Francesca ate lunch in the back room, rather than out front with the customers as she had done the day before. She was eating late, most of the day having slipped by with such a constant stream of steady customers. She was grateful to get off her feet in spite of the new, comfortable boots.

She thought a lot about her options—which weren’t many. The truth was, she wanted to stay, but it wasn’t fair to Pietro, who had been so kind giving her a job on Joanna’s word. She knew what Barry Anthon would do first. His men would talk to Pietro and insist he fire her. They would tell him about her “mental illness,” her police record of vandalism and destruction of property. If Pietro didn’t listen and fire her, they would target his store.

The men would ruin Pietro’s livelihood just to get to her. She couldn’t allow that to happen. Stefano’s hotel would be much more difficult to get to, although she was fairly certain even that wouldn’t go unscathed. Barry’s men had set fire to one of the apartments she resided in. She couldn’t imagine having to face Stefano or his family if Anthon burned down their hotel. Barry Anthon’s destruction was far-reaching. She closed her eyes and pushed her forehead into the heel of her hand. She was going to have to leave. It wasn’t fair to put any of these people in Barry’s path.

“Francesca? Are you all right?”

Startled, she jumped out of her seat, knocking the chair over, rocking the table so that the soothing cup of coffee she’d just poured splashed over the rim. Stefano’s brother, Taviano, the one who had driven the car from her apartment to the hotel, stood watching her closely. He looked uncannily like his brother. He certainly was as still and as menacing, his blue eyes every bit as assessing and sharp as Stefano’s.

“What’s wrong?” he demanded. He even had the same abrupt, bossy tone.

Heart racing, she stepped back. Taviano took up the room just as Stefano did. “Nothing. You just surprised me.”

Eyes on her, he reached down and picked up the overturned chair, gently setting it upright. “I brought your phone.” He held it out to her.

Francesca swallowed the sudden lump in her throat. Stefano. Looking out for her. Her fingers closed around the item. She felt as if she was grabbing a lifeline.

“You’re very pale. Are you certain that you’re all right? I can take you home if you need to go back to the hotel.”

She turned away from him with a shake of her head and a quick smile, afraid he saw too much. “I’m perfectly fine. Thank you for bringing me the phone. Your brother is very generous.” She hoped he was even more so. The moment the phone was in her hand, a new plan came to her.

“He’d like you to text him. Just so he knows you’ve got the phone. He said to remind you to text him if you leave the store.”

Those eyes never stopped watching her. She drew in a breath. “He did make that very clear. In fact, he was rather forceful about it.”

That got her a smile. “I can imagine. If you need anything let one of us know. Our numbers are programmed into your phone. Emilio’s and Enzo’s as well.”

“Thank you, this is very kind of your family.”

He shrugged. “We take care of our own. Make no mistake, Francesca, you’re one of us. If you have any kind of problem, you let us help.”

She nodded, trying to look reassuring. “I will.”

He started to turn away, but looked at her over his shoulder, a grin lighting up his face. “It’s nice to see you dressed in something besides that sleeping bag. The look was good, but this one is much better.”

“I suppose I’m not going to live that down.”

“You suppose right,” he said, and was gone, moving down the narrow hallway with the grace peculiar to the Ferraro family.

Francesca wiped up the spilled coffee and sank back down into the chair. The break room was small, much smaller than Pietro’s office. She turned her chair so it was facing the door, rather than the window. She’d wanted to see out, careful to keep watch for Barry’s man, but it wasn’t a smart idea to have her back to the door. Anyone could sneak up on her.

She sat in silence for nearly her entire break, sipping her coffee and working up her courage. Finally, she sent Stefano the text. She needed a loan. She’d pay him back as soon as possible. The loan was significant. Three thousand dollars. Her stomach churned as she typed out the request. She hoped he wouldn’t think she’d been stringing him along, biding her time, just waiting for an opportunity to get money from him. She bit down hard on her lip as she hit send before she changed her mind.