She didn’t care. She had to know the truth. “Why is everyone afraid of you?”

His blue eyes held hers captive for so long she heard her heart pound. “Because I’m not a man you ever fuck with.”

She blinked up at him, a little shocked at the honesty in his answer. She was fairly certain he was right. He’d brought an entire roomful of people to a standstill. No one had moved. No one had spoken. He definitely looked like a man no one would dare fuck with. Least of all her.

She cleared her throat. “I don’t like that sort of thing.”

He pressed one hand to her belly again, pushing her back against the wall, stepping in close to her until his heat and the scent of him surrounded her. “What sort of thing?” His gaze dropped to her mouth. Held there.

Her lips trembled, and a million butterflies took wing in her stomach. Her heart pounded. God. He was so close. Too close. He was taller than her by at least a head and a half. His shoulders blotted out the street behind him. He smelled—delicious. She didn’t know a man could smell that good. It was freezing cold outside and he wasn’t even shivering though she had his coat.

“The F-word sort of thing.” She blurted it out, saying the first thing that came into her mind without thinking.

His eyebrow shot up. She hadn’t thought that anyone really could do that. Shoot up one eyebrow. It was incredibly hot—at least on him.

“‘The F-word’? ” he repeated. “Dolce cuore, you can’t even say fuck, for fuck’s sake.”

She felt the color creeping into her face, although she didn’t know why. She wasn’t the one spouting off inappropriate language to a complete stranger. She wasn’t staring at his mouth, although she wanted to. She resisted, because that was what was polite. She wasn’t pressing him against a wall and holding him there with a hand on his belly and another by his head. She wouldn’t dare touch him.

There was nothing to say to that so she didn’t say anything. She just stood there, waiting for him to release her.

He glanced at his watch again. “I really have to go. Eat. I mean it, Francesca. Don’t give the money or the coat to anyone else. I’ll know, and I won’t like it.”

She made a face. “Should I be afraid of you?”

For the first time amusement softened his features. “Only if it keeps you from giving away my coat and ensures you eat today.” He reached out and bunched her hair in his hand and then allowed the strands to slip out of his fist. “Don’t forget to buy a decent pair of shoes.”

“I’ll use your coat, but the money . . . I don’t know when I can pay you back.”

“Pietro pays a decent wage.” He turned away from her.

“I don’t have the job yet.”

“You have the job.” He lifted a hand and started down the street, moving easily, quietly. Looking more gorgeous than ever.

“Wait. How do I return the coat?” she asked a little desperately. He’d made it clear he wanted his coat back.

“I’ll find you.”

She watched him striding away. Watched how people on the sidewalk moved out of his way. He seemed to flow across the sidewalk, a force to be reckoned with. She felt a little bit battered, as if she’d been in the middle of the sea during a terrible storm. She didn’t move, not for a long time. She huddled there in his long coat and forced herself to breathe deeply, trying not to feel faint.

Joanna caught her by the arm. “Oh. My. God. Did that just happen? Tell me that didn’t just happen.” She practically shook Francesca in her shock.

Francesca glanced through the window of the deli. No one had moved. The attention of every individual in the store remained completely riveted on Stefano Ferraro. She ducked deeper into the warmth of the coat. The cashmere smelled like him. Was warm like him. Elegant like he was.

“What did just happen?” Francesca asked Joanna. “Because I have no idea.”

“He just told Zio Pietro to hire you. Ordered him.”

“He can’t do that.” Francesca frowned, alarmed.

“Yes, he can and he did. No one goes against a Ferraro. No one, Francesca.”

“Great. Your uncle is going to blame me for having someone step in and tell him what to do in his own store.”

“No, he won’t. He’s excited that he got to do a favor for Stefano. That’s rare and it means something. You do a favor for one and they all feel they owe you. The entire family. That’s huge, to have a Ferraro owe you. Zio Pietro was practically dancing around the shop.”