The elevator pinged and he turned her, so his body hid her from view of those in the lobby. He lifted his head reluctantly, his blue eyes moving over her face. “You good, dolce cuore? Do you need a minute?” He kept his hands on her hips, holding her so she wouldn’t fall flat on her face.

She touched her mouth with trembling fingers. “I don’t know. You should be outlawed.”

He smiled down at her, the smile slow and sexy, gorgeous as it lit his eyes. “You’re good.” He made it a statement. “Henry brought my car around. It’s right in front.” He took her hand and she went with him out of the elevator.

Instantly the atmosphere in the lobby changed. Heads turned. A few people whispered, but most were silent. Watching him. Watching them. She ducked her head and moved closer to him. Instantly, he swept her beneath his shoulder, locking her to his side protectively.

He didn’t look left or right, but she knew he was aware of everything and everyone in the hotel lobby. Nothing escaped his notice. She knew why she felt so safe with him. He commanded everything and everyone around him with every step he took. He filled an entire lobby with his presence. No one would dare try to harm her when she was in his keeping. It felt good to actually feel safe after so long.

He handed her into the car, giving her the illusion of being a princess. She snapped the seat belt around her, admiring the interior of the Aston Martin. Francesca waited until Stefano was behind the wheel and the car was gliding down the street, faster than she thought he should have driven it. Evidently, Stefano and his family had a lot of cars for their use.

“I wanted to tell you thank you.”

He glanced at her. Raised an eyebrow. She twisted her fingers together. It didn’t matter that he looked like the hottest man on earth and maybe the richest, he deserved to know. “For rescuing me from that apartment and gathering up what would be horribly embarrassing recordings. And for giving me a place to stay that made me feel safe. I haven’t felt that way in a very long time.”

He reached out and caught her hand, curling his long fingers around it. “Then I’m grateful I was the one to give that to you.” He frowned a little and brought her hand to his thigh, pinning it there. “Although you still had a nightmare.”

“I have them all the time, but when I did, you made me hot chocolate and spent time talking to me, making me feel better. And you somehow—I still don’t know how—managed to get me a closet full of beautiful clothes that actually fit. And the shoes are . . . awesome.” She lifted one foot to admire the boot she was wearing.

She waited, holding her breath, watching his face carefully. His smile was slow in coming, but when it did, it was worth the wait. He brushed his thumb over her knuckles once and a million butterflies took wing in her stomach.

“We’re here, bambina,” he said as he parked the car. “Do you have money for lunch?”

“Pietro allows me to eat at the deli. I’m not going hungry, Stefano, but thanks for asking.” She was embarrassed that he felt he had to ask, but happy that it mattered to him. After hearing him talk about Dina in such a caring tone, she knew every single person in his neighborhood mattered to him.

Francesca was shocked when Stefano slid out of the car, walked around the hood and opened the door for her. He held out his hand and she had no choice but to allow his fingers to close around her hand, or make a scene. She was acutely aware of people stopping on the sidewalks to stare. Store owners stepped to the windows to peer out. She found herself blushing for no reason. It wasn’t as if she was living living with him. She was staying at his penthouse, not sleeping in his bed. She knew if people thought that, they’d think she was after his money.

“I thought you had somewhere to go,” she murmured, trying not to look at him.

He kept possession of her hand as he escorted her into Masci’s. To her surprise, Pietro was behind the counter, pacing back and forth. He spun around when they walked through the door, his expression wary.

“Mr. Ferraro.”

“It’s Stefano, Pietro,” Stefano said in a low voice.

He shouldn’t have sounded menacing, but he did. The moment they entered the deli, Francesca knew something was wrong. Joanna sat at one of the tables. Her eyes were red-rimmed and her face splotchy, evidence that she’d been crying for some time. Francesca made a move toward her, but Stefano’s fingers tightened around hers. He tugged and she found herself up against his body, her front to his side, his arm a bar, locking her in place.

“There was some unpleasantness regarding Francesca’s place of living last night. She was in danger. I am not happy about that. I left her in your hands, Joanna.” He glanced at her over his shoulder, but then his gaze came back to rest on her uncle. “Joanna knew where she was staying. I imagine you did not.” He made it a statement but waited for Pietro to contradict him.