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.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
Francesca woke with her heart pounding and her mouth dry, the taste of blood in her mouth. Her tongue found the small tear in her lip where she'd bit it to keep from screaming and screaming like she wanted to. Instantly she felt his arms. His thigh between hers. His body wrapped around hers, keeping her safe. Stefano. She drew in breath and took his scent into her lungs.
"Bambina."
His voice was soft. Warm. So gentle it turned her heart over. One of her favorite things to do with him was just lie in bed and listen to him talk, especially about the neighborhood and the people in it. The affection in his voice was always stark and real. She especially loved these moments--in the dark, surrounded by his protective body and his voice sliding over her like the touch of his fingers. Caressing. Soothing. Driving away the remnants of her nightmares.
Stefano was always gentle with her in the middle of the night when she woke, his mouth soft against her skin, his driving needs held in check while he comforted her.
"What was it?"
"He's coming for me." Her heart still pounded. Her stomach felt queasy. She knew there was no way Barry Anthon would have missed the news that Francesca Capello was engaged to marry Stefano Ferraro. The announcement was in all the news. In magazines. Television. Stefano's publicist handled everything and made certain information on the engagement was spread far and wide.
"That's the idea, dolce cuore. We want him to come after us. We want him out of your life once and for all. That means drawing him out. Letting him make a mistake."
"You can't underestimate him, Stefano," she warned, a cold shiver creeping down her spine.
He stroked her rib cage with the pads of his fingers. Traced his name, brushing the letters until they looped on the underside of her breasts. He painted little sparks of electricity all over her breasts with soft, unhurried touches. His hand moved back to her rib cage and he tugged until she rolled onto her back. He kissed the marks at her throat and over her breast, featherlight kisses to remove every trace of the sting of a knife.
Francesca's heart jerked hard in her chest at the sight of his face so close to her. God, but he was gorgeous. Impossible to resist. "I've fallen so hard for you, Stefano," she whispered. "Please be real. Please don't hurt me. I don't think I'd survive it." The admission slipped out before she could stop it.
She knew what she was revealing to him. Those fragile feelings she couldn't help. Stefano was larger than life. A throwback to an era gone by when men were fiercely protective of women and children. Where having a code meant something. Giving his word and keeping it was a matter of honor.
H
is blue eyes burned over her like twin flames, taking her breath. So intense. Desire flaring. Hunger and possession stamped into the sensual lines of his face. "It doesn't get any more real than what I feel for you, Francesca," he said softly. His hand moved from her throat to the junction of her legs, his touch gentle, unhurried, unlike his usual rough, wild possession. "What we have together. It fills me up, bella, until I'm almost bursting. I've always been empty, and now you make me full. There's no going back for me."
Stefano shifted his body, rolling over the top of her so that his thick, heavy erection was nestled in the cradle of her hips. One knee nudged her legs apart. One hand caught her left leg, bent it and drew it around him, opening her up to him. Every silent command was gentle. Insistent, but gentle.
Her heart turned over and then began hammering, each beat thundering in her ears, rushing through her veins and pounding in her clit. She ran her hands up his chest. She loved the way his muscles were so defined, the way they rippled suggestively beneath his skin when he moved. Like a tiger. She shivered. Just touching him sent heat curling through her body and damp liquid made her slick with welcome.
"There's no going back for you, Francesca. Whatever happens, we'll face it together." He bent his head and kissed her chin. Nibbled his way under her chin to her throat. He punctuated each kiss with a bite. Each bite made her hips buck with need. This was a slow burn, not the out-of-control wildfire he created. The burn took her over, cell by cell, settling in before she was fully aware of what was happening.
"I reserve the right to protect you, Stefano."
His gaze moved over her face, melting her with those twin blue flames. "I love how you truly believe I need protecting and that you're so willing to try." He bent his head to her breast, his dark hair brushing over her bare skin. "Every moment I'm with you, bambina, I fall harder. It's difficult for me to believe you're real. You aren't the only one a little terrified."
His mouth made her squirm. Catch her breath. He knew exactly what he was doing to her, just how to bring that slow smolder to a hot burn. His hands moved over her skin. Possessive. Loving. Tender. So tender it brought tears to her eyes. His admission rang with truth and that brought a lump to her throat. Her Stefano.