Tonio ran up, his thick, curly hair wild. Eyes shining. “I caught her, Signore Ferraro. Just as she was getting into her car.”

“Good man, Tonio.” He slipped his wallet out and handed the boy a bill. “I’m proud of you for looking after her. What do we do?”

Tonio puffed out his chest. “We always look after our women.”

“That’s right. Run along now and say hello to your parents for me.”

The boy took the money and slipped it into his pocket. “Grazie. Grazie.” He grinned at Stefano. “Is she one of our women?” He indicated Francesca.

Stefano nodded solemnly. “Tonio, this is Francesca. Francesca, Tonio. If you should ever need assistance, he is a good man and will come to your aid. Yes, Tonio, she’s very special to me. She’s one of ours.” He glanced at his woman. She didn’t know he was claiming her publicly, but that innocent question was welcome. Tonio would tell his parents exactly what Stefano had said to him. The boy always did.

Francesca looked pleased. He knew she would. She wouldn’t be thinking about the underlying implication, only that the boy was cute.

“Pleased to meet you, Tonio,” she said.

He nodded shyly. “Don’t worry. I’ll look out for you.”

“Thank you. I appreciate that.”

Tonio turned with a saucy grin and raced through the restaurant back to his parents’ table. Stefano watched him go just to make certain he didn’t knock over any of Tito’s customers.

“He’s adorable.” Francesca dipped a breadstick into the marinara sauce and took a bite. Her eyes closed. “Wow. This is delicious.”

“No one makes pizza, antipasto or marinara like Tito’s family. They’ve been in the business for a couple of generations and they make the best. People come from all over to eat here.”

“You sound proud.”

“I am. They’re a good family and they deserve success.”

“You aren’t anything like I thought you’d be,” she ventured, and took another sip of wine.

“What did you think I’d be like?”

“I don’t know. You seemed so scary when I first met you. I thought you were . . .” She trailed off and shook her head, color creeping under her skin.

“Tell me.”

“I don’t want you to be upset. It was silly of me. I was so nervous about the interview and it seemed as if everyone in the store was a little afraid of you when you came in. You also were abrupt and a little rude, dropping F-bombs all over the place.”

He nodded. “I do that a lot, I’m afraid. More than once, Signora Moretti told me she was going to wash out my mouth, and that was this year.”

She laughed. He loved the way she laughed. Just in the two days he’d been away from her, she seemed much more relaxed. “Her warning didn’t do any good, did it?”

“No, I suppose it didn’t,” he admitted ruefully. “So tell me, Francesca, what did you think I was when we met?”

CHAPTER FIVE

Francesca studied Stefano’s face. He was intimidating, no question about it. Even with the way he interacted with little Tonio, he had a look about him that demanded respect. More, he commanded the room. She was acutely aware that every single person in the restaurant had turned to watch them as they made their way to their booth. Even now, people were watching. They were trying to pretend that they weren’t, but she knew better. It was fairly clear that Stefano Ferrero was a well-known man. Liked by some, feared by others.

Still, there was an underlying sadness about him that she caught glimpses of, and everything in her rose to soothe him. Needed to do that. She wasn’t altogether certain how or why she came to be sitting beside him, but she was fascinated by his take on the people in the neighborhood. There was genuine affection in his voice when he spoke of them. She liked that he knew so much about them and seemed to care.

Up close, he was hot, hot, hot. A gorgeous man. She couldn’t believe how handsome he was. Tough looking. Confident. Even a bit arrogant¸ but one could forgive that when his face was so perfect. The angles and planes, the strong jaw and straight nose. His mouth fascinated her and she had to work not to stare at it. Twice she found herself doing just that and wondering what it would be like to feel his mouth on hers. A really stupid fantasy to have about a man she thought was mafia two days earlier.

Francesca was a little ashamed of herself that she’d thought that of him, even when he’d had a foul mouth and was so abrupt. Clearly she’d read the silence in the deli as something it wasn’t. It felt like fear, but looking back, she had been terrified of everything that day and probably had just projected what she was feeling onto the crowd in Masci’s.