She didn’t look the same in her first ever designer clothes and even more fabulous boots. She shouldn’t be so happy over the shoes, but never in her life had she been able to afford such luxury. She loved them. The way they fit. The feel of the material of her skirt. Everything. It was impossible not to and she didn’t bother trying.

“Don’t get used to it, Francesca,” she murmured aloud to herself.

Joanna had a cup of coffee waiting for her, and Francesca sank down in the chair beside her. “Honey, you’ve been crying. What’s wrong?”

Joanna rubbed her temples. “I’ve been crying so much I gave myself a headache. I want to apologize to you, too, Francesca. I never should have told you about those apartments, let alone allowed you to live there.”

The breath left Francesca’s lungs in a long rush and deep inside everything stilled. “This crying jag is about me living in those apartments? You apologized to Stefano because he was angry with you over that?”

“Of course he was angry. He had every right to be angry with me. I’m angry with myself. Pietro is angry with me, too.”

“How did you find out about it when it just happened?” Francesca asked, keeping her voice low and controlled. She pushed the coffee mug away from her with the tips of her fingers.

“Emilio, of course. He and Vittorio came to see me last night. They were both understandably . . . upset. They told me about that horrible man and what he did to women in his building.” Joanna’s eyes filled with tears all over again. “After everything you’ve been through, it’s awful to think of you being exposed to that.”

“Joanna, they had no right waking you up in the middle of the night and telling you all that,” Francesca said carefully. “You’ve been so kind to me. Without you, I’d still be on the street and in serious trouble. I appreciate every single thing you’ve done for me. This job, the money to get here. Just sticking with me, being my friend when so many ugly things have been said about me. The apartment isn’t your fault. I chose to live there against your advice. You have no blame in what happened, and the Ferraros certainly had no right to involve you.” Stefano was going to have to answer to her over that. Making poor Joanna cry and feel so much guilt that she apologized was just plain out of line.

“No. I’m your friend, Francesca. I knew you shouldn’t stay there. There were rumors about the owner. I knew he was a sleaze. Every woman within a mile or two has heard he’s been brought up on rape charges repeatedly and then the charges would be dropped.” She looked around the empty store. They weren’t open for another half an hour, but she still lowered her voice. “He’s connected to the Saldi family. The Saldis are Sicilian and they go way back. They’re reputed to be very violent, and he’s related through marriage. His aunt married one of the Saldis. I’ve heard she’s as bloodthirsty as they are, and the family protects him.”

Francesca took a deep breath. Joanna had known about the owner and hadn’t confided any of the information to her, only that it wasn’t a good place to stay and bad things happened there. Francesca had lived on the street for a short while. She knew bad things, but she associated most of them with drugs. It hadn’t occurred to her that the owner of the building had raped women. Still, to be fair, had she known, she might have stayed there anyway rather than risk the street while she worked to find the money to get a decent place.

“I should have told you,” Joanna said. “If I had told you, maybe you would have stayed with me until you got on your feet.”

Francesca had to concede that she might have, but she wouldn’t make Joanna feel any guiltier than she already did by admitting it aloud. She shrugged. “It’s over now. I’m staying with Stefano . . .” Joanna gasped and a huge smile brightened her face. “In his guest room, you crazy woman.”

“How far from his bedroom is the guest room?” Joanna asked. “Because seriously, you might consider sleepwalking.”

“I don’t want to be one of ten thousand women who have been in his bed. I read all the magazines you gave me, and he’s a hound dog. He was with a different woman in every picture at every event.” Just admitting the truth out loud made her stomach churn.

“That’s the point, Francesca. It was always a different one and no one ever went to his penthouse. Not ever. Believe me, like all the other women around here, I’ve been on Ferraro watch since I was thirteen. Stefano has never seriously dated anyone. If he was sleeping with them, he didn’t do it in his own home.”