Shadow Rider
Page 9
“Well. Are they?” she persisted.
Joanna looked uncomfortable. “They keep the neighborhood safe.”
Francesca looked down at the open pages of the magazines again. They looked like playboys, yet if she looked really close, if she studied their faces, she could see the danger lurking under all that beauty. The bell over the door announced a customer and Francesca looked up as she stood. Her heart stuttered. Another Ferraro. Definitely. Not Stefano, but certainly one of his brothers. His sharp gaze moved around the store until it settled on her. Her stomach reacted, taking a little dive. She glanced at Joanna. Her friend sat frozen, her mouth open, her hand on the magazines.
Francesca carefully closed the covers and prayed those sharp eyes already dissecting the two of them hadn’t seen what they were looking at. She forced her body to move, going straight to and around the counter. That helped, putting a barrier between them.
“May I help you?” Her voice came out a little strangled. She had secrets. Men like the Ferraros—jet-setters, men so rich they thought they owned everything in their world— could ruin her. She knew from experience that they wouldn’t think twice about destroying anyone who got in their way.
“Hello, Joanna,” the newcomer said, looking at Francesca, not Joanna. “You want to introduce us?”
Joanna jumped up so fast she nearly knocked over her chair. This time of day the deli was relatively quiet. Clusters of customers came in sporadically until the next big rush. Still, the few customers that were there ceased speaking, just as they’d done when Stefano had walked in.
“Of course. Giovanni Ferraro, this is my friend Francesca Capello.”
Giovanni stuck out his hand. Francesca had no choice but to take it or seem rude. For all her declarations of the Ferraro family keeping the neighborhood safe, Joanna seemed anxious. Giovanni’s hand closed around hers.
“You’re new in our neighborhood.” Giovanni made it a statement.
Francesca nodded. “Is there something I can get for you?”
“Mamma would like me to bring her some of Pietro’s tiramisu. She’s been craving it and couldn’t get into the store today. Would you box me up six pieces?”
Francesca nodded. Relieved. He had a legitimate reason for coming to the store. What did she know? Joanna said the family frequented the store. Her weird encounter with Stefano made her nervous—that was all. She put together one of the carry boxes and lined it carefully, knowing Pietro would want the box to be extra special.
“How are you settling in to the neighborhood?” Giovanni asked. “Everyone treating you right?”
Francesca felt the tension in the store rise a notch. She lifted her gaze slowly to meet his. This was no casual visit. She didn’t know why the innocent question tipped her off, but the Ferraro family continued to take an interest in her. Alarm bells began shrieking at her. Maybe even Chicago wasn’t safe for her. She tried not to look as if she was freaking out. Joanna was. Her face had gone pale and she twisted her fingers together anxiously, waiting for Francesca’s answer. The entire store seemed to be waiting.
“Everyone has been wonderful,” she replied, and looked down at her work space, carefully placing each piece into the box.
“No complaints then?” he prompted.
Her heart jumped. She felt like she was walking on eggshells, one wrong move and something terrible would happen. She just didn’t know what.
“None.” She put the box on the counter.
Giovanni leaned close as he handed her the money for the tiramisu. “Buy some shoes.” His voice was low. Just between the two of them.
Her gaze jumped to his. He refused to look away. She wasn’t going to argue with him, but she wasn’t spending Stefano’s money. Not one cent. Not for anything. Pietro let her eat there at the deli and she was careful not to abuse that privilege, but she wasn’t going hungry anymore, so she didn’t need Stefano’s money. The Ferraro family seemed to be obsessed with her getting new shoes.
“Don’t piss him off,” Giovanni advised. “Buy yourself the shoes. You can always pay him back. He’ll be home soon and you don’t want to get him riled.”
“He sent you to check up on me?” she hissed.
He grinned at her, completely unrepentant. He looked nearly as gorgeous as his brother. And as arrogant. “We’re watching over you,” he admitted. “He’d beat the holy hell out of us if we didn’t. So buy the shoes and keep me from getting a broken nose. I like mine the way it is.”
She gave him the change. “Just wait right there. I’ve got his coat in the back and you can . . .”
Joanna looked uncomfortable. “They keep the neighborhood safe.”
Francesca looked down at the open pages of the magazines again. They looked like playboys, yet if she looked really close, if she studied their faces, she could see the danger lurking under all that beauty. The bell over the door announced a customer and Francesca looked up as she stood. Her heart stuttered. Another Ferraro. Definitely. Not Stefano, but certainly one of his brothers. His sharp gaze moved around the store until it settled on her. Her stomach reacted, taking a little dive. She glanced at Joanna. Her friend sat frozen, her mouth open, her hand on the magazines.
Francesca carefully closed the covers and prayed those sharp eyes already dissecting the two of them hadn’t seen what they were looking at. She forced her body to move, going straight to and around the counter. That helped, putting a barrier between them.
“May I help you?” Her voice came out a little strangled. She had secrets. Men like the Ferraros—jet-setters, men so rich they thought they owned everything in their world— could ruin her. She knew from experience that they wouldn’t think twice about destroying anyone who got in their way.
“Hello, Joanna,” the newcomer said, looking at Francesca, not Joanna. “You want to introduce us?”
Joanna jumped up so fast she nearly knocked over her chair. This time of day the deli was relatively quiet. Clusters of customers came in sporadically until the next big rush. Still, the few customers that were there ceased speaking, just as they’d done when Stefano had walked in.
“Of course. Giovanni Ferraro, this is my friend Francesca Capello.”
Giovanni stuck out his hand. Francesca had no choice but to take it or seem rude. For all her declarations of the Ferraro family keeping the neighborhood safe, Joanna seemed anxious. Giovanni’s hand closed around hers.
“You’re new in our neighborhood.” Giovanni made it a statement.
Francesca nodded. “Is there something I can get for you?”
“Mamma would like me to bring her some of Pietro’s tiramisu. She’s been craving it and couldn’t get into the store today. Would you box me up six pieces?”
Francesca nodded. Relieved. He had a legitimate reason for coming to the store. What did she know? Joanna said the family frequented the store. Her weird encounter with Stefano made her nervous—that was all. She put together one of the carry boxes and lined it carefully, knowing Pietro would want the box to be extra special.
“How are you settling in to the neighborhood?” Giovanni asked. “Everyone treating you right?”
Francesca felt the tension in the store rise a notch. She lifted her gaze slowly to meet his. This was no casual visit. She didn’t know why the innocent question tipped her off, but the Ferraro family continued to take an interest in her. Alarm bells began shrieking at her. Maybe even Chicago wasn’t safe for her. She tried not to look as if she was freaking out. Joanna was. Her face had gone pale and she twisted her fingers together anxiously, waiting for Francesca’s answer. The entire store seemed to be waiting.
“Everyone has been wonderful,” she replied, and looked down at her work space, carefully placing each piece into the box.
“No complaints then?” he prompted.
Her heart jumped. She felt like she was walking on eggshells, one wrong move and something terrible would happen. She just didn’t know what.
“None.” She put the box on the counter.
Giovanni leaned close as he handed her the money for the tiramisu. “Buy some shoes.” His voice was low. Just between the two of them.
Her gaze jumped to his. He refused to look away. She wasn’t going to argue with him, but she wasn’t spending Stefano’s money. Not one cent. Not for anything. Pietro let her eat there at the deli and she was careful not to abuse that privilege, but she wasn’t going hungry anymore, so she didn’t need Stefano’s money. The Ferraro family seemed to be obsessed with her getting new shoes.
“Don’t piss him off,” Giovanni advised. “Buy yourself the shoes. You can always pay him back. He’ll be home soon and you don’t want to get him riled.”
“He sent you to check up on me?” she hissed.
He grinned at her, completely unrepentant. He looked nearly as gorgeous as his brother. And as arrogant. “We’re watching over you,” he admitted. “He’d beat the holy hell out of us if we didn’t. So buy the shoes and keep me from getting a broken nose. I like mine the way it is.”
She gave him the change. “Just wait right there. I’ve got his coat in the back and you can . . .”
