Pietro hesitated, glancing uneasily at Emilio and Enzo. She immediately wished she hadn’t put him in such a position. She put a conciliatory hand on his arm. “I forgot you said you already called Aria. That’s great. I had some things I wanted to do anyway. It will give me time to get them done.”

Pietro looked relieved and he patted her. “Talk to Stefano first, Francesca. Whatever is happening between you, trust him to clear it up.”

Trust. It really boiled down to trust. That—and her insecurities. Still, she wanted to take some time to think things all the way through. That shouldn’t be asking too much, even from a very decisive man like Stefano.

She nodded at Pietro, gave him a cheerful little wave and marched right between Emilio and Enzo. Enzo got the door for her and she turned away from the car, toward Lucia’s Treasures. She really liked Lucia and Amo. She loved the clothing they sold. It was far beyond her pocketbook, but looking was always fun.

Enzo stepped in front of her and Emilio came up behind her, boxing her in, close to the side of the building.

“Francesca, get in the car,” Emilio said.

“It’s not going to happen.” She found herself seething, grateful for a target. “Stefano Ferraro doesn’t tell me what to do. He doesn’t own me.”

Enzo shook his head. “Babe, don’t fight battles you can’t win. Pick them with him. Whatever happened this morning to upset you both needs to be worked out.”

She glared at him. “First of all, it’s no one’s business what happened this morning. Second, I have every right to work things out in my own way. And I’m going to do just that.” She took a step to get around him and he blocked her with his much larger body, cutting her off so she was pushed almost entirely up against the wall. “Step back. You can’t force me to go with you.”

Enzo glanced at Emilio and then to the street. Francesca followed his gaze and her heart sank. Of course they were just buying time, arguing with her, and she fell right into their trap. Stefano stalked toward them, looking every inch a dangerous, prowling predator. He walked right up to Francesca, up close, crowding her body, one arm wrapping possessively around her waist and pulling her in tight to his side. Locking her with enormous strength to him so there wasn’t a doubt in her mind that if she struggled, he’d subdue her immediately and easily.

“Thanks Emilio, Enzo.” Stefano nodded to them and turned her away from the car and began walking in the direction she’d chosen to go, taking her with him. “You didn’t stick around to let me explain. Were you running from me?”

She couldn’t tell if there was a note of hurt in his voice or not. His tone troubled her, and she glanced up at his face. His mask was in place. The scary one.

“No. I was trying to sort things out in my head.”

He stopped abruptly and caught her chin in his hand. “You want to sort out a problem with me, dolce cuore, you do it with me.”

“I had to go to work,” she muttered, because he might have a point.

“Bullshit, Francesca. You heard the crap my fucking mother spouted, you were hurt and didn’t understand half of what she said and you ran like a rabbit.”

She glared at him. “I did not. I was hurt, yes. And you’re right. I had no idea what she was talking about when she said I was a ‘rider’ and that you took the first one to come along. Or that you’d have to settle for a marriage of convenience if you didn’t marry me. None of that made sense.” The only thing that she’d really understood was that Stefano had lost a sibling—one he loved—and he blamed his mother.

“Tell me about your brother,” she prompted.

He took a breath, his face darkening. His jaw set. His eyes were alive with pain, but his features remained an expressionless mask. He began walking again, Francesca tucked tightly to his side. For a long while she was certain he wouldn’t respond. They’d walked an entire block, past Lucia’s Treasures and Petrov’s Pizzeria, and then halfway down another block before he cleared his throat.

Stefano’s arm tightened until she almost couldn’t breathe, but she didn’t protest. Instead, she rested her palm on his very ripped stomach. Beneath his three-piece pin-striped suit, she felt his muscles ripple. Emilio and Enzo trailed them, close enough to help if trouble presented itself, and a discreet enough distance away that Stefano and Francesca could talk in private. They also were able to discourage others from going up to Stefano and Francesca just by shaking their heads. She was vaguely aware of them and what they were doing, but mostly, she concentrated on Stefano, willing him to talk to her.