He paused on the sidewalk, looking into the store. Francesca had her head down, but she nodded every now and then as she listened to the man standing at the cash register. Stefano recognized Tito Petrov. His father owned the local pizza parlor and Tito managed it and also cooked there. He was as good at making the pizzas as his father. He was also a bit of a ladies’ man. He dated often and women seemed to fall hard for him. Stefano didn’t like Tito’s body language at all.

* * *

Ignoring Tito, who continued to flirt outrageously with her, Francesca smiled at the older couple behind him as she wrapped sandwiches for them. She knew they owned the small boutique three stores down. They had come in and introduced themselves her very first morning at work. Sweet. Genuine. Very Italian. They held hands when they could and smiled at each other often. She loved that. She considered Lucia and Amo Fausti the poster couple for romance, and considering she didn’t believe in romance, she also thought maybe they brought a little hope with them.

She could never afford a single item they offered, all those beautiful designer dresses and silk scarves. She knew they traveled extensively to find the best designers. Joanna told her people traveled from all over the city to shop in the little boutique.

“How are you this afternoon?” Lucia asked her.

They came into Masci’s every evening after work hours for their evening meal, Joanna had also informed her, but then, nearly everyone came into Masci’s at one time or another. Masci’s represented all twenty regions of Italy, importing cured meats, handmade cheeses, olive oil and even vinegar.

Francesca smiled at her as she took their money and put it into the cash register. “Fine, and you?”

She had walked into their boutique because the clothes in the window had really appealed to her. It was a beautiful space, open, marble, decorated mainly with huge leafy plants, lacy ferns and a few flowering plants. The clothes were from all over the world, designers from France, Italy, India and even the local area. They carried beautiful but very different items, all unique.

“It was a lovely day today,” Lucia said. “Cold, but lovely.”

“We’re going to eat here tonight,” Amo said. “It’s nice to visit after working all day.” He beamed at Francesca.

“I suppose it is.”

“You could visit with me,” Tito encouraged.

“Don’t you have work to do?” Amo asked, winking at Francesca. He took his wife’s hand and led her toward one of the small tables at the back of the shop.

“I’d have plenty of work to do, Amo, if you’d eat at my place instead of here,” Tito called to the backs of the couple.

Amo laughed. “Prettier view in here.”

“Can’t argue with that,” Tito said, once more leaning on the counter, smiling at Francesca, his voice low and flirty.

Stefano pushed open the door to the deli and instantly all conversation ceased. He had his gaze on Francesca, but he scanned the room as he entered. As usual, the place was packed. He recognized most of the customers and lifted a hand toward a couple of them as he made his way toward the counter. The few people waiting in line instantly shifted to make room for him.

Francesca looked up, and he saw her face go pale. She pressed her lips together, a hint of wariness creeping into her eyes. “You’re back,” she greeted. “Just a minute and I’ll get your coat for you.”

“Not looking for my coat, dolce cuore,” he said, and then shifted his gaze to the man slowly straightening from where he’d been leaning against the counter. “Tito. How’s your father? I haven’t seen him for a while.”

“He’s good. Great.” Tito looked from Stefano to Francesca. “She has your coat? I heard . . .”

“It’s true,” Stefano said, cutting him off before he could finish his sentence. The last thing he wanted was for Francesca to deny his claim on her in front of the neighborhood, especially Tito Petrov.

Pietro hurried out of his office. “Mr. Ferraro, good to see you. What can we do for you?”

“Drop the ‘Mr. Ferraro,’ and just call me Stefano.”

“Yes. Of course. Stefano.” Pietro nodded several times. He’d been invited more than once to be on a first-name basis with all of the brothers, but he never actually did it for long. “What can we do for you?” he repeated.

“Lend me Francesca. I’m starving and after seeing Tito, I’m hungry for one of his pies. I need a chance to talk to her, so I thought we could do both.” He ignored Francesca’s reaction. The quick, shocked deep breath. The shaking of her head. Stepping back from the counter. Away from him.