“My brothers, bambina,” he said softly, turning back to her as he slid the gun back into his holster. “And two cousins from New York.” His cousins were the family investigators out of New York. “They will be asking you a few questions. If you aren’t comfortable answering, look to me. I’ll handle it. Understand?” Because even with his family, he would stand in front of her. Always. She didn’t know that yet, but she’d learn.

“I don’t understand.” Francesca’s eyes went from dazed and dark with need to confusion and wide with shock as she stared at the gun. “What questions? And why are you carrying a gun? Is that legal?”

He threaded his fingers through hers, his thumb sliding gently over her knuckles in a little caress. He felt her answering shiver. He could still taste her in his mouth, that particular addicting blend of Francesca’s passion and innocence. He tugged until her front was tight against his side and he stepped from the hallway into the great room to greet his brothers.

“You know the family, and this is Lanz and Deangelo Rossi, my cousins. This is my woman, Francesca.”

She nodded but didn’t smile, clearly very confused.

He didn’t tell her why they were there, that in his family, an investigator from another branch would help out when they were directly involved. He didn’t want to risk questions. She wasn’t ready to learn the family secrets. He needed to hook her deep, make certain she loved him enough to stay. She wasn’t there yet, and he wasn’t about to chance fucking his one shot with her up. He wanted the spotlight off his cousins. “Where’s Emmanuelle?”

“Someone had to be the sacrificial lamb,” Taviano said. “She drew the short straw.” That meant she would keep Eloisa, his mother, busy while they held this meeting.

Stefano nodded. “Anyone want coffee? Wine? Something else to drink?” He led Francesca to the shorter love seat, allowing his brothers to take the larger couches or more comfortable, deep armchairs.

Vittorio was already at the bar, mixing drinks for his brothers and cousins. He served his cousins first and then flashed Francesca one of his winning smiles. “What can I get you?”

She looked up at Stefano. “Am I going to need a drink for this?”

“It might be best, dolce cuore,” Stefano said. He ran his hand over the fall of soft hair tumbling around her face. “We have some questions that need answering.”

Her face instantly shut down. She shook her head, her hand slipping from his. She dropped her hands to her lap, lacing her fingers together tightly. “Stefano . . .”

“It has to be done, Francesca. We need to know what we’re facing. I’ve got my cousins looking into what happened and also into Anthon’s past, but we need to hear the truth from you.”

She shook her head again, glancing nervously at his cousins. They remained steadfastly silent. “How are you going to know whether or not I’m telling the truth? I told the police, the judge, my boss at the deli where I’d worked since I was sixteen, the landlords of two apartments, and in the end no one believed me except Joanna. Your brothers barely know me and your cousins don’t know me at all. Why would they even consider I’d be telling the truth over him?” She made a move to stand, getting ready to flee. “I’ve done this too many times. I don’t want to do it again.”

He stood solidly in front of her, refusing to give ground, making it impossible for her to move. She subsided back onto the love seat and he sat beside her, his arm sliding along the back of the couch, fingers settling on her neck. “Red wine, or would you like something stronger? Vittorio makes a killer margarita.”

She moistened her lips. He felt her body shiver and instinctively he moved closer to her until she was locked against him, thigh to thigh, her body beneath his shoulder.

“You have to trust me to take care of you through this,” he said. “I know it’s upsetting, but you have us now. You’re not alone. Anthon may think that, and he’ll make his move, but you won’t be alone ever again, bella. You’re mine. I take care of what is mine.”

“Ours,” Ricco corrected. “Famiglia.”

The others nodded in a show of solidarity.

Francesca’s hands trembled and Stefano put his over them, tugging until she let him pull one open palm onto his thigh. He covered her hand completely with his, pressing her palm into his muscles, holding it tight against him. She looked up at him for a long time, her gaze searching his. He knew what she saw. He wasn’t a man to lie. He was hard. Cold even. Tenacious. Ruthless, and when he had an enemy, without mercy.