would have gone to war.”
Emmanuelle shook her head. “Val would have taken care of it.” The moment the words left her mouth, she pressed two fingers over her lips as if she could have stopped them.
“Has anyone heard from Eloisa?” Vittorio asked, turning the attention away from his younger sister. His mother was notorious for her cold, cutting remarks. She had made things so uncomfortable for Francesca that Stefano had forbidden her to come to his home. “Does she know Francesca is pregnant?”
“No.” Stefano’s voice was clipped. “Francesca has to be as stress-free as possible, and we all know anytime Eloisa comes around, stress levels go through the roof. She’s still banned. I fear, since she can’t come at Francesca, she’s going to lose her mind when she hears you’re engaged to Grace Murphy—a girl raised in foster homes.”
Vittorio sighed. “I should tell her face-to-face, but I need to get back to the hospital.”
“You’re wiped, Vittorio,” Stefano said. “You need to sleep. In any case, the news has probably leaked.”
“I’ll tell Eloisa,” Emmanuelle volunteered. “You go see your fiancée and as soon as you give the word, I’ll come to meet her. We all need to look as if we’ve been around her quite often, so others believe you’ve been dating her. Others meaning the Saldis.”
That was so like Emme. Vittorio squeezed her hand. “Keep me informed, whatever any of you or Rosina and Rigina uncover. The cops are going to want to keep after us, so make certain you’re seen and have alibis just in case Phillips or Gori and Sarto end up dead.”
Stefano gave him another one of his sharp looks but refrained from speaking. Vittorio sent him his cool smile, the one that meant he had everything under control. He’d been thrown finding Grace existed, but being with his family had settled him. His family would hopefully find Haydon before the Saldis did. They needed him alive to tell them who wanted Grace. No one was taking her from Vittorio, and Stefano and every one of his brothers and Emmanuelle knew that was a fact.
CHAPTER THREE
It was just her luck to be in the worst possible circumstances when she met the hottest man in the entire world. Grace Murphy wished the earth would just open up and swallow her, hospital bed and all. The Ferraro family certainly had a strong sense of responsibility when it came to someone getting shot in their parking lot. Even that was embarrassing, having her own foster brother try to sell her into prostitution to pay his gambling debts.
She was like everyone else, following the life of the Ferraros in magazines bought at the grocery store or flipped through at the beauty parlor. She’d always been drawn to Vittorio, finding herself reading every single thing about him. Now, here he was in person, sprawled out in a chair, more beautiful than the photographs could capture, as big as life. Bigger even, the reality of him taking up an enormous amount of space, his wide shoulders and long legs keeping her attention riveted on him.
She groaned aloud and covered her red face with one hand. He’d been there every single day. Right there. In that chair. Pacing around the room. Talking on his cell. It didn’t matter what he was doing, he saw to her every need. He noticed before she did that her pain level was rising, and he took care of it. He didn’t like the food they were serving her, and she was given catered, very nutritious meals for breakfast, lunch and dinner. She hadn’t been able to feed herself those first few days and he had been the one to sit on the edge of her bed and feed her.
The first week after she’d been shot and operated on, there’d been so much pain she could barely breathe, and she hadn’t been able to fully comprehend who he was. Mostly, she’d slept and thought she was dreaming. One of the nurses had referred to him as her fiancé and she had been confused. She’d started to correct her, but then looked beyond her to see Vittorio Ferraro hovering behind the woman.
Their eyes had locked. Had she known that eyes like his existed in real life? She’d been captivated. Spellbound. Unable to think. Those eyes had turned her brain to mush. Her heart had leapt to her throat. Grace had felt as if he was willing her not to speak, not to contradict what the nurse was saying—and she hadn’t.