Shadow Rider (A Shadow Riders Novel Book 1)

Joanna tossed a handful of magazines onto the table in front of Francesca. “Check those out. Tell me I’m wrong about the Ferraro family.”

Francesca sighed. She’d managed to eat two meals, thanks to Joanna and her uncle. She’d kept the meals small, and she was happy she had. The food sat in her stomach as if her body had forgotten how to process it. Her first day at work had been very successful and Pietro was pleased. The deli’s customers had doubled in one day. She’d kept her head down and worked hard, avoiding the staring eyes. Pietro didn’t care if they stared at his newest employee. He cared about the cash register, and it was full. That meant the tip jar was full as well.

Francesca smiled at Joanna as Joanna leafed through one of the glossy magazines to show her a headline. Ferraro brothers. Fast cars and faster women. There was a series of photographs of Stefano Ferraro standing by a race car with a huge smile and a large trophy, a woman in his arms, looking up at him. Four very hot men and an exceptionally beautiful woman circled him, all beaming at him. Joanna was right. They were gorgeous.

“Well, that lets me out. I don’t own a car, and I couldn’t be considered running in the fast lane no matter who was talking about me.” Francesca should have been feeling relief, but the more she paged through the magazines and saw models, singers, actresses and heiresses adorning the arms of the Ferraro males, the more she felt a little sick.

“Wow. If you considered even a tenth of this stuff is true, they live life on the edge. Parties. Racing cars. Playing polo. What was he doing in your uncle’s shop? I wouldn’t think he would set foot in a place that was rated less than five stars.”

“The Ferraro family owns most of the buildings in our neighborhood. Not the homes, but the apartment buildings, and all the store space. They’re very hands-on. Their parents actually buy locally. They often come in and talk to Zio Pietro.”

“You’re telling me that these people are actually friends with all of you?” She couldn’t keep the disbelief from her voice.

Joanna shook her head. “Not friends exactly. I’m not saying we run in the same circles. It’s more like they’re royalty and we all know them by sight. They keep an eye on things.”

Francesca looked at the pictures of the ridiculously handsome faces with women on their arms–women dripping with diamonds–and she just couldn’t see them walking around the neighborhood and frequenting the local shops.

“Are they mafia?”

Joanna gasped and looked around her. “Francesca! Sheesh. Are you nuts? You don’t ask a question like that where anyone might hear you.”

“Well. Are they?” she persisted.

Joanna looked uncomfortable. “They keep the neighborhood safe.”

Francesca looked down at the open pages of the magazines again. They looked like playboys, yet if she looked really close, if she studied their faces, she could see the danger lurking under all that beauty. The bell over the door announced a customer and Francesca looked up as she stood. Her heart stuttered. Another Ferraro. Definitely. Not Stefano, but certainly one of his brothers. His sharp gaze moved around the store until it settled on her. Her stomach reacted, taking a little dive. She glanced at Joanna. Her friend sat frozen, her mouth open, her hand on the magazines.

Francesca carefully closed the covers and prayed those sharp eyes already dissecting the two of them hadn’t seen what they were looking at. She forced her body to move, going straight to and around the counter. That helped, putting a barrier between them.

“May I help you?” Her voice came out a little strangled. She had secrets. Men like the Ferraros–jet-setters, men so rich they thought they owned everything in their world– could ruin her. She knew from experience that they wouldn’t think twice about destroying anyone who got in their wa

y.

“Hello, Joanna,” the newcomer said, looking at Francesca, not Joanna. “You want to introduce us?”

Joanna jumped up so fast she nearly knocked over her chair. This time of day the deli was relatively quiet. Clusters of customers came in sporadically until the next big rush. Still, the few customers that were there ceased speaking, just as they’d done when Stefano had walked in.

“Of course. Giovanni Ferraro, this is my friend Francesca Capello.”

Giovanni stuck out his hand. Francesca had no choice but to take it or seem rude. For all her declarations of the Ferraro family keeping the neighborhood safe, Joanna seemed anxious. Giovanni’s hand closed around hers.

“You’re new in our neighborhood.” Giovanni made it a statement.

Francesca nodded. “Is there something I can get for you?”

“Mamma would like me to bring her some of Pietro’s tiramisu. She’s been craving it and couldn’t get into the store today. Would you box me up six pieces?”

Francesca nodded. Relieved. He had a legitimate reason for coming to the store. What did she know? Joanna said the family frequented the store. Her weird encounter with Stefano made her nervous–that was all. She put together one of the carry boxes and lined it carefully, knowing Pietro would want the box to be extra special.

“How are you settling in to the neighborhood?” Giovanni asked. “Everyone treating you right?”

Francesca felt the tension in the store rise a notch. She lifted her gaze slowly to meet his. This was no casual visit. She didn’t know why the innocent question tipped her off, but the Ferraro family continued to take an interest in her. Alarm bells began shrieking at her. Maybe even Chicago wasn’t safe for her. She tried not to look as if she was freaking out. Joanna was. Her face had gone pale and she twisted her fingers together anxiously, waiting for Francesca’s answer. The entire store seemed to be waiting.

“Everyone has been wonderful,” she replied, and looked down at her work space, carefully placing each piece into the box.

“No complaints then?” he prompted.

Her heart jumped. She felt like she was walking on eggshells, one wrong move and something terrible would happen. She just didn’t know what.

“None.” She put the box on the counter.

Giovanni leaned close as he handed her the money for the tiramisu. “Buy some shoes.” His voice was low. Just between the two of them.

Her gaze jumped to his. He refused to look away. She wasn’t going to argue with him, but she wasn’t spending Stefano’s money. Not one cent. Not for anything. Pietro let her eat there at the deli and she was careful not to abuse that privilege, but she wasn’t going hungry anymore, so she didn’t need Stefano’s money. The Ferraro family seemed to be obsessed with her getting new shoes.

“Don’t piss him off,” Giovanni advised. “Buy yourself the shoes. You can always pay him back. He’ll be home soon and you don’t want to get him riled.”

“He sent you to check up on me?” she hissed.

He grinned at her, completely unrepentant. He looked nearly as gorgeous as his brother. And as arrogant. “We’re watching over you,” he admitted. “He’d beat the holy hell out of us if we didn’t. So buy the shoes and keep me from getting a broken nose. I like mine the way it is.”

She gave him the change. “Just wait right there. I’ve got his coat in the back and you can . . .”

Giovanni backed away from the counter. “Not going to happen, woman. You give him that coat in person. He’d kill me over that coat. Wear it. He’ll be checking on that, too. Buy some shoes and wear the fucking coat. Put him in a good mood for a change.”

What did that mean? Stefano looked like he was in a good mood when he was smiling for the cameras with all those women hanging on his arm.

Giovanni turned away from Francesca, which was just as well because she might have thrown something at him. “Joanna, you haven’t been by the club for a while.”

Joanna had closed the rest of the magazines, stacked them and turned them all over so only the back covers showed. Francesca was fairly certain it was too late. Giovanni had seen what they were doing. There was no doubt in her mind that he would report that to his brother as well.

“You been giving our competitors your business?” Giovanni’s tone was teasing, but Joanna looked nervous.

“I love the club,” she said, “but the price is a little steep, and I usually don’t make it in even if I come up with the door fee.”

Giovanni’s face darkened. “What did you say?”

“It’s all right, really. I understand. It’s a hot spot. I don’t exactly have the clothes . . .”

“That’s bullshit.” He pulled a card from his wallet and handed it to her. “Skip the fucking line and show that to the bouncer. They don’t let you in, you call the number on that card and I’ll handle it. You’re one of ours. They let you in when you want in. Come this next weekend and bring Francesca. I’ll be there and so will Stefano. We’ve got a meeting. If there’s any trouble, just call.”

Francesca was horrified. Shocked, too. Giovanni sounded really angry. Not because of her, but on Joanna’s behalf, and that made Francesca like him a little better. He didn’t like that Joanna had been refused entry into their club. Still, she was not going to some hot club. What was she going to wear? Her holey jeans? Not likely.

They watched Giovanni leave, and then Francesca came out from behind the counter. “What in the world was that?”

“I don’t know, but clearly the family is watching over you,” Joanna said. She held up the card. “Can you believe he gave me this? He was angry that they didn’t let me in. He said to just jump the line, too. Can you imagine getting to do that? I’ve gotten into the club a couple of times but usually they turn me away at the door.”

“That’s terrible. Snobs.”

“The Ferraros clearly aren’t the ones being snobs,” Joanna said, waving the card at her. “We can go dancing, Francesca.”

“I can’t go,” Francesca protested. “I wouldn’t have the money to get in, let alone something to wear. Seriously, Joanna, go with your other friends or by yourself. No way am I going out to a club, especially one the Ferraros frequent.”

“Own. They own it. They have several businesses, and that’s just one. The main family business is international banking. They also have the hotel, which is the bomb. Movie stars stay there. In any case, you have to come with me. They’ll expect it.” Joanna pressed the card against her heart. “I’ll find you something to wear.”

“No.” Francesca threw herself into the seat beside Joanna. “They’re watching me. He as good as said so. Why would they do that? Do you think they found out about . . .” She trailed off, and reached for Joanna’s hand. “They run in the same circles. If they tell anyone I’m here, I’ll have to run again and I don’t have enough money.”

Unbidden came the thought of the money Stefano had shoved into the pocket of his coat. It would be stealing to take it and disappear. She had the feeling if she did run, Stefano would find her. He would never allow her to steal from him and not hunt her down. She shivered at the thought. She didn’t want him coming after her. He would be relentless and she doubted if he had much mercy in him.

Joanna shook her head. “You’re under Stefano’s protection. That’s what he meant when he said to my uncle to take care of what was his. Clearly the Ferraro family is looking out for you.”

Francesca glanced around the room, took the stack of magazines, held them up and lowered her voice even more. “Are you crazy? I can’t come under any scrutiny. You know that. No one can know anything about me. Having Stefano Ferraro showing me any interest, for whatever reason, even if he’s just worried about my well-being, is dangerous.”

Joanna looked crushed. “I love that club. Celebrities go there. Movie stars, Francesca. It isn’t like they notice me, but I get to see them up close. Some of the NASCAR drivers go there as well. The bartenders do amazing tricks, just like you see in the movies, and the music is killer. Best dance place in Chicago.”

“He said you could go anytime,” Francesca reminded gently. “It didn’t have anything at all to do with me.”

Joanna sighed and nodded. “I guess you’re right. What time do you get off?”

”

Your uncle said five. It’s nearly that now.”

Francesca didn’t have to look at the clock to know it was close to the end of her shift. Her feet were killing her, toes numb with cold. She was afraid she was going to get frostbite. She wished for a bathtub to soak in. The tiny apartment had only a shower, and the water wasn’t very hot. Still, she wasn’t about to complain. She had a roof over her head and Joanna’s uncle paid her a much better wage than she’d anticipated, which meant if he kept giving her the hours he’d promised her, she could pay another month’s rent.

If she just ate one meal a day at the deli, or grazed a little throughout the day, she’d save money. Electricity and water were included in her rent. She didn’t have a cell phone or a car. She was on the lookout for thrift stores so she could see if she could find a few more outfits.

“Why the big sigh?” Joanna asked.

“Why would it be such a big deal to the Ferraro family for me to buy a pair of shoes?” The temptation was there. Her feet were so cold she wanted to cry, not to mention, because the shoes were too big, she had blisters from them constantly rubbing.

“Is it a big deal?”

Francesca nodded, leaning into her hand. “Giovanni told me to buy shoes or his brother was going to be angry. He said not to make him angry.”

“He said that?” Joanna looked shocked.

“I don’t understand why Stefano would care in the first place. It isn’t his business. Does he go around the streets and search for people with holes in their shoes and demand they buy new ones? Does he have a shoe store that needs business? And why would he send his brother in here to make certain I actually buy the shoes?”

“Wow.” Joanna fanned herself. “That’s just . . . wow.”

Francesca rolled her eyes. “Don’t start. It isn’t wow. It’s creepy. Maybe his brother has a shoe fetish and my shoes don’t meet his standard for the neighborhood.”

“It’s wow and you know it. He’s hot. He’s rich. He’s interested in you.”

Francesca stiffened. “He is not. Not like that. Take another look in those magazines at what that man’s type is. It isn’t me. I’m no model. I’m short and have a lot of curves. All the running in the world isn’t going to get rid of my . . .” She indicated her generous breasts. “Or my butt. Not to mention, I didn’t see one Italian-American woman in the entire harem.”

Joanna burst out laughing. “Maybe he’s looking to add one.”

Francesca couldn’t help but laugh with her. “I don’t think so.”

“You are beautiful, Francesca,” Joanna said, sobering. “Really, really beautiful. Your face is flawless. None of those models have anything on you. Your face. Your hair.”

“My lovely figure,” Francesca said sarcastically. “I’m not a size zero.”

“You have a lovely figure. I’ve always been envious of that tiny waist.”

Joanna was tall and willow thin. She easily could have been a model. She liked food and ate more than Francesca could imagine any woman eating without gaining weight, but she just didn’t. Every one of their college friends envied her.

“I don’t gain in my waist, just up top or my bottom. No pizza for me.” Francesca loved pizza, and they were going out for her first Chicago pizza. Joanna told her the best place was right there in the Ferraro neighborhood. That’s what she referred to it as–the Ferraro territory or neighborhood–as if they owned it all. Maybe they did. At least the buildings.

“You’re going to eat pizza,” Joanna said. “You won’t be able to resist. This place makes the best. It’s orgasmic.”

Francesca burst out laughing again. “You’re so crazy.” Her smile faded. “Joanna. Seriously. Thank you. I don’t know how I’m ever going to repay you. I felt so hopeless and I was terrified all the time.” She was still terrified, but not so hopeless. And Joanna made her remember friendship, family and laughter.

“Don’t be absurd. I’m so glad you’ve come. I have friends here, but not a bestie. You’re my total bestie. In any case, you repaid me already. I have Giovanni Ferraro’s card and I can skip the line and get into the club or call him.”

Francesca smiled. “There you go. I’m good for getting you into clubs.” She glanced at her watch. “I’ve got to get back to work. I’ll wipe everything down and clean up for the next shift. Pietro should be back by then.”

Joanna waited for her and they walked out together, Francesca wrapped in Stefano Ferraro’s long cashmere coat. She’d considered leaving it in her apartment, but she didn’t dare. Her apartment wasn’t very safe. The lock was tricky and sometimes didn’t actually lock. She’d told the owner and he’d promised to put a new lock in, but she wasn’t leaving that coat where someone could walk in and steal it. Who knew that the responsibility of a coat would make her a little crazy?

It seemed silly to carry the overcoat to work, when it would keep her warm, so she wore it, inhaling Stefano’s scent with every breath she took. She hung it carefully in Pietro’s office rather than in the employees’ little break room. Pietro didn’t mind. In fact, he seemed happy that she was keeping the coat in his office.

She plunged her hand in the pocket. The money was there. All of it. She hadn’t counted it, but she had a feeling she might faint when she found out how much he’d left her. “Where are we going, Joanna? I thought you said the pizza place was the opposite way?” They were heading away from Ferraro territory and the pizza parlor was deeper into it. They’d gone three long blocks, all businesses. Two streets over she knew residences started. They passed her apartment building. It marked the very edge of the Ferraro neighborhood and the next block was rather like her building, shabby in comparison.

“There’s only one shoe shop open this late unless we go to the big mall and then we’d have to take the bus.”

Francesca halted. “I don’t know if I want to spend the money on shoes. Seriously, Joanna, I’d have to pay it back and I have to be careful so I can pay the rent. Having a roof over my head is more important than anything else right now. And I can try to find shoes . . .”

“Don’t say it. You aren’t going to find shoes at a thrift shop. No way. You aren’t putting your feet into something someone’s put their feet into.”

“Seriously? Joanna, I don’t have any money. I can’t afford to be picky right now. If Stefano Ferraro is going to lose his mind because I didn’t buy shoes and get all mad and punch out his brother, then I need to find a pair of shoes, but I don’t have to spend his money on them.”

“Punch out his brother?” Joanna echoed. “Did Giovanni say Stefano would punch him out?”

Francesca shrugged. “Something like that. He mentioned not wanting a broken nose.”

“Oh. My. God. I’m falling even more in love with the Ferraro brothers. All of them. They’re so hot. And cool. And gorgeous. I can perv on them for like forever.” She caught Francesca’s arm. “Here. This shop. Let’s just go in. You can see if you can find something you like.”

Francesca couldn’t help herself. She was sick of having freezing feet, wet socks and toes that were numb from the icy cold. Once again her hand crept into the pocket to the neatly folded bills. She took a deep breath and nodded. It was an insane thing to do, owe Stefano money, but the temptation when her feet were killing her after standing on them all day was more than she could pass up.

It was embarrassing to try on shoes when hers were in such horrible condition. Joanna knew the manager and chatted all the while, allowing Francesca to remain silent. She couldn’t look at the man. He was good-looking and flirted outrageously with Joanna. Apparently they’d gone to high school together. It took Francesca a few minutes before she realized Joanna was deliberately distracting him, knowing how embarrassed Francesca was over the state of her shoes. She felt very, very lucky to have such a good friend.

Shoving her wet socks into her wet shoes, she hastily pulled on the warm, dry socks Joanna handed her. Clearly, along with shoes, Joanna expected her to buy thicker socks. Having made up her mind, Francesca didn’t waste time arguing. She pulled them on and then allowed the salesman to help her into the boots that had caught her eye. They were lined and felt like a miracle on her feet. They actually fit and when she stood up in them and walked around the store, she had to resist making noises that might have sounded a bit on the orgasmic side. She was so taking the boots. She didn’t even care that they cost more than every article of clothing that she owned put together.

“I’m going to wear them out of the store,” she announced. “You can throw my old shoes away, socks and all.”

Joanna laughed. “That’s the spirit. A splurge is definitely in order.”

Francesca pulled the money from the pocket of the coat and walked with the salesman and Joanna to the counter. Every single step was heaven. Keeping her hands below the counter, so the salesman wouldn’t see, she counted out the bills. Most were hundreds. There were a few twenties and two tens. She knew the color left her face and her heart nearly stopped beating before it began pounding.

She caught Joanna’s arm and dragged her away from the counter. “Oh. My. God. Joanna. There’s over a thousand dollars here. I’ve been walking around with that kind of cash in the pocket of the coat. What was he thinking?”

Joanna gawked at her. “Are you sure?”

Francesca nodded slowly. “Positive. I counted twice.” She glanced toward the counter. The salesman was watching them closely.

“Is something wrong?”

For the first time, Francesca glanced at his name tag. Mario Bandoni was totally into Joanna. Even though he was asking Francesca if something was wrong, he was looking at Joanna with a softness in his eyes.

“No,” Joanna answered for them. She snatched two of the hundred dollar bills from Francesca. “We’ll take a couple more pairs of socks as well.”

“Joanna,” Francesca protested.

Joanna ignored her and handed the money to Mario. He flashed her a grin, disregarding Francesca’s protest as well.

“You going to write your phone number down?” he asked Joanna.

Francesca walked across the room to stare out into the gathering dusk. There were two men standing just off to one side of the store talking together. A couple walked by, the man glancing over his shoulder warily several times at the two men still talking. Francesca realized she’d never seen a hint of nervousness when she’d walked home from work the night before, or when she’d walked to the deli in the morning.

She wondered at a family who could protect their territory so well that the residents felt that safe, even in the middle of a city. Pulling Stefano’s coat closer aroun

d her gave her a strange sense of security. It shouldn’t. He was a terrifying man. She didn’t understand why he would give her a thousand dollars so casually. He didn’t know her. For all he knew she would go on a shopping spree at his expense. She knew, now that Joanna was aware how much cash she had, that Joanna would try to talk her into buying decent clothes. She’d probably insist they go to the club.

“Where are you two heading?” Mario asked.

“Petrov’s Pizzeria” Joanna said. “I plan on impressing Francesca with the best pizza in the world, although I didn’t make reservations. I’m counting on Tito letting us in. He always finds me a table.”

“Best pizza ever.” Mario flashed a grin at Joanna.

“We’re also thinking about hitting the Ferraros’ club this weekend,” Joanna said. “I’ve got a go-to-the-front-of-the-line pass. Do you like to dance?”

He laughed at her. “Joanna, come on. Who was the king of dancing in school?”

She wrote down her number. “Call me. We’ll set something up.” Waving her hand, she pulled open the door and they went back outside. She leaned into Francesca. “I’m so going to get lucky. I’ve always crushed on Mario. Always. He’s so sweet. And I have to tell you, the man can dance like no one’s business.”

“Only you can walk into a shoe store and come out with a date,” Francesca observed. “You could in college and apparently you’re still as hot as ever. I don’t think the man could describe me even if someone asked him to. He had eyes only for you.”

“That’s not true.”

Francesca laughed. “Don’t deny it. You’ve always been a man magnet, at least as long as I’ve known you. I’ll bet you were the prom queen.”

“You know I was, so you can’t bet on that,” Joanna protested, pushing at Francesca.

A hand caught Francesca’s coat from behind, whirled her around and slammed her so hard against the wall the breath was knocked out of her. She felt the hot burn of something against her throat. A man held her tightly, one arm shoved against her chest, the other holding the edge of a knife to her throat. She knew he’d made a very shallow cut there because not only did it burn but she felt the trickle of blood.

She should have thought about dying, but all she could think about, rather hysterically, was that she couldn’t get blood on Stefano’s coat. He loved that coat. He’d made a big deal about her returning the coat. She should never have worn it anywhere. Joanna let out a shocked scream that was hastily cut off. Francesca could see a second man with his arm around her throat and a hand over her mouth.

“Give me the money, bitch, or you’re dead,” the man with the knife snapped at Francesca. “Right now. Give it to me.”

She was going to owe Stefano a new cashmere overcoat that had to have cost what a car might, as well as over a thousand dollars. She had stupidly counted the money in front of the window of the store. She’d been so careful not to let Mario see the wad of cash, but she hadn’t thought about the window.

She couldn’t think what to do. She couldn’t let him have the coat or the money. She couldn’t get blood on the coat. She started to struggle, which was the absolute stupidest thing she could have done, but she was more afraid of owing Stefano Ferraro than of having the mugger slit her throat.

One moment her assailant had a knife against her neck and the next he was on the ground and the knife was in the hands of a big, burly man. Her savior looked furious. He wasn’t alone, either. His companion, looking every bit as scary, held a gun on the other man. He’d gently pulled Joanna to one side and then put her behind him, away from their assailants.

The first man, the one who had removed the knife, handed Francesca a handkerchief. She pressed it against the cut.

“Are you all right?” he asked. He kept a foot on her assailant’s neck, not allowing him to get up off the sidewalk. He wasn’t gentle about it, either. “I’m Emilio Gallo. That’s my brother, Enzo.”

Francesca pressed back against the building, very, very scared. No, terrified. This was her worst nightmare, to bring trouble to Joanna.

“We work for the Ferraro family,” Emilio continued, obviously trying to reassure her. “Cousins. First cousins.” He kept trying to soothe her, not realizing he was making it worse. “What were they after?”

The moment she heard who they worked for, Francesca tore the coat from her back and tried to shove it at Emilio. “Take it. Really. You have to take it. Take the coat to him.”

Emilio didn’t move. He stayed as still as a statue, one fist closed around the knife, the other hand down at his side. Both men stared at her as if she’d lost her mind.

Joanna moved cautiously around Enzo to put her arm around Francesca. “Honey, it was just a robbery. That’s all. Put the coat back on. You’re shaking like a leaf. Here, let me help you.” She took the coat from Francesca and held it out for Francesca to slip her arms back in. “There, honey, that will keep you warm.” Joanna smiled at their rescuers. “Do you want me to call 911 and report this?”

“You go along. Another team will pick you up so you’ll be safe. Mr. Ferraro will want to speak to these gentlemen in person.”

Emilio was soft-spoken, but Francesca wasn’t fooled. The two men were in a lot more trouble than they would have been if the police were called. A dark town car pulled to the curb, and Enzo shoved one mugger inside before Emilio dragged the one up off the ground and shoved him in. Francesca found it significant that neither of the muggers was tied up, yet they didn’t attempt to fight; instead, they looked very scared.

Francesca’s gaze clung to Joanna’s, but she spoke to Emilio. “You aren’t going to kill them, are you?” She couldn’t keep the quaver from her voice.

“Francesca,” Joanna hissed.

Francesca forced herself to look at Emilio. “Are you?” She tilted her chin. She didn’t have a cell phone to call the police with, but Joanna did and she’d use it if she had to.

“I have no intentions of killing them,” Emilio said. “Mr. Ferraro will want to talk to them.”

She didn’t ask which Mr. Ferraro because she was fairly certain she knew. Keeping the handkerchief pressed to the shallow wound in her throat, she let Joanna lead her away.

“He said there was another team on us,” Joanna whispered. “As in bodyguards. When Stefano said you were his to my uncle, I had no idea what he meant. He’s serious. Bodyguards? More than one team of bodyguards? That and his brother coming into the store to talk to you? What is going on, Francesca?”

“I have no idea.”

“What did he say to you when he took you outside? Did he ask you out?”

“No. Of course not. He didn’t show that kind of interest,” Francesca denied. She ignored the intense chemistry that had arced between them. She’d felt it, but she wasn’t positive Stefano had. “He just seemed worried that I didn’t have a coat or shoes. He told me to get myself something to eat.”

“He gave you all that money. You could buy some decent clothes with it. Clearly that’s what he wanted you to do.” Joanna snapped her fingers. “We could get you a killer dress for the club and heels to match.”

“We nearly got robbed and you’re thinking of spending the money? I’m going to ask your uncle to put it in his safe along with this coat. I nearly died when that mugger made me bleed and I thought I might get blood on Stefano’s favorite overcoat.”

Joanna burst out laughing. “That’s scary crazy and so are you, Francesca. Held at knifepoint and even cut, but you aren’t worried about being robbed, just a coat.”

“Not just a coat,” Francesca denied, with a small grin, finally finding humor in the situation. “Stefano Ferraro’s favorite coat. And after that I was worried about them taking his money and trying to figure out how I’d pay that back. I was considering stripping for a living.”

Joanna’s laughter went from forced to genuine. “Stripping?”

“I had four years of pole dancing for exercise in college. I believe you did as well. We were pretty good.”

“You were pretty good,” Joanna corrected. “You’re great at dancing, too. You can move your body in a million different ways all at once. I forgot how envious I always got when you were on a dance floor.”

“Muscle control and core strength. If you hadn’t cut half the classes for a dat

e, you would have managed the advanced classes.”

Joanna shrugged. “I was studying anatomy. What can I say? I got pretty good at that.” She took Francesca’s arm. “So what do you think? Should we go spend money at the mall? Get a killer dress and go out to the club this weekend?”

“No way. I’m not spending one more penny. In fact, if I make enough money to pay the rent before he comes looking for his coat, I’ll pay him back for the shoes and he’ll never know I used any of his money.”

Joanna’s eyebrows nearly shot into her hairline. “You are so stubborn, Francesca. If I had an opportunity like you have, protection from the Ferraro family, and a thousand dollars to spend, believe me, I’d be counting myself lucky, not resenting it.”

Francesca sighed. “I guess I do sound resentful instead of thankful. It’s just that . . .” She trailed off, looking around her. They were back in Ferraro territory. Whatever Stefano and his brothers were, the neighborhood felt different. Safe. She couldn’t imagine the attack happening on their ground. She couldn’t deny that she could feel that difference. She hadn’t felt safe in a very long time. Without thinking too much about the why, she snuggled deeper into Stefano’s warm coat. “He’s so wealthy. Not a little bit well-off, everything about him screams money. I don’t like that type. They live so differently than mere mortals like us.”

Joanna flashed a grin. “You got that right. Jetting off around the world at a moment’s notice. It’s no wonder they forget what it’s like to live from paycheck to paycheck.”

“They don’t forget,” Francesca corrected. “They’ve just never had to do it.”