Emilio and Enzo lounged by the door, and it was all she could do not to roll her eyes at them. They both grinned and put away their cell phones when she emerged.

“You cold?” Emilio asked.

She shook her head. Lying. The restaurant had been warm and the evening was very cool, but she knew if she admitted she was, Emilio would have whipped off his coat and then she’d be responsible for two of the darn things. Everyone seemed obsessed with her lack of a coat.

“Hey Emilio. Enzo,” Joanna greeted. “Out for a stroll again tonight?”

“Got orders, Jo,” Enzo said. “You two troublemakers decide you’re going to rob the jewelry shop, we’ve got orders to stop you.”

“So not fair! I’ve had my eye on a diamond bracelet,” Joanna declared.

“Sorry, girl. You’re going to have to give up that particular dream,” he said.

The door opened behind them and Francesca glanced over her shoulder. The boxer had emerged carrying a small box. He looked toward them and then abruptly turned the other way and walked unhurriedly down the street. When she turned back, Emilio was watching her. He raised his gaze to follow the man’s departure.

“Someone you know?” he asked. Low. Lethal.

He sounded just that little bit like Stefano. Definitely a relative. She shook her head. “I’m just a little jumpy.” She touched her throat deliberately. The last thing she wanted was for Emilio to report an innocent man to Stefano. She didn’t know what he might do, but she was leery. Until she knew what he was, criminal or just a very overprotective man, she was going to be very, very careful.

“We’re walking with you, Francesca,” Emilio said. “No one is going to touch you.” She saw the weapon hidden in the shoulder holster beneath his jacket when he moved. Like his cousin, both men wore suits, although not pin-striped. They were attractive and dangerous looking. She had to admit she felt safe with them.

“Thanks. I didn’t realize what a baby I’ve been until just now. I appreciate you taking the time.”

“Sei famiglia,” he said.

She didn’t touch that. They stopped at the deli and retrieved Stefano’s coat. Emilio, a gentleman like his cousin, held it out for her to slip into. She drew it around her, very close, loving the warmth. Loving that it still held Stefano’s scent. Joanna remained at the deli with her uncle while the two men walked with her to her apartment.

Francesca liked that they walked to her building. She stopped outside of it. Until that moment, she hadn’t been aware of just how different her building was from the ones they’d just passed. In the Ferraro neighborhood, all along the street where the businesses were, the buildings were immaculate, as were the sidewalks. Her apartment building was old and crumbling. Litter and debris were scattered everywhere along the walkway and, she knew, inside the building itself. Worse, it wasn’t that difficult to spot a needle or two lying near the entrance to the alley that ran along the side of the building.

“This is good,” she said firmly, halting abruptly. “I can take it from here.”

“Got orders, Francesca,” Enzo said.

They even talked like Stefano, in clipped, abrupt sentences when she knew they had the best education possible from private, very expensive schools as well as tutors in the home. Joanna had given her the magazines to read, the ones that had tons of information regarding the Ferraro family with their fast cars and faster women.

“Take a risk. Live dangerously. Ignore them,” she advised.

Emilio reached above her head and pulled open the door. “That’s not going to happen. You obviously don’t know Stefano. He’d skin us alive if we took another chance with your safety. How come anyone can walk into this building?”

She sighed. “If you insist on coming upstairs with me, try not to sound like him. It’s annoying.”

Truthfully, she hated walking into her apartment building, especially walking past the owner’s apartment. She was always afraid he’d open the door, and he was . . . disgusting. She didn’t feel in the least bit safe, but it was a step above sleeping on the street, her only alternative. There was something very creepy about the apartments. Oily and disgusting. She was fairly certain drug deals took place regularly both inside and outside of the building. She’d already stepped on a needle that had been thrown on the stairs. Luckily she’d been in her new boots and not her holey shoes.

The place was poorly lit. The stairs were creaky and the carpet torn and shabby. The walls were dingy and smelled like smoke. Still, it was a roof. It was cheap. She needed both.