“It just stands to reason that you would want information about my situation, and as you know Barry, what better way to acquire it than by speaking to him personally?” It was prudent to change the subject.

“I definitely want the information about what happened, but you’re right here with me. Why wouldn’t I just ask you myself?”

She ducked her head. “Maybe you think I’d lie to you.”

“Would you?”

She shook her head. “I might be tempted to leave things out. Or just refuse to tell you. It’s all pretty far-fetched, and no one other than Joanna has believed me. They believe Barry.”

“Barry wouldn’t know the truth if it hit him in the face. He’s been making shit up since the day he was born. He pays people to believe him, but that doesn’t make it true, Francesca.”

She lifted her chin, trying not to feel hope. “You should know, aside from being arrested for damaging property, I’ve also been in lockup for seventy-two hours in a hospital.” She didn’t take her eyes from his, waiting for condemnation. Everyone else thought she’d lost her mind, so why not him? Still, deep inside, where that strange connection was, she didn’t think he would believe the worst said about her, either.

He kept his gaze steady on hers. Unflinching. Expressionless. Her heart pounded. She clutched the chocolate mug so hard her knuckles turned white. His gaze dropped to her hands and he reached, gently prying her fingers from the mug. His thumb slid over her knuckles.

“When Barry does something, he’s thorough, but he’s repetitive. Once something works for him, he keeps using it.”

“You’re saying he’s done this before?” Hope blossomed.

“What do you have on him?”

Her breath left her lungs in a rush. “Why do you think I’ve got something on him?”

“Because you’re not dead. He would have killed you if he could have. If we look into the bank account of the man convicted of your sister’s murder, there will be a lot of money his family inherits when he dies. This isn’t the first time something like this has happened around Barry Anthon. Obviously, if you saw him at the murder scene and he’s worked so hard to discredit you, he’s afraid of you. He’s got money and power. He’s got cops and politicians in his pocket. He wouldn’t be afraid unless whatever you have could ruin him and he can’t risk killing you until he gets it back.”

His thumb rubbed gently at her knuckles. It felt—exquisite. Each time the pad of his thumb slid between her knuckles, she felt his touch melt through bare skin and sink into her bloodstream. She shivered. She couldn’t help it. Her body was tuned to his. Came alive for his. It didn’t make sense, but then chemistry never did.

She took a breath. “I don’t know you, Stefano.”

“You know me.”

He brought her hand to his mouth, his lips moving over her knuckles in the way his thumb had, only this was so much better. Way more intense. She felt an answer coiling hot at the junction of her legs.

“You don’t have to tell me . . . yet. Drink your chocolate.” He let go of her hand.

She curled her fingers around the mug again because when she wasn’t touching him she felt cold, and it was such a relief that he believed her—that he knew the real Barry. Deceitful, murderous Barry.

“He’s done this before? Destroying property and making it look like someone else did it?” Murder? She couldn’t bring herself to ask that.

“All of it, right down to the jail time and the hospital,” Stefano confirmed. “He likes to brag that no one can cross him. He threatened a couple of drivers. They ended up quitting. I didn’t get the story until a couple of years later, but they wouldn’t drive for anyone because they were so afraid of him. It ended their careers.”

“Has he ever threatened you?” Francesca asked cautiously.

“Bambina.”

One word. That said it all. His tone. Amused. Arrogant. Completely confident. She shivered again, but this time because she could see the danger in him. He wasn’t a man other men crossed. If Barry was too afraid to threaten Stefano, what did that make Stefano? The thought flitted through her mind unbidden.

She took a sip of chocolate to buy herself time. It was delicious. There was no way it was from a package. “You made this.”

Amusement crept into the deep blue of his eyes. “Yeah. I did.”

“How did you learn to make such great chocolate?”

“I have a younger sister. She often had a difficult time sleeping so she’d come into my room, wake me up and I’d make her chocolate.”