“He’s going to die, but I won’t be the one to kill him.” There was no inflection in his voice. None. “I’m not ever going to lie to you, Francesca. You’re going to be my wife. I won’t do that to you, but if you’re going to ask me questions, you be absolutely certain you want and can live with the answers.”

“What if I can’t live with the answers?” she asked in a small voice. She heard the tremble. She was scared. Not of Stefano, but of what he was. Of what he might tell her and she’d lose him. She couldn’t lose him.

“Then don’t ask until you can.” His hands dropped to her blouse. He pulled it over her head and tossed it away from him. It was covered in blood and he obviously didn’t feel the need to try to save it. Her bra was next and then he was examining the angry cut across the swell of her left breast.

“Fucker,” he whispered, and leaned down to brush the lightest of kisses across the laceration. “I don’t get how a man can do this kind of thing to a woman or to children. What’s wrong with them, Francesca?”

She couldn’t stop herself from cradling his head to her. He sounded tired. Sad. “This isn’t just about me, Stefano. Tell me what’s wrong.”

“It’s work, bambina—sometimes I see and hear terrible things I just can’t comprehend. It’s work though.”

“I get that. You don’t have to be specific, but you need to talk to me about this. Maybe you should go relax and I’ll fix you dinner.”

He lifted his head, his blue eyes meeting hers. “You would do that for me after being attacked, wouldn’t you? You’d think about me, not yourself.” There was wonder in his voice. Admiration. Respect. Mostly, she heard what sounded suspiciously like love. Her heart fluttered because yes, he looked tired and upset and she rarely saw him that way. She doubted if anyone ever did.

“I received a report today about a young girl. A teenager, seventeen years old. She lost her mother two years ago and was given to her stepuncles to take care of her. Unfortunately, all three uncles are involved in a very violent gang. Her mother had married their brother and they lived far away from the gang, but no one took that into consideration when they placed the girl with her uncles. She didn’t know them, she didn’t love them and now she’s in a terrible situation.”

“At seventeen, can’t she ask to be removed?” Francesca felt her way carefully.

Stefano stroked his fingers over her breasts, down her belly to her jeans. He carefully tugged until she stood in between his thighs. He unzipped the denim and pulled them from her hips, taking her lacy panties with them.

“A social worker tried. The girl was being abused in every way. Sexually. Physically. Emotionally. She wasn’t removed from the home and the gang threatened the social worker and her family. She’d promised the teenager she would get her out, and then she couldn’t follow through, not without risking the lives of her husband and children.”

“The police . . .”

“Can’t stop the gang members from getting to the social worker and her family. So she petitioned for help from our family.” He guided her back onto the bed. “Lie down, dolce cuore. I want to check out your stomach. I need to make certain there isn’t any internal damage.”

“Will you be able to help her?” Francesca stretched out. She had been naked around him for a week now, yet she still felt shy.

“I hope so. We’ll see. I just don’t understand that mentality. I can see belonging to a gang. I can’t see abusing a woman that way. Especially when she’s your family. I just can’t seem to wrap my head around that.”

His fingers probed all over her stomach. She winced a couple of times, but surprisingly, it didn’t hurt very deeply.

“You’ll have a bruise or two, but thankfully, he didn’t manage to cause any real damage. I’m going to run you a hot bath and you can soak while I fix you dinner.”

She caught his hand. “Let’s both take a bath, Stefano, and then we can share the cooking. You said you aren’t that good, but, honey, I am. I like to cook. You have a great kitchen. You’ve had a difficult day, too. I’d rather share the bath and dinner.”

He stood over her a long time. So long she thought he might not respond. The expression on his face was difficult to read. Finally, he brushed at her hair with gentle fingers and shook his head.

“I’m so in love with you, Francesca. You give me so many miracles and you don’t have a clue that you do. No one takes care of me. No one. Not when I was a boy and certainly not now. I think you’re the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen. I love the sound of your laughter, and your smile lights up a room. I watch you with the people in the neighborhood and you’re so great with everyone. They all gravitate toward you, and you treat each of them with genuine interest and caring. I think that’s enough reason to love you, but then you do this.” He shook his head.