Francesca closed her eyes. She’d heard enough, far more than she wanted to hear. Stefano’s reason for seeking her out hadn’t been compassion because she didn’t have a coat. It hadn’t been because he was attracted to her. Whatever being a “rider” meant was his true reason for going after her. For asking her to marry him.

She closed her eyes against the tears burning in her throat and behind her eyes. She just had to get out of there with a little dignity and then she could sort things out.

Francesca took a breath, striding down the hall. “Honey, I’ve got to go. I’m late. I’ll text you when I get to work.” She burst out of the hall and was nearly all the way to the elevator before she allowed herself to “see” Stefano had company. “Oh. I’m sorry to interrupt you.” She flashed a fake smile at Eloisa and took the four steps to the elevator and summoned it with a stab of her finger.

“Francesca,” Stefano called out, and took a step toward her.

Fortunately the doors opened and she stepped into the lift and hurriedly closed the doors on his face. He knew. He knew she’d heard everything. It was written on his face. She didn’t care. She practically ran out of the hotel. To her dismay Emilio and Enzo were waiting for her. Emilio opened the door of the car and she slipped inside, praying Stefano wouldn’t call him until after he’d gotten her to work. Her fiancé still had his mother to deal with, and she hoped that took a very long time.

CHAPTER NINETEEN

Francesca resolved not to do anything rash. Stefano had been good to her. There was always honesty in his touch. In his voice. She stuck her thumbnail between her teeth and chewed at it, trying to get past the hurt. She had never felt good enough for Stefano. That wasn’t on him—it was on her. Tears burned so close, but she didn’t dare shed them. Any moment Emilio’s or Enzo’s phone would ring and Stefano would order them to turn around and bring her back. A little hysterically she made up her mind to jump out of the car if that happened. She wasn’t going back . . . not until she’d had time to think this through.

She could go to Joanna’s for the night. Just sit quietly where Stefano’s overwhelming, intimidating presence wouldn’t color her judgment. Her finger dropped down to the ring he’d given her. So beautiful, like him.

The car pulled up to the curb and she was out before either of her bodyguards could exit. She didn’t look at either of them, but rushed into the safety of the deli. Pietro waited behind the counter. He looked up when she entered, a strange look on his face. He was already filling the cases.

“I’m sorry I’m late,” she apologized hastily, rounding the counter, more to keep Emilio and Enzo from being able to herd her back out to the car. She glanced out the window. Sure enough, Emilio was on his cell, his eyes on her through the glass. Her heart began to pound. She clenched her teeth. She wasn’t going to be pushed around.

“You have the day off today, Francesca,” Pietro announced unexpectedly. “I won’t need you.”

She froze, her hand going to her throat in a defensive gesture. Barry Anthon had made his move. “Pietro,” she began. “Whatever he told you, it’s just not true. You’ve gotten to know me . . .” She wouldn’t beg. She just didn’t expect Joanna’s uncle to take Barry at his word without at least giving her a chance to defend herself.

“Girl, what are you talking about? Your man called, and he needs you today. I have no problem calling in Aria or anyone else if Stefano needs you. You work hard, Francesca. I didn’t expect you to stay on after you got engaged and I really appreciate that you did, so a day or two off here or there isn’t a problem.”

Stefano had called him. The relief that it hadn’t been Barry was enormous, but she still wasn’t going to let Stefano push her around. The door opened and Emilio and Enzo entered, both standing just inside, arms crossed over their chests.

“Let’s go, Francesca,” Emilio said. “Stefano wants you home.”

Her chin went up. How dared he order her home. “I don’t particularly care what Stefano wants right now, Emilio. I’m working.” She turned to Pietro. “If you don’t want me working right now, that’s fine. I’ve got other things to do.” She had no idea what those other things were, but she’d think of something.

“Francesca.” Emilio straightened, looking every inch a true Ferraro. He might not have the same last name, but he could be intimidating when he chose. There was a warning in his voice.

“No.” She was adamant. “I’m not going back there. Pietro? Do you need me today or not?”