Perversely, she even liked him bossy when he was telling her what to do sometimes. She liked that he was decisive, confident and willing to take charge. She supposed when she was thinking about other things besides sex that might make her a little crazy, but right now, that was part of the chemistry.

To her dismay, when she emerged to wash her hands, the three blondes were there. Janice, in her venomous glory, was leaning down to sniff a line of cocaine right off the sink. Francesca raised an eyebrow but said nothing, going to the opposite end of the sink to the last basin.

Doreen nudged Stella. “Little Miss Goody Two-Shoes is giving us the shocked eye.”

Francesca swept her gaze over the three women coolly. “Not shocked, just a little horrified. That can’t be too sanitary.”

“Sanitary?” Janice straightened, rubbing her nose to get the white powder clinging there off. “You’re going home with Stefano Ferraro and you want to talk sanitary? Do you really think a little virginal thing like you is going to hold a man like that for more than one night? He likes spice, honey. He likes a woman to know what she’s doing in his bed. You don’t look like you know your way around a cock without a diagram.”

The three women erupted into crude laughter. Francesca took the warm towel from the attendant, who met her eyes just for a moment, sympathy plain there. Maybe even a show of support. That quick, with just one brief moment taking her eyes off the other women, Doreen stepped behind her, her arms whipping around Francesca, holding her in place.

A toilet flushed in one of the stalls. Stella called out, stepping in close to Francesca. “Stay in the stall, bitch, unless you want to get hurt. You”—she indicated the attendant—“go find somewhere else to be.”

Francesca forced herself to remain calm, when her temper was rising at an alarming rate. “Are you kidding me right now? You’re grown women. You have careers. This is absolutely ridiculous. Doreen, let go of me.”

“We’re going to see how much Stefano likes his little virgin when he sees she’s really a coke whore,” Janice snarled, her eyes so narrow they appeared to be twin bright slits.

Doreen tried to push Francesca forward toward the sink and when Francesca resisted, Stella joined forces, shoving hard. Francesca was horrified. It had never occurred to her that three successful women, all grown and supposedly sophisticated and elegant, would resort to such childish and criminal assault. She realized they really meant it; they were going to push her face into the cocaine Janice had smeared on the sink. She slammed her heel hard into Doreen’s shin, scraped down it so that she tore Doreen’s stockings and stomped hard on her foot.

Doreen screamed out a string of ugly curses and flung Francesca forward into the sink. Francesca hit hard against the marble, but she spun around before Stella could push her face into the white powder. Janice shoved her open hand into Francesca’s face in an attempt to coat Francesca’s nose and mouth with the drug.

Suddenly Janice was dragged backward and Emmanuelle was there, moving so fast she seemed a blur of motion, barely discernible as she smoothly and efficiently dispatched all three women, using her hands and feet. One moment they were all standing and the next they were on the floor, faces swelling and bloody. All three cried, makeup running down their faces. Emmanuelle stood over them, contempt on her face, her body posture threatening. She looked every inch a Ferraro—a woman no one would ever want to mess with.

“Are you okay, Francesca?” In spite of her clear threat toward the three women trying to push themselves up onto their hands and knees, she appeared as calm and relaxed as ever.

“Yes. They didn’t hurt me.”

“Stay still,” Emmanuelle hissed, nudging Janice with her foot. “You just tried to drug my future sister-in-law. She’s Stefano’s fiancée. What do you think he’s going to do when he finds out what you’ve done?”

The faces turned up toward them went very pale. Doreen began to cry. The three of them made no move to get off the floor, obeying Emmanuelle’s directive.

Francesca checked her face in the mirror to make certain there was no trace of the white powder. “I’m fine. We don’t need to share this with Stefano.”

“Yes, we do,” Emmanuelle said firmly. “You can never keep anything from Stefano. Never, Francesca. Especially when you’ve received threats. The slightest threat needs to be shared with the family.”

Francesca took a breath. Emmanuelle was saying much more than what appeared on the surface of her admonishment, but what it was, Francesca had no idea. Still, in spite of the fact that Emmanuelle was very small, even shorter than Francesca, she appeared a woman of sheer steel.