She thanked him. For doing his job. She looked at him with stars in her eyes and a soft, killer smile that was going to be the fucking end of him. She looked at him as if he could solve the world's problems in a few hours, fight the bad guys and still be home in time for dinner. He liked that look a lot.
He framed her face with both hands and brought his mouth down on hers. She tasted like love. Like sex. Like perfection. Once he started kissing her, he couldn't stop. He found himself devouring her. Exchanging breath. Telling her without words that forty-eight hours without her was too damned long.
For the first time in his life that he could remember, he allowed himself to sink into someone else's strength. Seeing a seventeen-year-old girl beaten and abused physically, sexually and emotionally had torn him up far more than he wanted to admit to himself. He'd held himself aloof, keeping under control, using his rigid discipline to keep from seeing the look in her eyes when she'd turned the knife on herself. Had Taviano not been there, she would be dead.
His eyes burned and he couldn't breathe because of the raw lump blocking his throat. He lifted his head, looking down at her, into her eyes. He saw only love there.
"It was bad?" she whispered, pressing closer.
"It was bad," he agreed. "I don't fucking understand. I'll never understand how anyone could do that to a child. Any child. Any woman." He touched his forehead to hers. "I'm wiped, dolce cuore, absolutely wiped."
"Go take a shower," she whispered. "I'll fix something light and then you can go to bed. You need to sleep."
Fussing over him. Taking care of him. Stefano enfolded her in his arms, keeping her close to his heart. Burying his face in the luxury of her thick, silky hair, he just held her, needing to feel her soft body imprinted on his.
Francesca didn't pull away or try to hurry him. She held him. Tight. Breathing him in the way he was breathing her in.
"I missed you, Stefano," she said softly, the murmur nearly lost against his suit jacket. "I couldn't sleep at night without you."
"I worried about you," he admitted, one hand sliding up the curve of her spine to bury his fingers in her wealth of hair. "I knew you wouldn't be able to sleep, or if you did manage to sleep, you'd have nightmares. I'm sorry I couldn't call you." He'd never thought much about that mandate until he'd wanted to reach out to his woman.
"No." She tipped her head back to look up at him. "Emme explained how important it was that everyone think you were here, with me." She went up on her toes and pressed kisses along the line of his jaw. "Your safety is the most important thing. I'm just so grateful that you do what you do so that girl is safe."
His heart clenched hard in his chest. "Amore mio, this is the first time in my entire career I've done something like this. Mostly, what I do is eliminate someone like Barry Anthon. Someone untouchable by the law. Or I recover an elderly woman's purse with her last few dollars in it. I'm not a hero. Don't think I am," he warned.
She laughed softly and pulled out of his arms. "You're my hero, Stefano, and you always will be. Go shower. We can talk when you're lying in bed and drifting off."
"When did you get so bossy?" He wanted to hold her forever. Take her into the shower with him, which would lead to interesting things. His cock jerked at the thought.
She dodged his outstretched hand. "Someone has to take care of you." She reached out and trailed her fingertips over the growing bulge in his trousers. "I'm a full-service kind of woman. Go shower, honey, and let me take care of you." Her eyes met his. "I need to. You always take care of me. It's my turn."
He fucking loved that. He watched her go into the kitchen before turning to the master bedroom. He'd wanted a home his entire life. He hadn't known love or laughter until he'd visited his aunts and uncles and realized his cousins had something important and valuable in their lives that his siblings and he didn't. Until he'd gone home with Cencio and been introduced to his mother and father. Lucia and Amo were loving and warm all the time. Stefano wanted that for his brothers and sister. He wanted that for himself.
"Francesca." He murmured her name aloud as he stepped under the soothing hot water. It poured over him and pounded into his aching muscles. He didn't know what he'd ever done to deserve her, but he had her and that was all that mattered to him.
He took his time because the water felt good, washing his sins away along with his exhaustion. He dressed in loose-fitting drawstring silk pants and a tight, ribbed wifebeater before padding barefoot into the kitchen.
Francesca was humming softly to herself, her back to him, long hair flowing almost to her waist, as she mixed the pasta. His shadow connected with hers and she looked up instantly with a smile. "Hey, honey. Feel better?"
He nodded and kept going straight to her. "You brought in groceries." She had made pasta with grilled tiger shrimp and fresh parmesan cheese. A salad sat on the smaller dining table in between the dishes already set out. There was an open bottle of red wine on the table along with two wineglasses.
"I had to get groceries if I was going to be cooking for us. I really enjoy cooking, Stefano." She flashed a smile. "It gives me a chance to show off."
He swept her hair off her neck and over one shoulder so he could bend down and kiss her neck, sending a little shiver down her spine. "I like the idea of you cooking for us. Feels like home." He took the bowl of pasta from her and carried it over to the table. "What have you been up to while I've been gone, other than grocery shopping?" He narrowed his eyes. "And you took Emilio and Enzo of course."
"Actually, Emmanuelle and Enrica went with me," she corrected, sliding into the chair across from his. "Enrica is all business when we're out somewhere, but so funny when we're alone. I really like her."
He nodded as he served both of them pasta. "Emilio, Enzo and Enrica were always getting into trouble when they were teenagers. Enrica used to sneak out her window to go on a date, because if her brothers or cousins knew, she always had a noisy escort with her."
Francesca laughed. "I can't imagine how awful you all were. You boys seem to have the girls outnumbered."
"Thankfully. We like to keep an eye on our women and we can't do that if there's too many of them."
"Such a chauvinist. Emmanuelle was helping me learn what you all do for those in the neighborhood."
His head jerked up, the smile fading. He was going to strangle his sister with his bare hands. "What the fuck does that mean?"
She winced. "Seriously, Stefano, you're going to have to clean up your language before we have children. We just answered some of the calls and checked on people. There's a flu going around and it hit some of the elderly hard. We went to their homes and brought them medicine, or whatever else they needed. Don't tell me you don't do that, because Emme gave you away. My big macho badass takes soup to Agnese Moretti, the schoolteacher, and the homeless woman, Dina, as well as Mr. Lozzi and Theresa Vitale. I sat with each of them and heard all about my man and what a saint he is." She grinned at him. "Actually, Agnese didn't mention the word saint--that was Signora Vitale. I believe Agnese said there was hope for you yet."
He couldn't help himself; he leaned back in his chair and laughed. That was exactly what his old schoolteacher would say about him. And she'd say it in her prissy schoolmarm voice that told everyone they'd better not contradict her because she was always right. Dio, but he was happy to be home.
"That woman. Is she very ill?" He couldn't help the concern. He had a special place in his heart for Agnese. Most of the neighborhood did. Especially those she'd taught with such gruff compassion.
"Not as sick as Signora Vitale. I had Enrica call a doctor just to be safe. She's in her eighties and the flu can be difficult on the elderly. The doc said with a little care she should be fine. Her grandson is staying with her. He promised to heat up the soup and feed her every two hours, even if she takes just a couple of bites."
Stefano shook his head. "So you met Bruno. Was he disrespectful? Did you get the impression he'd actually take care of his grandmother?"
Francesca nodded. "Absolutely. Your 'talk' with him must have helped, because he really listened to the doctor and seemed genuinely concerned. I have no doubt that he loves her."
"There was never a doubt about that, only that he was a selfish brat. She gave him every damn thing he ever wanted, even when she couldn't afford it and had to sacrifice. He never seemed to notice. I just pointed that out to him--that and explained the consequences of dealing drugs in our neighborhood or anywhere else for that matter. I also promised him that if he went to prison on a drug sale charge, I could still reach him there."
"Could you do that?"
"I'm a shadow rider, bambina--of course I could get to him in prison." He took a second helping of pasta. "This is good, Francesca, really good."
"So explain to me all about riding shadows. What that means. Why you can't say anything until we're married. Clearly we're going to be married."
He put down his fork and studied her face. She wasn't looking to bolt. She was unafraid and very accepting. She already had an idea of what he did and she not only accepted it; she made it clear she stood behind him all the way. He either trusted her or he didn't. He had asked her to trust him blindly and she'd done so.
"You have to be certain, bella. There's no going back from this. There would be . . . consequences."
"I think I got that, Stefano." She put her fork down as well. "Are you finished? If you want, we can lie down and you can tell me."
He had the beginnings of a headache, mostly from being tired. He was usually good at forty-eight hours without sleep but anything beyond that could start taking its toll on his body, especially if he'd been shadow riding. "Thanks, dolce cuore, the bed sounds great."
"I'll just get these dishes done. It won't take me long."
"Leave them. The service will do them."
She smiled and shook her head. Stefano knew she wasn't comfortable with his money or anyone waiting on her. The elevator pinged, his only warning. He snagged the gun taped beneath the table and was on his feet. "Were you expecting anyone?"
She shook her head, fear creeping into her eyes. He hated that. Hated that she would ever need to feel afraid of anything. She was his. His woman had a lot to contend with, but fear shouldn't be one of them. "Get behind the counter and stay there until I tell you it's safe."
Francesca didn't argue with him. She nodded, her face pale, her eyes haunted. Anger churned in his gut as he stepped out from behind the table and moved with the shadows through the dining room toward the entrance. If Barry Anthon or any of his men had managed to penetrate his security, he'd be shocked. The hotel was a fortress. Getting up to his penthouse without detection was nearly impossible unless you were family and had the codes to the elevators.
His breath hissed out of his lungs, and his anger boiled to the surface. He stepped into the great room, locking his gun on his target, uncaring that his mother gasped and took a step back.
"What the fuck?" he demanded. "You don't even have the common courtesy to call first?" He raised his voice. "It's Eloisa, Francesca." He didn't tell her to join him because he could see his mother's agitation. She'd worked herself up to one of her self-righteous lectures and was fully prepared to be cutting, rude and ugly, just as she'd been about his future wife. Francesca didn't need to hear any more.
"How dare you, Stefano?" Eloisa snapped. "I understand now why you and Taviano skipped the briefing altogether. You endangered all of us, the entire family, with your recklessness, and now you're hiding up here in your little love nest, afraid to face me because you know what you did was careless and stupid."
"How dare you?" Francesca's voice came from behind them. She walked right up behind Stefano and slipped her arm around his waist. "Stefano is not reckless and you know it. He isn't hiding up here afraid to face you and I think you know that, too."
"Stay out of this," Eloisa snapped. "You have no right to interfere in family matters. You don't have a clue what we're talking about."
"Be very careful how you speak to my woman, Eloisa," Stefano warned, his voice dripping ice, but his heart had turned over at the show of absolute support from Francesca. Even his siblings didn't interfere when Eloisa was raging at him for some infraction. He'd always been the head of the family for his brothers and sister. He fought their battles with Eloisa, not the other way around. It felt good to have someone stand with him, even though he didn't need it. He had been arguing with his volatile mother from the time he could talk. "We're to be married, in spite of your objections, in a couple of weeks. She'll be my wife and with me, the head of the famiglia."
"Perhaps it would be best to start again," Francesca suggested. "Would you care to sit down, Eloisa? I'm Francesca Capello. We haven't been formally introduced."
Eloisa stood for a moment, obviously struggling with her temper, but to Stefano's surprise she nodded her head. "It's nice to meet you, Francesca. Please excuse my rudeness the other day. I had no idea you were in the house and would overhear the things I said to my son, things I believed at the time. Since then, I have read the numerous reports gathered on Barry Anthon and I know I was mistaken. I should have done what we always do and gathered the facts first."
Stefano opened his mouth to agree with her, but Francesca dug her fingers into his side hard and he refrained from blasting his mother in the way he normally would have. He glanced down at his woman. He fucking loved thinking of her that way. She was . . . magnificent. Her head up. Her arm around his waist. Her eyes clear. There was no fear now, only a confident woman standing beside her man. Yeah. He loved that.
Francesca gestured toward the armchair across from the couch. "Thank you for that, Eloisa. I appreciate it. Emmanuelle tells me you've been helping with some of the wedding details. It's all happening so fast I'm a little overwhelmed, so I'm thankful for any help at all."
Eloisa took the chair across from them. Stefano tucked Francesca close to him, his thigh pressed against hers. He'd missed her. Really missed her. It was strange to think of a woman night and day, to worry about her and look forward to being with her. To inhale the scent of her and know you were home. To crave her body like an addiction and need the sound of her laughter and the sight of her smile. He'd never had that before and now it seemed as natural to him as breathing.
"We really do have to discuss this mess, Francesca," Eloisa said. "I don't want to distress you, but Stefano did something that wasn't protocol in our business and it could have gotten someone killed. I can't let it go by without saying something."
"If you're talking about Nicoletta, I'm fully aware of the situation," Francesca said. "By all means talk to Stefano about it, but get all the facts before you get upset. He had a good reason for doing what he did."
Eloisa's face flushed with anger. Her eyes went hard. Stefano had seen that look a million times. He could have told Francesca that Eloisa wasn't reasonable when she was emotional. Her temper was legendary in the family. Even her siblings trod lightly when she was upset.
"First of all, Stefano, Francesca shouldn't be burdened with the knowledge of our work until after the wedding." She bit out each word, her teeth snapping together, as if she might take a bite out of him if she wasn't so controlled.
"Eloisa, you don't get to tell me how to handle my personal business, not when it comes to my woman." Stefano kept his voice as mild as possible. His family could get loud in their disagreements, but with his mother, it went from bad to worse very quickly.
Eloisa's breath hissed out in a long stream of disapproval. "When it comes to you being careless about family business, Stefano, someone has to, and there's no one but me. Everyone else is afraid of you." She leaned toward him, narrowing her eyes, her finger stabbing toward him. "I'm not. You had no right to bring that girl to our neighborhood. She should have been left there. And Taviano had no business being there. His job was to be seen. To be photographed. Both of you left the famiglia vulnerable."
Stefano shrugged. "Fortunately, Eloisa, I'm the head of the famiglia, and I mak
e the rules, not you. It was my call. Taviano was there when he was needed, thanks to him acting on his instincts, which is what we're trained to do. I don't know why you're upset when we all did our jobs."
Eloisa leaned even closer, her eyes alive with anger. "Because deviating from protocol, something that has been in existence for a hundred years for good reason, at the last minute will get you killed. It will get your brother killed. You're both more important than this girl, whether she's a confirmed rider or not."
There was a shocked silence. Stefano counted his heartbeats, trying to control his temper. "Why would that be, Eloisa? Why would you think Taviano and I are more important than a seventeen-year-old girl? One being brutalized, raped and beaten nearly every fucking day since she was fifteen? If that isn't reason enough for you, this girl can provide children--riders--for our family. She could be a much loved wife to one of your sons. How is she not just as important if not more so?"
Eloisa's face turned red. She blinked rapidly, repeatedly, as if she had something in her eyes. Her fists clenched. "Because," she hissed, both fists clenched tight. "She is not my son. She is not Taviano. She is not you. I don't care if you and your brothers and Emmanuelle hate me as long as you're alive. As long as I know I did everything I could to make you the best riders out there. I sacrificed my entire life, my happiness, everything, in order for you and the others to live. To be prepared for a life you were born into. I wouldn't have chosen it for you, but I had no choice, just as you have no choice. I won't see you dead, Stefano. Not another one of my children before me. I won't."
Francesca's fingers bit into his thigh in warning. His gaze flicked to her face. He could see she was desperately trying to tell him to be cautious, to hear what his mother was saying, the underlying message. To hear the desperation and fury in her. He'd seen that a time or two in other mothers. Protective tigresses when it came to defending their children. He'd just never seen it in his mother.
She'd always been as cold as ice. She'd overseen every aspect of their training in the United States, even when they went to other families to train. She'd made frequent surprise visits to ensure they were working as hard as she deemed necessary. She couldn't go abroad with them, but she kept in touch, was just as demanding. His father had never shown any interest in their training. He'd never really shown any interest in them at all.