“Walk me to the elevator, Francesca.”

Francesca reached up to straighten his tie, leaning her body into his. “Don’t be long, but make certain Nicoletta feels safe, Stefano. You did that for me—even when I was a little afraid of you, you managed to make me feel safe.”

He kissed her thoroughly. “I’m really sorry I have to go,” he repeated.

“It’s for a good cause.” She wrapped her arm around him as they walked together toward the elevator. “Are Emilio and Enzo waiting for you downstairs?”

“Yes, I texted them. I’ll be safe. Don’t worry.”

Francesca took a deep breath and nodded, watching as the elevator doors closed and she was alone again. She really didn’t want him to go. She’d felt strange the last couple of days without him. The wedding preparations had become extravagant as far as she was concerned. Neither Eloisa nor Emmanuelle seemed to know how to put the brakes on when it came to the wedding, not even when she objected to things. She had envisioned a very small wedding, with just his family. She didn’t have any family of her own, but suddenly there were tons of aunts and uncles who had to be invited as well as cousins. First cousins. Second cousins. And then there were the people in the neighborhood. She had wanted to talk to Stefano about it, but he was so exhausted when he’d first gotten home and then they were all over each other. Now he was gone again.

She sighed again and found her way back to the sunroom to collect the dishes off of the balcony. She liked the penthouse, but living in a hotel wasn’t really her idea of a home. She’d seen his “office.” It was inside the family home. His family home was extremely intimidating. It was a huge estate, even by Chicago’s elite standards. Just the front door was intimidating. It was thick and wide and painted a violent red. It should have been ugly, but instead, it managed to be elegant, just like the Ferraro family.

She stood for a long time staring out over the city. The family as a whole had many respected businesses. Each business was legitimate and made them millions, some more than millions. Still, the one small branch of the family—the shadow riders—wasn’t at all legitimate; in fact, their activities would be considered criminal. Within the family they were almost revered. Outside the family many people, just as she had, assumed they were part of a crime family. She was one of them. Or she would be in a couple of short weeks.

Her phone went off, a musical melody that told her Emmanuelle was calling. She sighed, considering not answering. She didn’t want one more discussion of flowers or cake. Still, she liked Stefano’s sister a lot, and truthfully, it was nice to have someone be excited about the wedding and seeing to all the details.

“Hey, girl, what’s up?” she greeted.

“I’m on my way to see Signora Vitale. Then I’m heading to the family home. I’ve been summoned by Eloisa.” Her voice changed from annoyance to speculation. “She sounded . . . upset. She never sounds that way. In any case, I had planned to come to see you today to discuss music, but Stefano called and said you needed the day off.”

Francesca realized there was a question in there. “Yes. I’m sorry. I do. I’m just going to rest and read and try not to think too much about everything happening so fast.”

“Bridal jitters. They say it happens to everyone.” Emmanuelle laughed as she hung up.

Maybe she was right and the restless feeling that just wouldn’t leave her alone was just that—cold feet. After all, committing a lifetime to a man like Stefano was a little daunting. She would always have to work to stand up to him. That crazy protective side of him would be difficult. He’d want to build a fortress around her and their children. She was well aware that she would have to temper that quality in him for all their sakes.

Francesca took a deep breath and let it out, sweeping her hair back from her face. She’d dressed in a pair of vintage blue jeans. They were soft and molded to her body nicely, but were very comfortable. They weren’t from a thrift store and she didn’t want to know what Stefano had paid for them. It seemed like her clothes multiplied on a daily basis. She never saw him put things in her drawers or hang them in her closet, but she was fairly certain Stefano had someone shopping for her.

Still. She ran her hand down her thigh. The jeans were perfect. She wore a T-shirt, equally as soft, that was more fitted than she would have chosen for herself. Her underwear was the best part of the shopaholic who seemed to never quit. The lingerie was absolutely beautiful and she loved the way it made her feel sexy, even in a pair of jeans and a tee.