She nodded and allowed him to push her out the door. She turned and hurried down the hall. Just before she hit the main store, she remembered Stefano had her panties. She jogged back and opened the door. He was gone. She frowned, looking around her. The only thing she saw were the shadows of the buildings outside through the window racing across the floor. She sighed and shook her head as she went back to work.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
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."