“While you’re basking, could you finish their sandwiches and get Mr. Ferraro something to eat or drink?” Pietro asked.

Ricco leaned against the counter, looking hot, his arm around Lucia, nudging Amo with his elbow. “I don’t mind waiting, Pietro. I’ve got my favorite girl right here. Lucia and I are contemplating running off together. We’re discussing where we might go.”

“You’d need a big head start,” Amo said. “I’ve got a shotgun and I’d be coming after you. Can’t live without my woman.” He reached around Ricco and tugged Lucia under his arm. “I’d have to do you in, boy, and persuade her she can’t live without me.”

Ricco rubbed his forehead with his thumb. “I don’t know, Amo. Lucia is extraordinary. Everyone knows that. Shotgun aside, I might have to fight you for her.”

Lucia blushed like a schoolgirl. “You boys are terrible. What brings you downtown, Ricco? I don’t see you very often.”

“Keeping an eye on our girl,” Ricco said with a little shrug. Even that brief lifting of his shoulders seemed a powerful, fluid movement.

Francesca studied him while she made sandwiches for the Faustis. He was very handsome, gave off the aura of power and danger, a heady combination guaranteed to attract any woman, yet like his other brothers and sister, he wasn’t in a committed relationship. She knew Stefano worried about him. Of all the siblings, Ricco seemed to live on the edge the most. He drove that little bit too fast, lived his life a little recklessly, but he was always the first to back Stefano no matter what. She liked him, but then she liked all of Stefano’s siblings.

“Ricco, Emilio and Enzo are close,” she pointed out softly. “I appreciate you watching over me, but I’m fine.”

“Damn reporters are crawling out of the woodwork.” He watched her as she handed the sandwiches to Lucia and took money from Amo. When the couple retreated to the tables toward the back of the room, Ricco straightened and indicated that Francesca come around the counter and sit at a table with him. He chose one away from the few customers eating in the deli.

Francesca sank into the chair he held for her and waited until he brought coffee Pietro had made for them. “What is it? Is something wrong with Stefano?” She hadn’t gotten that from him, but now that he made an effort to get her alone, she was frightened. Ricco wouldn’t have come if it weren’t important.

“Stefano’s fine, cara. I would have said something immediately if he wasn’t. Things are heating up a little right now, and I wanted to make certain we’re taking extra precautions to protect you.”

Her stomach lurched and she pressed a hand there. “It’s Barry, isn’t it? You’ve heard from him.”

He shook his head. “Not yet, but we will. Stories are being written, Francesca. That’s what happens when you become engaged to someone like my brother. These fuckers dig deep and write any shit they can find.”

She went perfectly still, her heart pounding, the blood draining from her face, leaving her unnaturally pale. Of course they would find all sorts of terrible things about her. She’d been in a psychiatric ward for seventy-two hours. She’d been arrested twice. There were mug shots. Worse, they would dig up her sister’s murder and it would once again be splashed everywhere, all over the newspapers and in the tatty little magazines that seemed determined to ruin everyone’s life. Ricco wouldn’t be there unless something like that was already in print. She was afraid she might be sick.

“Francesca, look at me.” His voice was very quiet, but still carried absolute command the way Stefano’s did.

She swallowed hard and lifted her lashes, forcing herself to meet his eyes. “Why didn’t Stefano come to tell me?”

“He couldn’t get away. He was in a conference with the New York branch. An emergency that’s come up and he has to take care of it. You’re good, cara. No worries.”

She shook her head. “You wouldn’t be here unless whatever they printed was awful. I don’t know if I’m strong enough to go through that again.” Barry would make certain his people would feed that frenzy. He’d make her out to be an unstable criminal. She knew he would. He controlled the media when he wanted.

“You’re stronger than you think, and you’re not alone this time. You have the entire family backing you, and then there’s my brother. He’s fiercely protective of you. And, Francesca?” He reached across the table and put his hand over hers, stilling her nervous drumming. “So am I. So are my brothers and Emmanuelle. People are going to read that shit and even here, in our own neighborhood, a few idiots might believe what they read, but most will follow our lead. You keep your head up and just smile or shake your head as if you can’t be bothered to address all that nonsense.”