“It is my business,” he returned. “You’re shivering so badly your teeth are chattering. Where the fuck is your coat?”

She opened her mouth to tell him to go to hell, but nothing came out. Not one single word.

“She gave her coat to the homeless woman,” Joanna supplied hastily. “On our way here. We were walking along Franklin and there was a woman sitting under the eaves there and she was cold so Francesca gave her coat to her.”

“Dina,” Francesca muttered.

“Dina?” he repeated.

“She has a name. It’s Dina,” she repeated, before she could stop herself. She knew she sounded snippy, but she didn’t care.

“I’m well aware who she is,” he said. “I’d like to know who you are.”

Francesca was both horrified at his interest and mortified that she was in the spotlight. She sent up a little prayer for the floor to open up and swallow her right there.

This was met with silence so Joanna jumped to fill the breach. “She’s a friend of mine, and I talked her into coming here to live from California. Uncle Pietro needed someone to help in the deli and she has tons of experience.” The words tripped over one another in her haste to get the information out. “That’s what we’re doing now, applying for the job.”

Francesca was well aware everyone in the store was staring at her, including Pietro. She was certain she looked homeless in her thrift store clothes, but really, the woman in the street had been freezing. Francesca, at least, had four walls to protect her—until the end of the month, and then she’d be sharing a cardboard box with Dina.

“I see.” Stefano Ferraro said the words thoughtfully, his eyes still fixed on her. “You know her, Joanna? You vouch for her?”

Joanna nodded her head vigorously, her dark cap of hair flying around her face. Francesca could feel her trembling, which was unusual. Joanna had always had tons of confidence in herself. She’d been popular at school and always, always had an opinion to give. Everyone liked her, yet she was definitely shaking.

Stefano, still watching Francesca’s face, pulled out his wallet, shoved a handful of bills into his coat pocket and then removed the coat. He held it open in front of Francesca.

Her lungs seized. She shook her head and tried to step back but she ran into Joanna’s trembling body. Who was this man that everyone was so afraid of? Francesca knew the blood had drained from her face; she could feel it. She shook her head again, more vigorously so there could be no mistake the answer was a resounding, emphatic no.

Impatience crossed his face. “I don’t have time to fuck around, bambina. Get your arms in the coat and come outside with me for a moment. We’ll talk.” He glanced at his very expensive watch. “I have about two minutes and then I have to be somewhere.”

She considered stalling for the two minutes so he’d have to leave, but both Joanna and Pietro looked desperate. He had to be a criminal. Mafia. One of the strong-arm men who came in and took all the money from the stores, like on television. He looked far too elegant for that, but he also looked as if he could easily break bones and not break a sweat.

Joanna actually pushed her toward Stefano. Resigned, Francesca turned her back to him, slipping her arms in the sleeves. To her horror he reached around her to button up the long coat. Around her. Caging her in. Her back was against his chest and his arms were long, enclosing her while he buttoned the coat. She felt his warmth. His strength. For the first time that morning, she stopped shivering.

His arms felt enormously strong, his chest an iron wall. More, with every single breath she took in, she breathed him in. His scent. Very masculine. Spicy. He turned her around to face him and then stepped in close to her—too close—because again, she couldn’t breathe. The coat was warm. Heaven. Soft. It smelled like him. And he smelled good. He actually made her weak in the knees, unless really, he had nothing to do with it and she was just hungry.

His hand slipped down her arm and his fingers shackled her wrist in a firm grip. She looked up at him, bracing herself for the moment their eyes would meet, but he was looking at Joanna’s uncle. He wasn’t smiling, but he offered his other hand.

“Pietro. Good to see you. I trust you’ll take good care of what’s mine.” His voice was low, sexy. She actually felt a strange answering vibration move through her body, like a song, a note tuned only to him.

He looked down at her again, and the impact of his eyes was enough to send her into a mini-orgasm. It was the truth whether she liked it or not. Joanna made a little sound in her throat, saving her, allowing her to turn her head toward her friend at Stefano’s declaration. Pietro’s head jerked up and his gaze shot to Francesca’s face. Francesca frowned, trying to read the local language, but she had no idea what had passed as conversation between Pietro and Stefano Ferraro.