“Bite me, Val,” Emmanuelle snapped.

“Anytime, Emme.” Valentino ignored the way her brothers shifted closer. “Just say when and where.” Even in the dark it was easy to see the way his gaze drifted insolently from her head to her toes, taking in every detail. “I can see you’re hurting for money, babe. You couldn’t afford an entire dress tonight? Stefano, you should help the poor girl out.”

“Are you always so rude?” Francesca demanded, mostly because Emmanuelle’s fingers bit so deep into her hand she was afraid her bones would break. She would never have guessed that anyone could upset Emmanuelle with a few nasty comments.

Stefano instantly shifted his body, thrusting Francesca behind him. The brothers closed in from either side and behind her, forming a solid wall between the two women and Valentino Saldi.

“Why do you do that, Val?” Stefano asked. “Why pick on a woman? I don’t get it, but then I never have.”

Valentino shrugged. “Emme always rubs me the wrong way. I don’t know why, but I’ll apologize if that’s what you want.”

“Not me,” Emmanuelle said. “It wouldn’t be sincere anyway, so what’s the point? Just go away. We’re celebrating my brother’s engagement.”

The bottom fell out of Francesca’s stomach. Right. To. The. Floor. She was suddenly on a runaway train with no way to jump off. Valentino’s gaze jumped to her face. He looked genuinely shocked. “Engagement? Stefano?” He recovered quickly enough, smiling gallantly. “Congratulations, Stefano. I’m happy for you.”

Strangely, in that moment, Valentino Saldi sounded sincere. His voice rang with honesty. There was no mistaking it.

“Francesca, Valentino Saldi and his cousin Dario Bosco,” Stefano introduced with more than a little charm, but he didn’t move, preventing the two men from getting close to her.

Dario nodded abruptly. Valentino’s smile crept into his eyes. “I’m sorry I made you uncomfortable, Francesca, and that’s a genuine apology. Stefano’s a lucky man. Emmanuelle, one dance before I go.” It wasn’t a request. He sounded every bit as arrogant and bossy as Stefano.

Francesca was certain Emmanuelle would tell him to go to hell. Her brothers and cousins all bristled, making it clear from the swell of anger vibrating around them that they weren’t happy with the order. Emmanuelle hesitated, but then her fingers loosened the death grip around Francesca’s hand and she stepped out from behind her family.

Valentino held out his hand. Francesca inhaled sharply as Emmanuelle put her much smaller hand in his and allowed him to lead her onto the dance floor. Dario followed his cousin, keeping pace right behind him, clearly acting the part of a bodyguard.

“Why the hell does she do that?” Taviano demanded. “Every. Damn. Time. She lets that bastard order her around.”

“She’s defusing the situation,” Vittorio said. “It works.”

“It only works because he has our sister in his hands and we can’t beat the holy hell out of him,” Giovanni said.

Stefano tugged at Francesca’s hand and she went with him onto the dance floor. The others followed, each catching up the hand of a woman as they passed her. Francesca felt sorry for the ladies dancing with the Ferraro family. The women were thrilled, but she knew the brothers and cousins had only taken to the dance floor to surround Emmanuelle and Valentino in a show of strength. Emmanuelle had her head resting against Valentino’s broad chest, her eyes closed as they moved in perfect rhythm to the music.

Francesca loved dancing. She’d always felt the music intensely, heard every instrument individually and then together to form, with her body, a perfect harmony. Adding Stefano to the equation only amplified the feeling. She’d danced with partners, but none felt a perfect match in the way she felt with Stefano, as if the two of them shared the same blood running through their veins, shared their skin and bones. Desire rose, sharp and intense, until she drifted, caught in his spell—caught by the rising tide of lust and passion that surrounded her, that consumed her.

Francesca nuzzled Stefano’s chest, breathing him in, that scent unique to him that filled her lungs and surrounded her heart. She wasn’t certain how he’d managed to penetrate her armor and gain her trust, but he had. She had questions, but the answers didn’t seem to matter when she was close to him. She had to believe that he was real, that he was innately good, because it was already too late for her. If he wasn’t as he seemed, if what was building between them wasn’t real for him, she wasn’t certain how she would survive.