Shadow Rider (A Shadow Riders Novel Book 1)

“This is crazy. You’re kidnapping me,” Francesca managed to say, finally catching her breath. She wasn’t certain if she couldn’t breathe because Stefano had just showed her his ruthless side, or because he was the most attractive man she’d ever met in her life and her entire body responded in a very intimate way when he’d revealed that ruthless side. Why being thrown over his shoulder and carried through a building like a Viking captive should make her body damp and needy made no sense, but she couldn’t deny that she felt intensely alive and wildly attracted to Stefano Ferraro.

She caught at the safety belt to jerk it off of her, but Stefano’s hand closed over hers, preventing movement. “Calm the fuck down and stop fighting me. It won’t do you any good, and I’m already pissed off. I don’t like repeating myself, either.”

Francesca subsided against the cool leather of the seats, shocked at his tone. At the sheer anger. Stefano was definitely skating close to an explosion. She didn’t want to be anywhere around him when he detonated. “Wow. You wake me up in the middle of the night, without knocking on my door, I might add, and carry me out over your shoulder like I’m a sack of potatoes and you’re the one angry.”

A little snicker came from the driver and she glared at him in the mirror, but he didn’t look at her, his gaze studiously on the road. Still, she knew he was laughing.

“I was gentle with you,” Stefano reminded her. “So not like a sack of potatoes. I explained about the door, not that it would have stopped me had it been locked. You don’t belong in that building and you damn well know it.”

She winced at his tone. “Not everyone can afford to live at the Ritz.” She gave him tone right back.

“I live at the Ferraro, not the Ritz, which is where we’re going now.”

Her mouth fell open. The Ferraro was considered the height of luxury. No one could afford it but the rich and famous. “You are not taking me to that place. I mean it.”

“Why not?”

Her mouth opened several times but no sound emerged for the longest time. “Are you serious? I’m dressed in a sleeping bag. You can’t walk through those doors without looking glamorous. They’ll throw me out.”

For the first time, a faint glint of humor crept into the deep blue of his eyes. “Piccola, I own the hotel. I doubt anyone could do that without losing their job.”

Total male amusement. She didn’t think anything was funny about the situation. “No way. Drop me off at the nearest shelter.” She stuck her chin in the air.

Stefano looked down at her, and the impact of meeting his penetrating blue eyes felt like an arrow piercing her chest straight to her heart. Her heart stuttered and her stomach did a slow roll. All trace of amusement was gone, leaving his jaw hard and his eyes burning with a fierce anger that threatened to scorch everyone in the car.

“You are telling me that you would rather go to a shelter than come to my hotel with me?” He bit out each word separately from behind perfect white clenched teeth. “Would you like to explain why?”

No, she wouldn’t like to explain why. First, if she told him it was because he was wealthy, that would make her sound prejudiced, which if she were being entirely truthful, she was. Second, he was the hottest, sexiest man she’d ever come across in her entire life and already, in the close confines of the car, even upset at him, she couldn’t stop her body’s reaction to him.

“Do I have to have a reason?” She stuck her chin in the air.

Taviano snorted, and when she glared into the rearview mirror, he assumed an innocent mask.

“It wouldn’t matter anyway, because your reason is as much bullshit as you staying in that firetrap of an apartment. The only reason the building hasn’t been condemned is because Tidwell is related to the Saldis and they’re notorious for bribing officials or threatening them.”

“Like you’re doing to me?” she challenged.

“I’m not bribing or threatening,” Stefano denied flatly. “You just don’t have a choice.”

His voice was very low, velvet soft so that the tone played over her skin like fingers. She shivered and burrowed deeper into the threadbare sleeping bag.

“It’s called kidnapping if I don’t want to go with you.”

“I don’t give a damn what you call it, dolce cuore, just so long as you’re safe.”

That was hard to argue with, especially since she was a little bit freaked out and unsure of what just happened. She was beginning to panic. “Taviano, you tell him he can’t do this.”

“Nice of you to join us tonight,” Taviano said, glancing back in the rearview mirror. “I must say, my brother has good taste.” The teasing note in his voice calmed her. “Even my parents gave up trying to tell him what he could or couldn’t do when he was around ten,” Taviano added, with a quick grin thrown at her through the mirror.

There was no help there, but then she’d been pretty certain Stefano’s own brother wasn’t going to get her out of this mess. Clearly he found the situation amusing.

She glanced at Stefano and then away, unable to meet his eyes. “I don’t have any clothes.” The confession slipped out. Low. Under her breath. She kept her gaze firmly on the floor of the vehicle.

“Francesca, look at me.”

Her heart jumped and then began to pound again at his authoritative tone. She couldn’t imagine anyone disobeying him. Her gaze jumped to his before she could stop it. It was a mistake. His eyes were glittering with a kind of menace she couldn’t conceive. That, and something that made her stomach coil and the burn at the junction of her legs grow hotter.

“You’re safe. Just settle. I’m piss

ed as hell and you aren’t doing yourself any favors by trying to defy me.”

She sucked in her breath sharply. “Defy you?” She forgot all about being afraid or intimidated by him. “Like I’m some errant child you have to reprimand? You have got to be the most arrogant, annoying, bossy man I’ve ever encountered.”

“That about sums him up,” Taviano agreed, his grin widening. “We’re here.”

To her horror, he had really pulled up in front of the Ferraro Hotel. Taviano drove the car right up to the red carpet extending from the building, where several valets waited to jump into action the moment a car glided close.

“I’m not getting out,” Francesca declared. “I’m dressed in a sleeping bag for God’s sake. Really, Stefano, just take me to a shelter.”

She should have known better than to expect Stefano to comply. Apparently he really didn’t argue when he wanted his way–and he wanted his way. The valet opened the passenger door. Stefano slid out and reached for her.

“I’ll scream.”

“Go ahead, bambina. Make a scene. I don’t mind. You’re still going up to the penthouse with me.” His tone was implacable.

“Stefano.” She wasn’t above pleading.

He ignored her, his hands gripping her right through the sleeping bag. He was enormously strong and there was no prying his fingers off of her. He dragged her out of the backseat, tossed her over his shoulder again and without saying a word to anyone, he walked right up to the double glass doors. The doors were already open for him, the doorman grinning and giving him a little salute.

Going into the Ferraro Hotel was the most embarrassing thing Francesca could possibly imagine. Clamping her mouth shut so she wouldn’t scream in sheer frustration, she buried her face against his back, holding tightly to his shirt. She stayed very still, not wanting anyone to see her, but knowing everyone was looking. For one thing, Stefano Ferraro was hot and superrich and owned the entire hotel. Okay, maybe his family did, but still, who would expect him to be carrying a woman over his shoulder, upside down, cocooned in a sleeping bag? It was mortifying.

He went straight to a private elevator, keyed in a number and stepped inside. The doors glided closed. “Are you all right?”

“What do you think?” she snapped, pouring sarcasm into her voice. “You just carried me through the lobby of a luxury hotel in a sleeping bag.”

His hand shifted from her thighs to her butt. She felt his palm right through the material of the sleeping bag. Her breath caught in her throat. She was furious. And scared. The way he had his fingers splayed wide over her bottom affected her more than she cared to admit. She was so aware of him it was a sin.

“I did give you a choice. I told you that you could get dressed and come with me or I was carrying you out.” There was no remorse at all in his voice.

“God. Seriously, Stefano? That wasn’t a choice.” She wanted to pinch him really hard or sink her teeth into him, but he’d already smacked her on the butt once; she wasn’t going for a second time. Mostly because she had a strange reaction to his hand connecting with her even through the thin layers of material. Heat had rushed through her, arcing straight to her sex. Every cell came alive. Between her legs she felt damp and needy. She had a difficult time pulling in air. All from that brief contact.

“I don’t argue, Francesca. It’s a waste of time. You were in danger there. I told you when I had you safe, I’d tell you what was going on but you clearly decided to argue.”

“Do you think you could put me down?” It was sheer hell to be hanging upside down and trying to sound as if she were reasonable when all she wanted to do was bash him one.

“Are you going to hop like a bunny?”

Amusement tinged his voice and brought color spreading over her body. Her face was already red from hanging upside down. She couldn’t see what floor he was going to, but the elevator ride was smooth and long. That meant they went up a lot of floors. The one thing she held on to was that he had carried her publicly through the lobby. “People may have witnessed my most embarrassing moment, but they aren’t going to forget it. If you plan on selling me to some human-trafficking ring, someone will remember.”

“Good to know.” Sarcasm dripped.

It wasn’t as if she really thought he was going to sell her to the highest bidder, but he didn’t have to sound so patronizing.

The elevator doors glided open and he stepped into a foyer. It was quite large and opulent. She caught a glimpse of a mahogany table with a huge vase that looked like cut crystal with an enormous fresh flower arrangement in it. The floor was polished and seemed to be marble. She closed her eyes, not wanting to see any more. This was a nightmare. When Stefano put her on his black leather couch, he did so very gently.

She swept back her hair with one hand, holding on to the sleeping bag with the other. Her hair was wild from sleeping without braiding it, but she’d just been too tired. Mostly, she was exhausted from thinking about Stefano, having ridiculous, impossible, erotic thoughts about him that sent blood rushing hotly through her veins straight to her core. Her dreams had been worse, images she had no experience or knowledge of, but all with him.

It was his fault she hadn’t been able to fall asleep easily. His fault that her hair was a big mess, after sleeping on it and then being hung upside down. She glared at him, and if there was any justice in the world, he would have withered on the spot. Clearly there wasn’t because he paced across the room, completely unaffected, like a caged tiger, poured himself a couple of fingers of liquor from a crystal decanter and threw it back as if it was water.

Francesca licked her lips. Something about the set of his shoulders, the line of his jaw and the fluid pacing took her breath. “Are you angry with me?”

His blue gaze jumped to her face. Slid over her and went back up to hold hers. Oh yeah. He was angry.

“What the hell were you thinking, living in a place like that?” His voice was low. Venomous. Packed with menace.

She winced and studied him from under her lashes, trying not to look as if she was staring. He was really, really good-looking, but she’d seen attractive men before and her body had never responded quite so eagerly. He was totally confident in himself, bordering on arrogance and that alone should have put her off of him. Not to mention he was filthy rich and she totally detested that sort of person–a man with so much money that he clearly felt the rules didn’t apply to him. With all of that, she couldn’t stop her body from going into full-blown meltdown.

“I don’t see how that’s your business.” She wasn’t going to tell him it was that horrible apartment or a cardboard box in an alley somewhere.

Stefano opened his jacket, took out several DVDs, prowled across the floor and held them out to her. She kept her gaze on his face. He was angry. Really angry. He smoldered with a kind of rage she couldn’t begin to imagine. Very slowly she allowed her gaze to drop to the DVDs in his hand. They were homemade, recorded off a machine. She took them reluctantly and turned them over to look at the labels. Her name was scrawled across the front of two of them. The third had no name, and the fourth was labeled Vicki Wants It.

“What is this?”

“Your landlord is a fucking sex offender. He has cameras in the apartments and he spies on women undressing, showering and sleeping.”

Francesca felt the blood drain from her face. She knew she’d had a completely visceral reaction to Bart Tidwell from the moment she’d met him. He made her feel sick, but he owned the building and she needed a roof over her head. “Are you sure?” Her voice was a thread of sound, a whisper.

“Would you like to see the file we have on him?” Stefano poured himself another drink, downed it and turned back to face her. His features were a mask of sheer anger. “He also creeps into apartments and rapes the women and then blackmails them. He’s connected to a very powerful crime family, the Saldis, and they protect that piece of slime so witnesses never testify. He was marking you for his next target. I’m fairly certain he planned on visiting you tonight. There was tape over the lock on your door.”

She shook her head, her heart stuttering hard in her chest. Her mouth went dry. “That’s not possible.” But it was, of course. She could tell just by his anger that it was true. He was furious.

“I didn’t look at the recordings, but I suspect those are of you showering and stripping to get ready for bed.”

She couldn’t prevent the wince at the word “stripping” or the color creeping into her face all over again. “Oh. My. God.” She forgot all about holding up the sleeping bag and covered her open mouth with her palm. Her hand shook.

She didn’t have anywhere else to go. Worse, her only clothes were in that apartment and she wasn’t certain she could ever bear walking in there again. “Are you sure?” She knew the answer, but she still had to ask.

His eyes locked with hers. There was compassion there. Too much. She preferred his anger. Her stomach rolled and she felt the burn of tears behind her eyes. Blinking rapidly to hold them at bay, she took a deep breath to try to calm her churning stomach.

“Do you want to see what’s on those DVDs? The last one, the one that is labeled Vicki Wants It, I’m certain is a recording of your landlord raping that girl. There were more of these recordings than I cared to count in that piece of shit’s bedroom.”

She stared at him in horror, wishing she didn’t believe him, but there was no doubt in her mind that he was telling her the truth. He’d saved her. This beautiful man, far too wealthy and arrogant for his own good, the one she’d been afraid was involved in organized crime, had saved her. She just persisted in thinking the absolute worst of him.

Francesca looked down at the floor. The shiny, beautiful marble floor. “Thank you, Stefano. I don’t understand how this man could have gotten away with putting cameras in apartments, but I appreciate you making certain the recordings don’t end up on the Internet.” She couldn’t think about the possibility that Tidwell might have crept into her apartment and raped her. “How did you find out about this?”

“My cousin,” Stefano told her, studying her face. She looked so fragile, as if any minute she might burst into tears or just faint. He didn’t know whether to hold her in his arms and comfort her or shake her until her t

eeth rattled.

“Emilio. He took you home, did a walk-through of your apartment and didn’t like the fact that it wasn’t safe. He came to me, and I decided to talk to the owner about making certain his tenants were safe. My cousins, Renato and Romano as well as Zia Rachele and Zio Alfeo immediately began gathering information on him. They’re investigators. That’s what they do and they don’t make mistakes. When I went to Tidwell’s apartment, we discovered the screens up. You were on one of them, sleeping. It was easy enough to see he was recording you while you slept. From the labels on the rest of the DVDs, it wasn’t that difficult to guess what was on the other recordings he had of you.”

Her long, feathery lashes fluttered again and she shook her head. She’d gone from blushing to pale in the space of a few moments. Every protective cell in his body responded to her. She suddenly looked terribly young and vulnerable to him.

His body reacted, something that never happened to him. He was all about control and any kind of sexual response to a woman was allowed only when he was in a bedroom, certainly not when he was discussing a sexual predator with a potential victim. Totally inappropriate, but nevertheless, all he could think about was kissing her.

“I’ll have to thank Emilio.” She spoke in a small voice, barely a whisper.

“Do you want a drink?”

She pushed back the heavy fall of hair. Under the lights, the thick mass gleamed like silk, and he wanted to bury his fingers in that richness. Her lashes lifted and she met his eyes. The impact hit him low, like a wicked punch, a shot to his groin that heated his blood and made him feel primitive and a little bit savage. He was Sicilian, hot-blooded, and for the first time in his life, he knew what that meant–and it had nothing to do with his rather foul temper.

“Yes, please.”

She was completely panic-stricken and trying not to show it. He wanted to hold her. Comfort her. Take her to his bed and make her forget everything but him. He poured a small amount of brandy into a crystal glass and walked across the room to her. His shadow, cast by the overhead chandelier, reached for her. Simultaneously, her shadow threw out a feeler, and as if powerful magnets, the two tubes connected. The jolt was hard, pouring steel into his cock. He nearly burst right through his trousers.

Francesca’s eyes widened. Clung to his. Her lips parted, and he saw the telling flush on her face. She was no longer holding the sleeping bag up and it had fallen to her waist. Beneath the thin tee, her breasts rose and fell, her nipples hard little peaks, pushing at the worn material. That same sexual jolt had hit her just as hard.

Stefano stalked across the room, put the glass of brandy down on the small table beside the couch and leaned into her, both fists planted on either side of her hips. Close. So close he could see that her skin looked flawless and her lashes were even longer than he’d thought. Her scent caught at him, enveloping him in orange and cinnamon.

“You scared the hell out of me,” he hissed, his anger boiling to the surface all over again, this time mixing with a fireball of pure lust.

She had to shrink back, save herself, do something, anything at all to help him stay in control. She didn’t move away from him. The air felt electric. Their shadows remained connected, heightening his awareness of her. Of every breath she took. The length of her lashes. Her parted lips, a soft bow of a mouth, the tip of her tongue, her high cheekbones and the vulnerable line of her jaw.

He wanted to taste her more than he wanted to breathe. He realized it wasn’t a want so much as a need. He froze, his face inches from hers, imposing iron will on himself. Never, at any time in his life, had he lost control, not until the situation involved her. Francesca Capello. His brother had had to pull him back from killing the piece of crap Bart Tidwell. Here, he was, standing over the top of her, a woman who was clearly afraid of him, about to kiss her. His life was about control. Where the hell was all that famous control now?

Francesca’s lips rubbed against each other, a slow, sexy, enticing movement that robbed him of his ability to breathe. He couldn’t remember wanting a woman the way he wanted her. Her scent surrounded him until he was drowning in a field of cinnamon and orange. Every breath he drew into his lungs took her with it until he felt her inside him.

“Stefano.”

He groaned at the sound of his name. Soft. Sensual. Filled with longing. She felt it, too, that terrible pull brought on by the connection of their shadows. Brought on by the chemistry raging between them. She didn’t understand it and there was fear in her eyes. Fear and longing. Need almost as great as his. She shifted her body very subtly toward his, her face lifting a fraction.

“You scared the hell out of me,” he repeated, much softer this time.

Her lashes fluttered. Long. Feathery. Gorgeous. “I’m sorry. I didn’t know.”

“You shouldn’t have been there, Francesca.” It took effort to stay unmoving, while he battled for control. This was going to be the greatest fight of his life. He couldn’t afford to lose. He was fighting for his life. For the life of his family.

She moistened her lips so they glistened invitingly. Tempting him. Enticing him closer. Did she know what she was doing? He doubted it. There was too much innocence on her face. Too much fear in her eyes.

That fear and innocence gave him back his control. He straightened, taking himself out of danger. He stepped back, his body hard, full and painful. That part of him wasn’t under control. He turned away from her and went back to the decanter, every step difficult.

“Why didn’t you stay with Joanna?” He kept his back to her as he poured liquor into his glass. He didn’t want her to see the rage swirling so close to the surface. Rage at her friend who would allow her to stay in such dangerous circumstances.

“She wanted me to, but I felt like she’d done too much for me already.” The confession was low.

He turned his head and looked at her over his shoulder. Her chin was up. She wasn’t defeated, just frightened. “So you deliberately put yourself in danger for the sake of your pride?”

She opened her mouth to protest but snapped it closed just as quickly. Genuine confusion slid over her face. “I don’t know. I guess that’s exactly what I did. I didn’t realize that Tidwell was such a sleaze . . .” Her voice trailed off and she looked away from him, more color creeping under her skin. She looked down at her hands. “I did know he was a sleaze, but it never occurred to me that he would put cameras in the apartments.”

“Or tape over your lock so he could come in whenever he wanted and rape you?” There was no keeping the edge from his voice. He still wanted to shake her. “You didn’t try the door to make certain it was latched. You knew you were in a dangerous situation and yet you didn’t take precautions.”

There was a long silence. It stretched out between them. He knew how to use silence. He lived in silence. He worked in silence. Silence gained him the upper hand because he exercised control. He tossed back the bourbon and let the fire settle in his belly, warming him when he hadn’t realized he’d been so cold.

“I don’t have any clothes.” Her gaze came back to his. She’d told him the same thing in the car. Clearly she was concerned about it.

She looked . . . vulnerable. Forlorn. That look tugged at his heartstrings. He turned back toward her and leaned one hip lazily against the table.

“That’s not a worry. We’ll get you clothes. You had the money in the coat.”

Color swept up her neck into her face. He hadn’t realized a woman could blush so much.

“I didn’t want to use your money. I didn’t know when I could pay it back.” She cleared her throat. “I didn’t mean in general. I have clothes, just not here. Just not on.” She put the tip of her thumb in her mouth and bit down, her gaze not meeting his, but settling on his jaw.

“I see how that could be considered a problem.” Humor crept into his gut, easing some of the worst knots. “I’ll be right back.” He left her, knowing she couldn’t very well hop into the elevator and make her escape.

In the master bedroom, he selected one of his favorite shirts. The material was soft and would drape on her body lovingly. Because of the difference in their siz

es, she would be sufficiently covered, but she still couldn’t run off when she fully realized she didn’t have a place to go.

When he returned to the room, her gaze jumped to his and then shifted away as he handed her the shirt. She took it, and the movement caused the sleeping bag to drop lower, pooling around her waist. She wore a thin T-shirt. There was a hole up by her right shoulder, allowing him to catch a glimpse of her soft skin. That little hint sent another rush of hot blood coursing through his veins.

Her breasts rose and fell beneath the material. He could see the outline of her nipples, the way they pushed hard against the restraint. She was nearly as aroused as he was. For a moment, he couldn’t breathe. Couldn’t speak. He could only look at her and savor the moment, knowing she belonged to him.

“This will do until we get you some clothes.”

“I can’t stay here.” She made the declaration, obviously having worked herself up in the short time he was gone.

“Just for tonight. I have several rooms, and you’ll be safe. If you’re worried, you can put a chair under the doorknob.” Not that that would ever keep him out, but he wasn’t going to tell her that–yet. “You can get a good night’s sleep and we’ll tackle the problems in the morning.”

She took a deep breath and without realizing she was doing it, rubbed the fabric of his shirt against her cheek. He recognized it as a nervous gesture, but to him it was significant. She didn’t realize it, but already she was turning to him for reassurance.

“I don’t see how this situation can be resolved,” Francesca said. “I can’t go back there, but I can’t afford anything else.”

“A situation can always be resolved. You’re not going back there and we’ll figure it out in the morning. I’ll give you a couple of minutes to change out of the sleeping bag and into my shirt.”

He allowed a trace of amusement to enter his voice. She rewarded him with a faint smile.

“I don’t know, Stefano. This sleeping bag is pretty chic. The latest rage.”

“I’ll admit, on you, it looks pretty good, but I don’t think you can walk around–or run from me like you’d prefer.”

Her smile widened. Reached her eyes. Lit them so they glittered like gems. “I think I’m so exhausted that I’ll kick off my running shoes for the night.” The smile faded. “Honestly, Stefano, thank you for rescuing me.”

His gut clenched hotly. “You’re very welcome. Do me a favor and next time give me the benefit of the doubt.”

“So you think there will be a next time?”

“Without a doubt.” His phone buzzed and he glanced at the screen to identify the caller. “If you’ll excuse me for a moment . . .” He turned his back on Francesca and made for the doorway. “Tell me, Vittorio.” He listened to the explanation Joanna had given to his brother and anger began to swirl like a dark, murderous shadow in his belly.

“That isn’t good enough. You tell Joanna that excuse is bullshit. The minute she knew Francesca was living in that building and wouldn’t listen to reason, she should have come to me. I don’t give a flying fuck if I intimidate her. She could have gone to you or Giovanni,” he hissed. “She could have had her uncle call us. What she did was totally unacceptable.”

He glanced over his shoulder, feeling Francesca’s eyes on him. She had crawled out of the sleeping bag and dragged her T-shirt over her head, tossing it aside on the couch. She pulled on his shirt hastily, giving him a glimpse of bare skin and full curves. Need slammed into him, in spite of the anger. It was urgent, hot and decidedly uncomfortable. He watched her slide the buttons closed, one by one. He didn’t take his gaze from the sight and she didn’t look away from him. Not once.

“I’ve got to go, Vittorio. Please make certain she understands that Francesca will never be allowed in that kind of danger again. I will hold her responsible, and she doesn’t want that.” He snapped the phone closed and shoved it in his pocket.

Francesca swallowed hard. “Are you angry with Joanna for some reason?”

“Yes.” His voice was clipped. Abrupt. It was the best he could do because he still wanted to drag Joanna out of her safe bed and scare the holy hell out of her.

“Why?”

She walked closer to him on her bare feet. She had small feet and shapely legs. The tails of his shirt came just midway down her thighs. The shirt enveloped her, but she looked sexy and enticing, as if she was wrapped up like a present for his bedroom.

He allowed his gaze to drift possessively over her body before coming back to her face–that face that he found so beautiful. “Francesca, you live in Ferraro territory, and that makes you mine. You don’t have to understand it, but just accept that what I’m telling you is the truth. My family looks out for the people here. We take their safety and well-being seriously. If anything had happened to you, there would have been far-reaching consequences.”

She nodded slowly, the pad of her thumb slipping between her teeth. She bit down in agitation. His cock jerked in reaction.

“What has that got to do with Joanna?” She halted a few feet from him.

“Joanna has lived in our territory all of her life. She’s been safe and she counts on feeling safe. She knew better than to allow you to live in that shit hole.”

She winced at his language, making him aware of it. He wasn’t a soft man. He never had been and he certainly didn’t mince words.

“Joanna doesn’t have a say in anything I do. She objected, but I didn’t want to take her money. She lent me the money for the bus ticket out here. She’s been nothing but kind to me. She didn’t turn her back on me even when it meant she was jeopardizing herself. I couldn’t take more from her.”

There was a long silence and her gaze skittered away from his when she realized exactly what she’d revealed to him. So there was a problem, something big that made her other friends and possibly family turn their backs on her. Joanna hadn’t. He could be grateful for that.

“What happened that others turned their backs on you?” He made a conscious effort to soften his tone.

Her chin went up. She squared her shoulders. “It’s of no consequence. I asked you why you would hold Joanna responsible for my actions. She couldn’t force me to do what she wanted.”

“She should have come to me.” His tone said it all and he knew she got the message. Joanna might not be able to force her to compliance, but he could. He kept his gaze on hers, not allowing her to look away from him again. Wanting her to see he meant business.

“You aren’t responsible for me.”

He shrugged. “You saying that doesn’t make me feel any different.”

“Stefano, I have to ask you this, and I don’t want you to be angry with me. It’s just that you’re very scary at times and I don’t understand what’s going on here.”

“What’s going on here is that I’m attracted to you. Aside from that, you belong in my territory. That means I protect you whether or not you like it and whether or not you’re always comfortable with how I go about protecting you.”

“Are you mafia? A part of organized crime?”

He kept his eyes on hers, refusing to allow her to look away. If she had the audacity to ask such a question, she should have the courage to look him in the eye while she did it.

“Does it matter to you what I do?”

“Of course it does. I don’t like the idea of anyone selling drugs or running guns, doing anything so deplorable, protecting me.”

“I can assure you I don’t sell drugs, nor does any member of my family. We don’t run guns, either.”

He saw the relief on her face. She pushed at her hair and sent him a tentative smile. “I think you’re right about going to bed. It’s been a long day and I need to sleep before I figure out what I’m going to do next.”

He indicated for her to follow him. He hadn’t lied to her. No member of his family would even consider selling drugs or running guns. That didn’t mean they never worked with the scum who did do those things. He pushed open the door to one of his guest bedrooms. “This room has a private bath. I’m close if you need anything. Otherwise, sweet dreams, baby. Don’t forget the chair under the doorknob.”