Ricco nodded and trailed after his brother. Stefano knew his brother wasn't protecting him so much as protecting anyone who might try to stop him. The second flight of stairs was almost completely dark, lit only by one dull bulb, which gave off little light. The carpet was filthy and threadbare. Anyone could trip and fall with the holes in it. His temper rose another notch.
The long hallway was totally without light, other than what managed to spill in from the dirty windows at either end of the hall. Francesca's door was midway between the two windows. Stefano wondered if Tidwell had deliberately given her that apartment. Probably. He had to put the single women in apartments where cameras were already set up, although it was possible he had them in all the rooms.
He raised his hand, fingers in a tight fist and controlled his impulse to pound on the door, demanding entrance. Instead, he knocked quietly, his other hand automatically dropping to the doorknob. To his shock, the door inched open. He hadn't turned the knob. Just his gloved knuckles knocking so politely had been enough to spring the door open. What the hell was wrong with her? He glanced back at Ricco's face. It was set in stone, just the way, he was sure, his was.
Before he could jerk open the door and confront her, something made him crouch low and examine the lock. He could see the thin piece of tape placed over the mechanism--a simple but very effective method of preventing Francesca from locking the door.
"Fucker," he spat out, stepping back to show his brother.
"Let's get her the hell out of here, Stefano. Even if you have to carry her out like a caveman. Taviano's waiting in the car. Just get her and go before a bunch of us decide to burn this place to the ground with Tidwell in it."
Ricco's voice was strained. Stefano cursed again. The entire family was affected because he hadn't done his job. He hadn't taken charge of Francesca. He wanted time to court her. To give her that. To let her get to know him before he had to come clean about the shit life he was going to have to ask her to accept. He closed his eyes briefly. He knew it wasn't about asking her. He had to find a way to get her to accept not only him, but his life and his family, because there was no other choice. Worse, he wasn't just asking her to accept it for herself; she had to accept it for their children as well. He detested that.
He stood slowly and pushed open the door. His heart stuttered in his chest. The door opened into a very small room--so small the closet in his master bedroom was larger. There wasn't a single stick of furniture. No chairs. No tables. Nothing at all. The room included a miniature kitchen with a single stained sink and tiny refrigerator. He detested that Francesca--or any woman--would have to stay alone in a place like this. Why hadn't he checked before he left for his job?
He walked into the next room to find her lying on a sleeping bag, her hair spread out over the pillow. The room was freezing. There was no heat coming from the old radiator and she shivered continuously in her sleep. She would have done better to have his coat covering the sleeping bag, but instead, it was hung carefully on a hanger a few feet from her head.
She looked very small under the thin sleeping bag. Her face was turned toward him and he thought she was the most beautiful thing he'd ever seen. Her lashes were exceptionally long and turned up on the ends. Black, like her hair. He crouched down beside her. Close.
"Bambina, wake up." He kept his voice low. Soothing. Not wanting to scare her. He should have taken better care of her. None of this was her fault. He had to remember that when he wanted to put his fist through a wall--or through Tidwell--and rage at the world in general.
Her body jerked. The lashes fluttered. Lifted. He found himself staring into sea-blue eyes. Almost turquoise. Beautiful. The sight hit him low, a wicked punch to his groin. He took a breath. Fear crept into the startled blue of her eyes.
"Stefano." Francesca breathed the name. The room was dark, but enough light came through the curtainless window to illuminate Stefano Ferraro's very masculine features. His brooding eyes were on her face and her stomach did a slow roll. Her heart pounded so hard it actually hurt.
She couldn't just lie there with him staring down at her with his incredible eyes. Eyes that saw everything. Eyes that saw her shabby room with no furniture. Saw that she had nothing. Color crept into her face. She swept back her hair and struggled into a sitting position, holding the sleeping bag over her chest. She wore an old threadbare T-shirt and lacy boy-short underwear, the only thing she had bought new.
"What are you doing in my bedroom?" She tried to make it a demand, but her voice wasn't working correctly. She winced at the word bedroom, wishing she had just said apartment. God. He was scary. He didn't move a muscle. He didn't blink. He was hot as Hades, and every single cell in her body responded to him. Was aware of him. Her breasts felt swollen and achy and she was very, very glad for the sleeping bag she had pulled up over her chest so he couldn't see her nipples getting hard.
No one had ever made her body come to life like he did. Just looking at him. Just smelling his cologne. It was humiliating. She knew she should be outraged that he was there in her apartment, but something was wrong. She could see it in his eyes. Her hand flew defensively to her throat.
"Joanna," she whispered. "Did something happen to her?" She would never forgive herself. Never. She shouldn't have come. She thought she'd covered her tracks, but money talked and if someone was still looking for her, they'd eventually find her--and anyone who helped her.
"She's fine, Francesca. You need to get up and come with me now."
She glanced beyond him to the door of her bedroom. Someone was in her front room. She couldn't make out who, but she saw a shadowy male figure.
Shoving back her hair with one hand, she held tightly to her sleeping bag with the other. "Just tell me, Stefano."
"You can't stay here."
Her heart stuttered at his expression. Grim. Implacable. His jaw tightened as though anticipating her argument--and she was going to argue.
"Well. No. This is where I live."
Something dangerous flickered in the depths of his eyes. He suddenly looked feral. Predatory. In that moment she could almost believe he was some sort of crime lord. He wasn't the kind of man to take no for an answer.
"Bambina, you've got two choices. You can walk out of here dressed, or I'm carrying you out just the way you are. You fucking decide, because I've had it with this hellhole."
She swallowed hard. He wasn't joking. She held up one hand to ward him off. "How did you get in here?"
"Are you fucking kidding me? Your fucking door wasn't even locked, Francesca."
He was really furious to throw so many F-bombs at her. "No. It was. I locked it." She narrowed her eyes at him. "I'm not stupid, Stefano. I locked the door. How did you get in here?"
"I raised my hand to knock and the door opened on its own. There's a piece of tape over the mechanism to prevent it from locking."
There was the ring of truth in his voice and she felt panic rising. Her gaze skittered across the room toward her bedroom door. That door didn't lock. Only the main apartment door locked. "Who would do that? That doesn't make sense." Fear made her heart pound and put a strange taste in her mouth. "Just tell me what's going on."
"I'll tell you after I get you out of here and to somewhere I know you're safe. Come on, dolce cuore, get up." His features softened.
She moistened her lips. His eyes were so beautiful they took her breath away. She would do anything to see that look on his face. Anything at all for him. With the exception of getting up and allowing him to see the shirt she wore. She couldn't just go with him without an explanation. That wasn't even reasonable. She found it far worse that he could see how little she had. The last thing she wanted was for him to pity her. Sheesh. This was so humiliating.
"I want you to leave. We can talk about this in the morning." She forced decisiveness into her voice. He couldn't really force her to go with him. No one would actually carry out such a ridiculous threat.
His entire expression changed. His extremely
masculine features went from soft to stone in the space of a single heartbeat. She knew immediately she was in trouble. He reached for her, hauling her into his arms, sleeping bag and all.
"Ricco, get my coat and her things. We'll be at the penthouse." Stefano tossed her easily over his shoulder and stood up as if she didn't weigh more than a sack of rice.
She caught at his shirt, upside down, staring at his backside. Clutching his jacket, she struggled against the iron band across her thighs. He ignored her and strode right out of the bedroom, past Ricco, who, when she lifted her head, smirked at her. Clearly, Ricco was another brother. They all looked alike, smug and full of arrogance.
"Put me down right this minute," she demanded. Breathless. Her belly was over his shoulder and he felt a little like an oak tree with no give.
"Too late, Francesca. Be still."
He stalked down the hall, and she caught glimpses of men falling into step behind him. Good God. Maybe he was part of a human trafficking ring and he was kidnapping her. What was wrong with her? She screamed. Loud.
His hand came down hard on her butt. She felt the sting right through the sleeping bag, although it didn't really hurt, but it did shock her into silence.
"I told you I'd get you to safety and then tell you what's going on," he snapped, his voice grim. "Just be still. I don't give a damn if you want to scream, but it's rather pointless. Do you really think in this apartment building anyone is going to stick their neck into our business?"
He was moving fast now, taking the stairs effortlessly. She felt a little dizzy and she clutched at his jacket harder.
"You're scaring me, Stefano," she admitted, hating that her voice trembled, but she was frightened.
"I know, bambina, but you'll be fine. I've got you now and I'm going to keep you safe. Which you weren't in this rattrap. Just trust me for a few more minutes and then I'll explain everything. Can you give me that?"
She laid her head against his back, feeling his muscles ripple as he moved into the foyer of the apartment building. It wasn't as if she had much choice. The door to the owner's apartment was open and as they passed, she glimpsed men inside. The place was a wreck. Then they were out in the open air. He reached out and yanked open the door to the backseat of a town car. He was very gentle as he deposited her on the backseat, still cocooned in the sleeping bag. He slid in beside her, reaching to buckle her in.
The driver turned and tossed a cocky grin over his shoulder at her. "I'm Taviano, Stefano's brother. Nice to meet you, Francesca."
CHAPTER SEVEN
"This is crazy. You're kidnapping me," Francesca managed to say, finally catching her breath. She wasn't certain if she couldn't breathe because Stefano had just showed her his ruthless side, or because he was the most attractive man she'd ever met in her life and her entire body responded in a very intimate way when he'd revealed that ruthless side. Why being thrown over his shoulder and carried through a building like a Viking captive should make her body damp and needy made no sense, but she couldn't deny that she felt intensely alive and wildly attracted to Stefano Ferraro.
She caught at the safety belt to jerk it off of her, but Stefano's hand closed over hers, preventing movement. "Calm the fuck down and stop fighting me. It won't do you any good, and I'm already pissed off. I don't like repeating myself, either."
Francesca subsided against the cool leather of the seats, shocked at his tone. At the sheer anger. Stefano was definitely skating close to an explosion. She didn't want to be anywhere around him when he detonated. "Wow. You wake me up in the middle of the night, without knocking on my door, I might add, and carry me out over your shoulder like I'm a sack of potatoes and you're the one angry."
A little snicker came from the driver and she glared at him in the mirror, but he didn't look at her, his gaze studiously on the road. Still, she knew he was laughing.
"I was gentle with you," Stefano reminded her. "So not like a sack of potatoes. I explained about the door, not that it would have stopped me had it been locked. You don't belong in that building and you damn well know it."
She winced at his tone. "Not everyone can afford to live at the Ritz." She gave him tone right back.
"I live at the Ferraro, not the Ritz, which is where we're going now."
Her mouth fell open. The Ferraro was considered the height of luxury. No one could afford it but the rich and famous. "You are not taking me to that place. I mean it."
"Why not?"
Her mouth opened several times but no sound emerged for the longest time. "Are you serious? I'm dressed in a sleeping bag. You can't walk through those doors without looking glamorous. They'll throw me out."
For the first time, a faint glint of humor crept into the deep blue of his eyes. "Piccola, I own the hotel. I doubt anyone could do that without losing their job."
Total male amusement. She didn't think anything was funny about the situation. "No way. Drop me off at the nearest shelter." She stuck her chin in the air.
Stefano looked down at her, and the impact of meeting his penetrating blue eyes felt like an arrow piercing her chest straight to her heart. Her heart stuttered and her stomach did a slow roll. All trace of amusement was gone, leaving his jaw hard and his eyes burning with a fierce anger that threatened to scorch everyone in the car.
"You are telling me that you would rather go to a shelter than come to my hotel with me?" He bit out each word separately from behind perfect white clenched teeth. "Would you like to explain why?"
No, she wouldn't like to explain why. First, if she told him it was because he was wealthy, that would make her sound prejudiced, which if she were being entirely truthful, she was. Second, he was the hottest, sexiest man she'd ever come across in her entire life and already, in the close confines of the car, even upset at him, she couldn't stop her body's reaction to him.
"Do I have to have a reason?" She stuck her chin in the air.
Taviano snorted, and when she glared into the rearview mirror, he assumed an innocent mask.
"It wouldn't matter anyway, because your reason is as much bullshit as you staying in that firetrap of an apartment. The only reason the building hasn't been condemned is because Tidwell is related to the Saldis and they're notorious for bribing officials or threatening them."
"Like you're doing to me?" she challenged.
"I'm not bribing or threatening," Stefano denied flatly. "You just don't have a choice."
His voice was very low, velvet soft so that the tone played over her skin like fingers. She shivered and burrowed deeper into the threadbare sleeping bag.
"It's called kidnapping if I don't want to go with you."
"I don't give a damn what you call it, dolce cuore, just so long as you're safe."
That was hard to argue with, especially since she was a little bit freaked out and unsure of what just happened. She was beginning to panic. "Taviano, you tell him he can't do this."
"Nice of you to join us tonight," Taviano said, glancing back in the rearview mirror. "I must say, my brother has good taste." The teasing note in his voice calmed her. "Even my parents gave up trying to tell him what he could or couldn't do when he was around ten," Taviano added, with a quick grin thrown at her through the mirror.
There was no help there, but then she'd been pretty certain Stefano's own brother wasn't going to get her out of this mess. Clearly he found the situation amusing.
She glanced at Stefano and then away, unable to meet his eyes. "I don't have any clothes." The confession slipped out. Low. Under her breath. She kept her gaze firmly on the floor of the vehicle.
"Francesca, look at me."
Her heart jumped and then began to pound again at his authoritative tone. She couldn't imagine anyone disobeying him. Her gaze jumped to his before she could stop it. It was a mistake. His eyes were glittering with a kind of menace she couldn't conceive. That, and something that made her stomach coil and the burn at the junction of her legs grow hotter.
"You're safe. Just settle. I'm piss
ed as hell and you aren't doing yourself any favors by trying to defy me."
She sucked in her breath sharply. "Defy you?" She forgot all about being afraid or intimidated by him. "Like I'm some errant child you have to reprimand? You have got to be the most arrogant, annoying, bossy man I've ever encountered."
"That about sums him up," Taviano agreed, his grin widening. "We're here."
To her horror, he had really pulled up in front of the Ferraro Hotel. Taviano drove the car right up to the red carpet extending from the building, where several valets waited to jump into action the moment a car glided close.
"I'm not getting out," Francesca declared. "I'm dressed in a sleeping bag for God's sake. Really, Stefano, just take me to a shelter."
She should have known better than to expect Stefano to comply. Apparently he really didn't argue when he wanted his way--and he wanted his way. The valet opened the passenger door. Stefano slid out and reached for her.
"I'll scream."
"Go ahead, bambina. Make a scene. I don't mind. You're still going up to the penthouse with me." His tone was implacable.
"Stefano." She wasn't above pleading.
He ignored her, his hands gripping her right through the sleeping bag. He was enormously strong and there was no prying his fingers off of her. He dragged her out of the backseat, tossed her over his shoulder again and without saying a word to anyone, he walked right up to the double glass doors. The doors were already open for him, the doorman grinning and giving him a little salute.
Going into the Ferraro Hotel was the most embarrassing thing Francesca could possibly imagine. Clamping her mouth shut so she wouldn't scream in sheer frustration, she buried her face against his back, holding tightly to his shirt. She stayed very still, not wanting anyone to see her, but knowing everyone was looking. For one thing, Stefano Ferraro was hot and superrich and owned the entire hotel. Okay, maybe his family did, but still, who would expect him to be carrying a woman over his shoulder, upside down, cocooned in a sleeping bag? It was mortifying.
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