He’d done the best he could for the young teen. She was safe in Lucia and Amo’s home, not quite as scared, but definitely apprehensive. He was certain she’d give them a chance rather than try to run. Vittorio was keeping an eye on her while Taviano and Giovanni slept.

Stefano wished he’d called Francesca to make certain she would be home. He needed her. Really needed her when he’d never needed anyone. There was something incredibly soothing about her. She felt like . . . home.

He inhaled her scent and everything in him settled. He hadn’t known his belly was in knots or that the relief could make him weak. He hadn’t consciously worried that she might have left him, but he was asking a lot of her. She had learned things about his life—their life. She’d overheard his mother say ugly things, and Barry Anthon was in town. She’d seen him become violent and then he’d left her to go out of town.

She came out of the kitchen, her gaze moving over his face in a slow, careful perusal. Then it drifted lower, taking him in, looking for injuries. She stepped close. “Honey.” Just that. One word. Her hands slid up his chest and around his neck so that she linked her fingers together at his nape. “Thank you. She’s safe. Nicoletta. Emme said you got her out.”

She thanked him. For doing his job. She looked at him with stars in her eyes and a soft, killer smile that was going to be the fucking end of him. She looked at him as if he could solve the world’s problems in a few hours, fight the bad guys and still be home in time for dinner. He liked that look a lot.

He framed her face with both hands and brought his mouth down on hers. She tasted like love. Like sex. Like perfection. Once he started kissing her, he couldn’t stop. He found himself devouring her. Exchanging breath. Telling her without words that forty-eight hours without her was too damned long.

For the first time in his life that he could remember, he allowed himself to sink into someone else’s strength. Seeing a seventeen-year-old girl beaten and abused physically, sexually and emotionally had torn him up far more than he wanted to admit to himself. He’d held himself aloof, keeping under control, using his rigid discipline to keep from seeing the look in her eyes when she’d turned the knife on herself. Had Taviano not been there, she would be dead.

His eyes burned and he couldn’t breathe because of the raw lump blocking his throat. He lifted his head, looking down at her, into her eyes. He saw only love there.

“It was bad?” she whispered, pressing closer.

“It was bad,” he agreed. “I don’t fucking understand. I’ll never understand how anyone could do that to a child. Any child. Any woman.” He touched his forehead to hers. “I’m wiped, dolce cuore, absolutely wiped.”

“Go take a shower,” she whispered. “I’ll fix something light and then you can go to bed. You need to sleep.”

Fussing over him. Taking care of him. Stefano enfolded her in his arms, keeping her close to his heart. Burying his face in the luxury of her thick, silky hair, he just held her, needing to feel her soft body imprinted on his.

Francesca didn’t pull away or try to hurry him. She held him. Tight. Breathing him in the way he was breathing her in.

“I missed you, Stefano,” she said softly, the murmur nearly lost against his suit jacket. “I couldn’t sleep at night without you.”

“I worried about you,” he admitted, one hand sliding up the curve of her spine to bury his fingers in her wealth of hair. “I knew you wouldn’t be able to sleep, or if you did manage to sleep, you’d have nightmares. I’m sorry I couldn’t call you.” He’d never thought much about that mandate until he’d wanted to reach out to his woman.

“No.” She tipped her head back to look up at him. “Emme explained how important it was that everyone think you were here, with me.” She went up on her toes and pressed kisses along the line of his jaw. “Your safety is the most important thing. I’m just so grateful that you do what you do so that girl is safe.”

His heart clenched hard in his chest. “Amore mio, this is the first time in my entire career I’ve done something like this. Mostly, what I do is eliminate someone like Barry Anthon. Someone untouchable by the law. Or I recover an elderly woman’s purse with her last few dollars in it. I’m not a hero. Don’t think I am,” he warned.

She laughed softly and pulled out of his arms. “You’re my hero, Stefano, and you always will be. Go shower. We can talk when you’re lying in bed and drifting off.”

“When did you get so bossy?” He wanted to hold her forever. Take her into the shower with him, which would lead to interesting things. His cock jerked at the thought.