Francesca frowned at him, nodding. “His diabetes was out of control.”
“The doctor told me you saved his life. Then you went back to his home, paid his bills, cleaned his house, which by the way next time you bring in the cleaning crews. You also stocked his home with the kind of food he needed. He isn’t the only one. You visit the residents who are sick. I tried to do that in my spare time, but never could fit it all in. We all did. Even dividing the work between us, we couldn’t get it done. You took that off of all of us.”
“Emme goes with me.”
“When I can,” Emmanuelle said. “But it isn’t that often.”
“And all the committees and boards you’re on, Francesca,” Stefano continued. “Each of them needs a Ferraro on them. You took that off of us as well. More importantly, baby, you are my entire world.”
“Our world,” Giovanni said. “You, Mariko and Emmanuelle are important to us, and not because you can give the family babies.”
“If we never have a child, I would go through my life happy,” Stefano assured. “The doctor said there was no problem and we can have children.” He reached out his hand to her, threading his fingers through hers, his eyes on hers. “Just relax, baby, we’re going to be fine. You’re going to be fine. Just stay the hell away from Eloisa. I’m going to make it very clear to her that she doesn’t come here unless I’m home.”
“Don’t do that, Stefano,” Francesca said. “It was silly of me to let her upset me.”
“I’m going to make it very clear to my mother that she isn’t allowed to come near you unless I’m with you,” he reiterated, making it a decree. “Dinner is getting cold.”
That was the end of the discussion, and they turned back to their food. Giovanni felt relief that Stefano had handled the situation the way he had. It was a learning experience. He’d need a few lessons, especially after blowing it with Sasha.
“How the hell do you keep your temper in check?” he asked Stefano.
Stefano’s gaze swept over him. “You’ve always been cool and then your temper burns so hot and out of control, it takes down everything in its path. You just have to acknowledge to yourself that that cool is all a fa?ade. Know what triggers it and be very careful. You’re going to need to be calm and rational to reel this girl in.”
“She isn’t a fish,” Francesca objected.
“She’s not even on the hook,” Giovanni said, annoyed. “I can get every woman I don’t want, but not the one I do. She’s attracted, but running in the opposite direction very fast.”
Ordinarily, his family would have been teasing the hell out of him, but Sasha was the one. He’d made that clear. Their shadows had connected, and already that pull was being felt. She’d unlocked that vulnerable place inside of him and now he had no choice but to actively pursue her. There could be no mistakes. She was that woman, the one destined to be the center of his world in the way Francesca was for Stefano and Mariko was for Ricco.
“Why?” Stefano asked.
Giovanni stiffened. “Why what?”
“Why isn’t she on the hook? She’s a server in our nightclub. You had dinner with her after hours. From what I was told, there were two incidents at the club and both times you stepped in and took care of it before security. Why isn’t she on the hook?”
“Stefano,” Francesca said gently.
Giovanni knew he wasn’t going to drop it. He was ashamed to tell Stefano in front of Francesca and Mariko about the game he’d made up.
Stefano watched him eat his pasta. Giovanni took a sip of wine to wash the pasta down and then made his confession. “She overheard me telling Salvatore and Geno about this stupid game we sometimes play when we’re bored.”
Stefano’s face darkened. “Game?”
“For money. We bet on women.” Giovanni glanced at Francesca’s face. She looked at him under her long lashes, her face soft and compassionate. He hated that she was going to be disappointed in him. “I get so fucking sick of women throwing themselves at us because we’re Ferraros.”
“The point is, Giovanni, to use that to our advantage. We need to be seen in public while one of us is dispensing justice,” Stefano said mildly. “What did she overhear?”
“Nothing that could compromise us,” Giovanni said. “You know I would never talk about our work.” Although he would have liked to do just that with her. He wanted to explain to Sasha why he was upset and tired of the nightclubs. Why he had to appear to be a playboy when he wasn’t. Okay, maybe he was. God. He scrubbed a hand down his face. He didn’t even know anymore. He wanted to go up to her apartment and just sit with her. See her face. Watch her smile light up her eyes. All this time, and he hadn’t made any headway.
“What did she overhear?” Stefano repeated.
“The game. It’s a point system, Stefano. A woman asks us to dance is one point. She initiates certain things on the dance floor, more points. She offers to do certain things, more points. That sort of thing. Sasha overheard and was rightfully disgusted and now has a very bad opinion of me.”
“The woman has to initiate the contact?” Francesca asked, leveling her gaze at him.
She understood all right. There was nothing slow about Francesca. He glanced at Mariko. She had been raised in Japan, and English wasn’t her first language, but she understood as well.
“This is a game you played, Ricco?” she asked her husband.
Ricco took her hand. “You know I did all sorts of things I shouldn’t have done, farfallina mia. I’m not that man now.”
“Perhaps it would be good to retire this game,” Francesca said and looked pointedly at Vittorio and Taviano. “And if there is a female version of the game, Emme, you need to opt out of that as well.”
Taviano and Vittorio concentrated on their food. Emme glared at Giovanni. “There is definitely no female version of the game, nor have they played it around me.” Her tone indicated she would have shut it down, which they knew, so they’d never allowed her to overhear the bets between them.
Giovanni wanted to kick his brothers under the table for leaving him hanging out there. “Taviano had to take Nicoletta home last night, Stefano. She was drunk again and out far past her curfew. She’s out of hand.”
“She’s a hellion,” Vittorio said. “You have to talk to her, Stefano.”
“I talked to her last night,” Taviano said. He looked around the table. He hadn’t touched his wine and he looked very serious. “Someone had to, Stefano. She was out of control. I don’t care if she’s eighteen, twenty or older. She has no business getting drunk and missing her curfew or putting herself in danger like that. Lucia and Amo are good people. They took her in and gave her a good home. They deserve respect at the very least.”
“Taviano”—Francesca’s voice was gentle—“she doesn’t respect herself yet. She needs direction.”
“I gave her direction,” he snapped and then shook his head. “Mi dispiace,” he apologized. “I might have been too hard on her.” He pushed the heel of his hand against his forehead, rubbed as if he had a headache and then took a deep breath and looked around. “I was hard on her. Deliberately. I wanted her to think about the chances she’s throwing away. I was fucking drunk myself, and when she fought me …” He shook his head. “Let’s just say, I wasn’t gentle.”
“Taviano.” Francesca’s voice was soothing.