find.”

She went perfectly still, her heart pounding, the blood draining from her face, leaving her unnaturally pale. Of course they would find all sorts of terrible things about her. She’d been in a psychiatric ward for seventy-two hours. She’d been arrested twice. There were mug shots. Worse, they would dig up her sister’s murder and it would once again be splashed everywhere, all over the newspapers and in the tatty little magazines that seemed determined to ruin everyone’s life. Ricco wouldn’t be there unless something like that was already in print. She was afraid she might be sick.

“Francesca, look at me.” His voice was very quiet, but still carried absolute command the way Stefano’s did.

She swallowed hard and lifted her lashes, forcing herself to meet his eyes. “Why didn’t Stefano come to tell me?”

“He couldn’t get away. He was in a conference with the New York branch. An emergency that’s come up and he has to take care of it. You’re good, cara. No worries.”

She shook her head. “You wouldn’t be here unless whatever they printed was awful. I don’t know if I’m strong enough to go through that again.” Barry would make certain his people would feed that frenzy. He’d make her out to be an unstable criminal. She knew he would. He controlled the media when he wanted.

“You’re stronger than you think, and you’re not alone this time. You have the entire family backing you, and then there’s my brother. He’s fiercely protective of you. And, Francesca?” He reached across the table and put his hand over hers, stilling her nervous drumming. “So am I. So are my brothers and Emmanuelle. People are going to read that shit and even here, in our own neighborhood, a few idiots might believe what they read, but most will follow our lead. You keep your head up and just smile or shake your head as if you can’t be bothered to address all that nonsen

se.”

She took a breath and tried to still the screams in her head. She hadn’t had nightmares since she’d been sleeping with Stefano, but she was afraid they would start all over again. She felt as if she’d woken up from a beautiful dream to find herself in a horror film. Looking around the deli, she realized these people–Pietro, the Faustis, all the other customers she’d come to care about–were going to read those horrible things about her. They wouldn’t want to believe it all, but there would be enough truth woven in with the lies to make them look at her differently.

“Don’t answer questions. We’re going to have either Emilio or Enzo inside the store while you work. The other will be outside in front so you’re warned if any of the paparazzi come near the store. If that happens, you go to the back and let Pietro handle everything.”

She put both hands in her lap, curling her fingers into fists. She really, really liked Ricco, but right then she needed Stefano. Her first reaction was to run as fast and as far as possible from the situation. Her picture would be plastered everywhere. She couldn’t outrun that.

“Francesca, stop looking as if the world is coming to an end.”

“It is,” she hissed, leaning toward him. “You have no idea what it’s like to have people believe horrible lies about you. To have to live on the street with no job, no money, not knowing when you’ll have another meal. They took everything from me, including the people I thought were my friends. They took away my belief in the justice system, but most of all, my feeling of safety. I forgot, until Stefano, what it was like to feel safe. You and I both know, it’s human nature to believe the worst.”

She didn’t realize she was crying until Ricco shifted closer to her, threw his arm around her shoulders and used a handkerchief to mop up her tears.

“Stop.” He all but snarled the command. “You’re a Ferraro. You never, ever fucking let them see they got to you. Even here, Francesca, you keep your head up. You remember who you are. If you can’t do it for yourself, you do it for him. For Stefano. I know you love him. Don’t wince. Don’t act like you don’t know. You might not want to admit it to yourself or to him yet, but it’s there. I can see it on your face and hear it in your voice. We have gifts and we use them. Of course I would check to make certain you weren’t going to fuck him over. He’s so gone on you it would kill him.”

The sincerity in Ricco’s voice straightened her spine. The sheer honesty. He believed Stefano loved her. Needed her even. And he was right–as much as she was afraid to admit it to herself or to Stefano, she was totally falling in love with him.

“Stefano has a certain reputation, Francesca, and he needs to be respected. That’s part of how he can do what he does. You’re his woman. You can’t allow anyone to tear him down. If they manage to tear you down, they are doing the same to him. You’re a couple. That means whatever happens to you, happens to him.” He released her and straightened, his eyes on the large storefront window as he lifted his mug of coffee and took a long, slow drink.

She knew he was giving her a chance to pull herself together. She forced herself to sit just as straight and to take a drink of coffee as well. She would never let Stefano down. For him, she could weather any storm. If he could take the horrible things they said about her, then she could. She knew the nightmares would start again, but they would be in the privacy of her home, not in public.

The door to the deli was pushed open by a young man in his early twenties with long, straggly hair and dark glasses that covered half his face. He paused in the doorway when he saw Ricco, stiffening and then taking a deep breath before entering. He looked the worse for wear. His face was swollen and covered in bruises. He walked carefully, as if injured. He carried his arms in close to his body to protect his rib cage.

“Bruno,” Ricco greeted, sitting back in his chair. Relaxed. Casual. “Nice to see you on your feet. Heard you had a little accident. You feeling better?”

Immediately the atmosphere in the deli changed subtly. There was an undercurrent of danger, yet Francesca couldn’t see or hear any reason why it should feel that way.

The boy bobbed his head repeatedly and sidled closer to the counter.

“Your grandmother in good health?” Ricco persisted.

Francesca instantly remembered the name Bruno. She’d been sitting in the pizzeria with Stefano when a woman, Signora Theresa Vitale, had come up to the table and pleaded with Stefano for help with her wayward grandson, Bruno. This had to be that Bruno. Clearly he was in trouble of some kind. He’d been in a fight and looked as if he’d lost.

Bruno bobbed his head again. “Yeah. Yes, Mr. Ferraro,” he corrected himself when Ricco continued to stare at him. “She’s good.”

“You good? You staying out of trouble, because you know, life can get really difficult when you’re stupid and you forget who your family is. Famiglia is everything. I wouldn’t want you to forget that. Not for a moment. It could get . . . rough.”

The boy actually paled. He kept bobbing his head, until Francesca feared he might actually break his neck. Ricco was clearly issuing a warning and Bruno was taking it that way. She found herself shivering.

“Bruno”–Ricco said his name quietly–“I want to hear your answer. Out. Loud. You won’t forget what famiglia is, right? You know you need a job, you need anything at all, your family is where you go. Not to outsiders. Your grandmother took you in, raised you right, sacrificed for you. She deserves the utmost respect at all times from you. Am I right, or what?”

The boy swallowed hard. “You’re right, Mr. Ferraro. I’m going to work next week. Still a little sore from the . . .” He broke off when Ricco raised an eyebrow, looked around the room and then said, “Accident. But I can start work Monday and I’ll be bringing home my pay to help out Nonna.”

Ricco sent him a small smile. “Good. You need anything, you call. Stefano gave you the number, right?”

Bruno winced at Stefano’s name, but continued bobbing his head. “Yeah. I mean, yes, Mr. Ferraro.”

Ricco dismissed him by turning to Francesca and leaning close to her. The boy stood awkwardly for a moment before giving his order to Pietro.

“He’s afraid of you,” Francesca observed.

Ricco shrugged. “Don’t know why. I’m just sitting here with my brother’s woman, giving her a little advice.”

“Thank you for that, Ricco. I appreciate it. You made me see things in a different light. I probably would have been stupid and made a run for it.”

His eyes darkened and another shiver went through her. Ricco Ferraro was every bit as scary as his brother, maybe more. There were demons in his eyes that Stefano didn’t have. She had the feeling something terrible had happened to him, something he’d buried deep, but that still drove him hard. “Don’t ever do that, Francesca,” he warned. “Stefano would come after you and he wouldn’t be alone. All of us would help him find you. You’re ours, part of our family and just like I was trying to say to Bruno, that means something. You don’t walk away from that because it gets hard.”

She nodded, took a breath and took the plunge. “You can talk to me, Ricco. I know you aren’t going to talk to your siblings, but I want you to know, you can talk to me. Whatever happened, however terrible, I would understand.”

He shut down. Instantly. She knew she was right about Ricco and his past, but he wasn’t going to share. Instead, he gave her the famous Ferraro smile, the one reserved for cameras, interviews and strangers. “Thanks, cara, but I’m just fine.” He stood up abruptly and pushed back his chair. “I appreciate the offer though.”

She forced a small nod and stood up, too. It was time to go back to work. The next wave of customers would be arriving very soon. The afternoon shift was always the most difficult to keep up with. The deli would be totally packed with lines outside and every table inside filled. She liked that shift because time flew by and it was a challenge to keep up with all the orders, but it was also exhausting.

Francesca was able to chat with the first wave of customers, laughing a little with them, watching closely to see if she could spot anyone who had already read the stories about her, but so far, Pietro’s customers didn’t seem to read many of the gossip magazine

s. By later afternoon, she was beginning to relax. The crush was nearly over and nothing had been said, no whispers had invaded the shop, no strange, telling glances. She was beginning to think she would escape completely today and have time to prepare a defense.

Enzo suddenly burst through the shop door and pointed at her. “Get in the back, Francesca. Now.”

Pietro caught her by the shoulders, turning her body and all but throwing her away from the counter. There was no mistaking the urgency in Enzo’s voice or Pietro’s hands. Tugging at her apron, she glanced out the large windows at the front of the store. In the street she could see a frenzy of paparazzi descending on the deli. Someone had finally sold her out. She turned and hurried down the hall to the employee break room. There was a screen where she could see what was happening. Standing just inside the door, she stared at the chaos already reigning in the front of the store.

Paparazzi pushed their way in and were asking everyone questions. Emilio came up behind her. “Stay right here. I’m going to help Enzo throw their asses out. Don’t you move.”

“I won’t.” She had no intention of being that stupid. She’d dealt with all this before and it had been one of the worst times of her life.

Her phone vibrated and she pulled it out, still staring at the screen. Emilio had waded into the crowd, trying to keep the customers defending Pietro and her from getting into fistfights with the photographers desperate to get photographs that would make them money.

“Bambina.” Stefano’s voice was a lifeline. “Emilio said you’re under siege.” So calm. His voice strong. A low, sexy tone that soothed even as it took charge.

“You could say that. I don’t think Pietro will want me working here anymore. What a mess.”

“It isn’t that he won’t want you there, Francesca–it’s a matter of your safety. He’s already grown fond of you and he doesn’t want anything to happen to you.”

“I hope I’m not hearing smug satisfaction in your voice. I happen to know you don’t want me working. You didn’t somehow manage to engineer the raid on the store, did you?” She tried to make a joke of it when she really wanted to cry.

“Dolce cuore, I would never send a hoard of paparazzi after you even to get my way, and I’m pretty ruthless.” His voice turned grim. “However, I will find out who did. And did you use the word smug? I can’t imagine anyone ever thinking I’m smug.”

She laughed softly and winced a little when Emilio, Enzo and Tito from the pizzeria forcibly ejected a burly man. As he staggered backward on the sidewalk, Agnese Moretti knocked him in the head and about the shoulders with her purse. She appeared to be giving him a lecture as she attacked him.

A hand fell on her shoulder hard, fingers digging deep and she was yanked backward, right out of the employee break room. She emitted a startled, frightened yelp before the hand went from her shoulder to clamp hard over her mouth.

“Shut the fuck up, you bitch. You’re coming with me.” A knife cut into her skin just below her throat, right over the spot where the necklace Stefano had given her had nearly faded away.

She had no choice but to move backward, off balance as the intruder dragged her down the short hallway to the back exit. She kept her phone clutched in her hand, hoping Stefano could hear every word.

“Who are you? What do you want?” She asked him the questions more for Stefano’s sake than her own. She didn’t care who he was or what he wanted. The knife blade cut into her again, a second shallow laceration. She felt blood trickle down her skin to the curve of her breasts.

“I’m the man clever enough to get you right out from under the noses of the fucking Ferraros. A few paparazzi figure out where you are and your idiot bodyguards rush to get them out of the store and leave you unprotected.”

“Tell me what you want.” He’d dragged her out into the alley now. Francesca shivered and then let out a little scream when he sliced into her skin again. “Stop cutting me with the knife. Tell me what you want.”

“I want to know where my friends are–that’s what I want, you bitch. You go running to your boyfriend, whining about a little scratch they put on your neck, and they disappear. Where the fuck are they?”

He shook her, and this time the cut was deeper and a little lower, right on the upper curve of her left breast. She could tell it was shallow and probably an accident but it burned like hell.

“I don’t know who you’re talking about.” But she had a sinking feeling she did.

“They mugged you, and Emilio and Enzo took them away. No one’s seen them since and the Ferraros are looking for me.” He slid open the door to an old van and tried to shove her inside. In order to push her, he had to remove the knife.

Francesca was not getting into the van. She was certain he’d kill her just to make a point to Stefano. She turned on him, swinging her fist. He grunted, took two steps back and kicked her in the stomach. Francesca folded in half and found herself sitting on the ground. She tried to roll over, to get to her feet before he could come at her again, but he was enraged and he reached down to grab her hair in his fist.

“I’ll fucking cut your throat,” he snarled, and the knife came right at her exposed throat as he jerked her head backward.

Stefano loomed up behind him, a dark, shadowy figure she almost couldn’t make out. He seemed to emerge from thin air, from the darkest of the shadows, coming up right behind her assailant and catching his head in the vee of his arm, one hand to the back of the skull, forcing the head forward.

The man dropped the knife from nerveless fingers and sagged in Stefano’s arms. Stefano dropped him like a piece of garbage on the ground, not even bothering to kick the knife out of reach. He caught Francesca in his arms just as his brothers and Emmanuelle emerged from the shadows.

“She’s bleeding,” Emmanuelle announced unnecessarily. “How bad, Stefano? Does she need an ambulance? A doctor?”

Francesca shook her head. “I’m fine. Really. Just scared.”

Emmanuelle ignored her proclamation, clearly looking to Stefano to give her the word one way or the other. The brothers formed a protective ring around her while Stefano inspected her for damage.

“She has several cuts, shallow, shouldn’t need stitches, but I saw him kick her. She’ll have a bad bruise.”

“Who is he?” Francesca asked.

“Later, amore,” he said, his voice clipped. “We have to do damage control.”

“Get her home,” Ricco advised. “We’ll do cleanup and call you when it’s done.”

Francesca didn’t like the sound of that, all too aware that the man had said his friends had been the ones to try to rob her and they’d disappeared. The last she’d seen of them, Emilio and Enzo were putting them into a car and taking them off somewhere.

“Stefano,” she tried again.

He simply pulled her into his arms, swinging her up to cradle her close, snapping orders. A car pulled up, a man driving she’d seen, but didn’t recognize. Clearly he was family to the Ferraros; another cousin she was certain. He had to be one of the bodyguards who had taken Emilio’s place.

Stefano carried her to the car, Ricco stepped forward and opened the door to the backseat and Stefano slid inside, keeping Francesca in his arms. The door slammed shut and the car was in motion. Stefano dropped his chin on top of her head. “That scared the hell out of me. Hearing him threatening you. Your scream. I think it took thirty years off my life.”

She closed her eyes and sagged against his chest. “He seemed to think you had something to do with the disappearance of his friends. You didn’t, did you, Stefano?” She didn’t open her eyes, but she listened, because it was very important to her to hear his voice, to hear the truth or a lie.

“I know they are no longer alive,” he admitted carefully. “But I didn’t kill them.”

That was strictly the truth, but even that admission was enough to start her heart pounding. She tried to push the thought away that Stefano and his family were part of organized crime, but no matter what she did, she couldn’t get around it. There were too many coincidences as far as she was concerned. She tried to get off his lap, but Stefano’s arms tightened around her.

“Settle, dolce cuore. We’ll talk about this once we’re home.”

“Stefano . . .” What was she going to say? She couldn’t leave him. The thought of being without him made her ill. She wouldn’t survive it. Somehow, and she wasn’t even certain when it had happened, she’d fallen hard and fast. She was in so deep, even knowing he was a criminal, she might not be strong enough to walk away from him.

He nuzzled her neck. “Let’s get you home, clean you up and I’ll make dinner for us while you rest. After, when you’re feeling better, we’ll clear everything up.”

She heard the ring of truth in that as well. He wasn’t avoiding talking to her. He just wanted her warm, safe and comfortable. That helped to ease her mind. Surely if he was a criminal he would be far more hesitant to talk about the muggers and why he knew they were dead.

“What’s going to happen to that man? The one who attacked me?”

Silence filled the car. The air went very heavy with his anger. Heat vibrated in the air, and all over again, dread filled her. Stefano didn’t answer and she didn’t ask again. The car pulled up to the private entrance around the side of the hotel, the one that looked like an employees-only door, but only family had the code. The bodyguard got out first, took a careful look around, opened the door and signaled to Stefano.

Stefano refused to put her down, even in the private elevator or when they reached the apartment. He carried her on through to the master bedroom and put her on the bed before collecting warm washcloths and a first-aid kit. Francesca detested how safe she felt with him. The soft, loving look on his face. His touch as he cleaned the shallow lacerations. There was no doubt in her mind that he cared about her. She was important to him–maybe too important.

“Are you going to kill him, Stefano?” Francesca had to ask. She already knew the answer, but she had to ask. She had looked at his face, right there, when he’d had his arm around her assailant’s neck and she knew he was capable of killing that man. His eyes had been flat and cold. Like ice.

“He’s going to die, but I won’t be the one to kill him.” There was no inflection in his voice. None. “I’m not ever going to lie to you, Francesca. You’re going to be my wife. I won’t do that to you, but if you’re going to ask me questions, you be absolutely certain you want and can live with the answers.”

“What if I can’t live with the answers?” she asked in a small voice. She heard the tremble.

She was scared. Not of Stefano, but of what he was. Of what he might tell her and she’d lose him. She couldn’t lose him.

“Then don’t ask until you can.” His hands dropped to her blouse. He pulled it over her head and tossed it away from him. It was covered in blood and he obviously didn’t feel the need to try to save it. Her bra was next and then he was examining the angry cut across the swell of her left breast.

“Fucker,” he whispered, and leaned down to brush the lightest of kisses across the laceration. “I don’t get how a man can do this kind of thing to a woman or to children. What’s wrong with them, Francesca?”

She couldn’t stop herself from cradling his head to her. He sounded tired. Sad. “This isn’t just about me, Stefano. Tell me what’s wrong.”

“It’s work, bambina–sometimes I see and hear terrible things I just can’t comprehend. It’s work though.”

“I get that. You don’t have to be specific, but you need to talk to me about this. Maybe you should go relax and I’ll fix you dinner.”

He lifted his head, his blue eyes meeting hers. “You would do that for me after being attacked, wouldn’t you? You’d think about me, not yourself.” There was wonder in his voice. Admiration. Respect. Mostly, she heard what sounded suspiciously like love. Her heart fluttered because yes, he looked tired and upset and she rarely saw him that way. She doubted if anyone ever did.

“I received a report today about a young girl. A teenager, seventeen years old. She lost her mother two years ago and was given to her stepuncles to take care of her. Unfortunately, all three uncles are involved in a very violent gang. Her mother had married their brother and they lived far away from the gang, but no one took that into consideration when they placed the girl with her uncles. She didn’t know them, she didn’t love them and now she’s in a terrible situation.”

“At seventeen, can’t she ask to be removed?” Francesca felt her way carefully.

Stefano stroked his fingers over her breasts, down her belly to her jeans. He carefully tugged until she stood in between his thighs. He unzipped the denim and pulled them from her hips, taking her lacy panties with them.

“A social worker tried. The girl was being abused in every way. Sexually. Physically. Emotionally. She wasn’t removed from the home and the gang threatened the social worker and her family. She’d promised the teenager she would get her out, and then she couldn’t follow through, not without risking the lives of her husband and children.”

“The police . . .”

“Can’t stop the gang members from getting to the social worker and her family. So she petitioned for help from our family.” He guided her back onto the bed. “Lie down, dolce cuore. I want to check out your stomach. I need to make certain there isn’t any internal damage.”

“Will you be able to help her?” Francesca stretched out. She had been naked around him for a week now, yet she still felt shy.

“I hope so. We’ll see. I just don’t understand that mentality. I can see belonging to a gang. I can’t see abusing a woman that way. Especially when she’s your family. I just can’t seem to wrap my head around that.”

His fingers probed all over her stomach. She winced a couple of times, but surprisingly, it didn’t hurt very deeply.

“You’ll have a bruise or two, but thankfully, he didn’t manage to cause any real damage. I’m going to run you a hot bath and you can soak while I fix you dinner.”

She caught his hand. “Let’s both take a bath, Stefano, and then we can share the cooking. You said you aren’t that good, but, honey, I am. I like to cook. You have a great kitchen. You’ve had a difficult day, too. I’d rather share the bath and dinner.”

He stood over her a long time. So long she thought he might not respond. The expression on his face was difficult to read. Finally, he brushed at her hair with gentle fingers and shook his head.

“I’m so in love with you, Francesca. You give me so many miracles and you don’t have a clue that you do. No one takes care of me. No one. Not when I was a boy and certainly not now. I think you’re the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen. I love the sound of your laughter, and your smile lights up a room. I watch you with the people in the neighborhood and you’re so great with everyone. They all gravitate toward you, and you treat each of them with genuine interest and caring. I think that’s enough reason to love you, but then you do this.” He shook his head.

Francesca wasn’t certain how to respond. He seemed shaken and she didn’t really understand what she’d done. “Honey, you’re every bit as important to me as I am to you. I want to take care of you. No, that isn’t right. I need to take care of you. You matter, Stefano.” She sat up and held out her hand to him.

He stared at her hand for a long time. “You asked me a couple of scary questions, Francesca. I gave you a couple of scary answers. You didn’t flinch, but I saw it in your eyes that you thought you might not be able to live with those answers. I’m not altogether certain I could give you up now, but I’d try if you need to leave me. I can’t walk away from what I do–it’s too important. But you should have a choice, so I’m going to attempt to be a better man and give that to you. A onetime offer.”

She could see that it killed him to make the offer. Killed him. She kept her hand outstretched toward him. “I couldn’t leave you even if I wanted to. I don’t know how I would survive without you.”

He stared at her for another heartbeat and then he ignored her hand and took her right back down to the bed. It was a long time before they got their bath or food.