The elevator pinged a warning and Stefano’s arm swept around her, bringing her front to his side, locking her there under the protection of his shoulder. Francesca pressed her hand to his rock-hard abdomen. She could feel his heat and the reassuring muscles beneath the thin tee. Her throat went dry and her heart pounded when she heard Emilio’s voice announcing Barry Anthon. She couldn’t look. She didn’t dare. She did trust Stefano and the others to take care of Barry—eventually. That didn’t mean she didn’t have the compulsion to jump on him and beat him with her fists. It would hurt like hell, but it would be satisfactory.

“Barry,” Stefano greeted. “What a surprise. I had no idea you were in town.”

Stefano’s voice was calm, matter-of-fact, not at all as if just minutes earlier he had been assuring Francesca that he would be taking care of a murderer in a very permanent way. Keeping his arm tightly around her, he walked into the foyer to greet their guest.

“Good timing,” he added. “The family’s here tonight.”

“I didn’t mean to interrupt your dinner,” Barry said.

Her stomach lurched. She would know that voice anywhere. He sounded so normal. Genial even. She knew evil lurked under that first layer in his tone because she heard it. The snide contempt for everyone around him. She wondered if the others could hear it as well. Cella hadn’t been able to, and in the end she paid the ultimate price.

Stefano’s fingers bit into her waist hard enough to hurt. She forced her lashes to lift and found herself looking directly into Barry’s eyes. There was speculation there. A watchful, sardonic smirk for her alone. She refused to rise to the bait. She didn’t smile in welcome; she couldn’t manage even a sarcastic smile and he would never believe it anyway.

“I believe you know my fiancée,” Stefano said.

Barry inclined his head. “I do. I was in love with her sister, Cella, a beautiful woman. I’m afraid Francesca didn’t approve of the match. I had hoped, over time, to win her over, but unfortunately Cella was murdered and Francesca had to place blame somewhere. It fell squarely on my shoulders. I’ll admit I was surprised that you two had met, let alone gotten engaged. Francesca and her sister didn’t exactly run in our circle.”

There was no faulting anything he said, or even his tone of voice, but he still managed to reduce her to the jealous, younger sister who refused approval of her older sister’s relationship for petty reasons. He also had subtly pointed out that Francesca and Cella weren’t members of the elite upper echelon and she didn’t have his money or education. She didn’t belong.

That did make her smile. She belonged to Stefano. With Stefano. She felt the others moving closer, taking her back. She belonged to the Ferraro family, and no one fucked with a Ferraro. She lifted her chin. “There is some truth in there. My sister and I certainly never have run in your circle, Barry. As for blaming you, I blame the man who murdered my sister so viciously and I always will.”

Stefano’s fingers bit down again. He waved toward the great room. “Come sit down and tell us what you’re doing in town.”

Barry followed Stefano and Francesca into the spacious room and, after greeting the other Ferraros, took the armchair closest to Emmanuelle. Of course he would choose the one female Ferraro. Barry believed himself to be irresistible to women. He would flirt with Emmanuelle and try to get an ally in the enemy’s camp. Francesca wondered if that was what Valentino Saldi was doing and if that was what made Emmanuelle so angry with him whenever they met. No one wanted to be used.

Stefano directed her to the long sofa. He sat close to her, keeping her tightly against him, her hand pressed to his thigh. Ricco sat on the other side of her, almost as close as Stefano. She could feel his body heat and the wave of menace pouring off him. It was tangible enough that Stefano sent him a quelling glance. Secretly, Francesca wanted to hug Ricco. He didn’t like Barry’s subtle attack on her.

“What brings you to town?” Ricco asked, sounding every bit as pleasant as Stefano. He gave Barry a shark’s smile, all white teeth and politeness.

“There’s a company in town I was looking into,” Barry admitted. “It might be worth my time to either turn it around or sell it off piece by piece. I heard about the engagement and saw some of the really nasty articles written about Francesca. I thought I might speak on her behalf so none of you would jump to the wrong conclusions about her. After all, she could have been my little sister.”

It took every ounce of discipline she had not to launch herself at Barry. Her fingers curled into claws, nails digging into Stefano’s thigh. He didn’t wince, but he did smooth caresses over the back of her hand. The nerve of Barry Anthon, to act like he would or ever could “speak on her behalf.”