Francesca suddenly recognized her. Not from the television, but from a magazine Joanna had given her. “She was on page seventy-three. Hanging on Stefano’s arm.” She whispered it before she realized just what that admission gave away. Color moved up into her face.

The waitress was back, putting their drinks in front of them, confirming that the Ferraros didn’t have to wait for anything, not even their drinks. Francesca reached for hers and took a long drink as the woman hurried away. The Moscow Mule went down smoothly. She needed the alcohol to fortify her.

Emmanuelle leaned forward and put her hand over Francesca’s, stilling the fingers that had been drumming on the table. Francesca hadn’t even been aware she was so restless. Nervous. Jealous. Sheesh. How embarrassing in front of his sister and cousins.

“Stefano may have sowed his wild oats, but he’s done with that. I can guarantee that when my brother chooses a woman, he will be faithful to her. It’s for life.”

Francesca bit her lip to keep from laughing. There was nothing humorous about Emmanuelle’s statement, and yet it was laughable. “You can’t know that.”

“We live by a code. It’s a strict one, but we cling to honor. It’s just who and what we are. That can’t change.”

Francesca refused to look at her. Instead, she looked around the enormous room, where many, many women danced suggestively with partners. “So how many women right here in this club do you suppose Stefano has been with?” Her chin went up and she finally forced her head to turn toward Emmanuelle, her gaze meeting Stefano’s sister’s vivid blue eyes. “Would you say about half? Or am I being conservative?”

Why had she come? She knew better. She didn’t belong in this world of casual hookups. It wasn’t her. She didn’t understand it and she’d never be comfortable in it. She never would. It wasn’t as if she was a prude. Whenever Stefano touched her or kissed her, her body went up in flames. She would fall, just like all the women before her, but she wouldn’t chase him. Once he dumped her, she would disappear from his life. She had pride. She couldn’t very well judge the other women, not when she was going to be just as bad.

Still, she was being a total bitch. It wasn’t Emmanuelle’s fault that Stefano was a hound dog. A gorgeous one, but still a hound dog. She shook her head. “I just feel out of place here, and I think I’m taking it out on Stefano.”

“He can’t change his past, Francesca,” Emmanuelle stated quietly. “As much as he’d like to, he can’t change a thing. He never expected to have you.” Her eyes searched Francesca’s face. “He does have you, doesn’t he?”

For the first time Emmanuelle sounded vulnerable. Francesca’s heart jerked in her chest. She couldn’t look away from Emmanuelle’s blue eyes. She had that same ability as Stefano—the one that could capture and hold. It occurred to Francesca that Stefano’s sister was every bit as lethal as the male Ferraros.

“I don’t even know what he does for a living. I don’t know him at all. This is all moving so fast I honestly can’t catch my breath.” She tried a tentative smile. “Your brother tends to steamroll right over a girl. He’s so wonderful. Beautiful. Everything that I’m not.”

Emmanuelle scowled at her. “Why in the world would you say that, Francesca? You obviously don’t see yourself the way the rest of the world does.” She looked up suddenly, her face instantly going expressionless in the way Stefano’s often did. She flashed a small, brief smile toward the trio of women who had mounted the stairs and invaded their private space.

“Doreen. Stella. Janice.” She gave a little nod, princess to peasant. “I had no idea the three of you were in town.”

Francesca twisted her fingers together in her lap. Rigina and Rosina both had gone silent. Joanna looked as if she might faint, and even Mario was staring with his mouth open. The three women were in a famous band. Hugely famous. They weren’t the kind of women one would just see walking up to them in a nightclub. Joanna clearly was pinching herself, grinning from ear to ear and practically bouncing on her seat.

Francesca recognized each of the women, all of whom Stefano had dated briefly. There had been several articles on the scandal. Will the band break up? Keeping it all in the family. There were many, many more. Stefano had quite publicly dated each of the women amid a flurry of torrid headlines.

“Emmanuelle.” Doreen nodded, her haughty look not quite as well done as Emmanuelle’s. “Stefano’s supposed to be here tonight, but we haven’t seen him.” The three women exchanged a long look and then laughed together. “We thought we’d show him a real good time,” she added, almost purring.