She took a breath and tried to still the screams in her head. She hadn’t had nightmares since she’d been sleeping with Stefano, but she was afraid they would start all over again. She felt as if she’d woken up from a beautiful dream to find herself in a horror film. Looking around the deli, she realized these people—Pietro, the Faustis, all the other customers she’d come to care about—were going to read those horrible things about her. They wouldn’t want to believe it all, but there would be enough truth woven in with the lies to make them look at her differently.

“Don’t answer questions. We’re going to have either Emilio or Enzo inside the store while you work. The other will be outside in front so you’re warned if any of the paparazzi come near the store. If that happens, you go to the back and let Pietro handle everything.”

She put both hands in her lap, curling her fingers into fists. She really, really liked Ricco, but right then she needed Stefano. Her first reaction was to run as fast and as far as possible from the situation. Her picture would be plastered everywhere. She couldn’t outrun that.

“Francesca, stop looking as if the world is coming to an end.”

“It is,” she hissed, leaning toward him. “You have no idea what it’s like to have people believe horrible lies about you. To have to live on the street with no job, no money, not knowing when you’ll have another meal. They took everything from me, including the people I thought were my friends. They took away my belief in the justice system, but most of all, my feeling of safety. I forgot, until Stefano, what it was like to feel safe. You and I both know, it’s human nature to believe the worst.”

She didn’t realize she was crying until Ricco shifted closer to her, threw his arm around her shoulders and used a handkerchief to mop up her tears.

“Stop.” He all but snarled the command. “You’re a Ferraro. You never, ever fucking let them see they got to you. Even here, Francesca, you keep your head up. You remember who you are. If you can’t do it for yourself, you do it for him. For Stefano. I know you love him. Don’t wince. Don’t act like you don’t know. You might not want to admit it to yourself or to him yet, but it’s there. I can see it on your face and hear it in your voice. We have gifts and we use them. Of course I would check to make certain you weren’t going to fuck him over. He’s so gone on you it would kill him.”

The sincerity in Ricco’s voice straightened her spine. The sheer honesty. He believed Stefano loved her. Needed her even. And he was right—as much as she was afraid to admit it to herself or to Stefano, she was totally falling in love with him.

“Stefano has a certain reputation, Francesca, and he needs to be respected. That’s part of how he can do what he does. You’re his woman. You can’t allow anyone to tear him down. If they manage to tear you down, they are doing the same to him. You’re a couple. That means whatever happens to you, happens to him.” He released her and straightened, his eyes on the large storefront window as he lifted his mug of coffee and took a long, slow drink.

She knew he was giving her a chance to pull herself together. She forced herself to sit just as straight and to take a drink of coffee as well. She would never let Stefano down. For him, she could weather any storm. If he could take the horrible things they said about her, then she could. She knew the nightmares would start again, but they would be in the privacy of her home, not in public.

The door to the deli was pushed open by a young man in his early twenties with long, straggly hair and dark glasses that covered half his face. He paused in the doorway when he saw Ricco, stiffening and then taking a deep breath before entering. He looked the worse for wear. His face was swollen and covered in bruises. He walked carefully, as if injured. He carried his arms in close to his body to protect his rib cage.

“Bruno,” Ricco greeted, sitting back in his chair. Relaxed. Casual. “Nice to see you on your feet. Heard you had a little accident. You feeling better?”

Immediately the atmosphere in the deli changed subtly. There was an undercurrent of danger, yet Francesca couldn’t see or hear any reason why it should feel that way.

The boy bobbed his head repeatedly and sidled closer to the counter.

“Your grandmother in good health?” Ricco persisted.

Francesca instantly remembered the name Bruno. She’d been sitting in the pizzeria with Stefano when a woman, Signora Theresa Vitale, had come up to the table and pleaded with Stefano for help with her wayward grandson, Bruno. This had to be that Bruno. Clearly he was in trouble of some kind. He’d been in a fight and looked as if he’d lost.