She wanted to groan in shame, and it took all she had not to turn red with embarrassment remembering how drunk she’d been and how she’d thrown herself at him. It had been a really, really horrible night. They’d been very careful with each other over the next couple of years, and she always felt awkward around him. For the most part, Taviano had avoided her, but he’d watched over her, just like the other Ferraros had done.

“What’s wrong, piccola? You look upset. Your friends are having fun but you’re over here staring out a window.”

There was no reprimand in his voice. She realized there rarely was anymore. She looked for disapproval of herself often in others and was especially sensitive around Taviano. His sister, Emmanuelle, had pointed that out to her. She had given that a lot of thought and realized it was true. She looked down on herself and any little nuance others used was interpreted as disapproval.

“I feel bad that I got you into this, Taviano. I know you pulled the short straw coming with us. I didn’t think that one of the family would be coming with the jet.” She hadn’t. She knew they’d send bodyguards, cousins of the Ferraros, but it hadn’t occurred to her that a family member would deem it necessary to travel along.

He reached out to tuck a strand of hair behind her ear. The pads of his fingers were gentle as they moved along her cheek in a whisper and then over her ear. Her heart accelerated into a frenzy and her sex clenched. She was fairly certain if he kept it up her panties might melt off, but she didn’t dare move or even breathe deeply.

“I came because I wanted to come, not because I drew a short straw. When you go somewhere, Nicoletta, a member of the family goes, or we send a cousin, someone trusted. We don’t let strangers watch over a treasure, and you are that to us. To me. Have your fun with your friends. You never ask for anything for yourself. It is always for Lucia and Amo or someone else. Even this was for …” He glanced over his shoulder and gestured. “Enjoy your time with your friends while you can,” he reiterated.

She forced herself to draw in air even though she knew it was a mistake. Taviano always had a distinctive masculine scent about him. She would be able to find him in the dark. The scent wasn’t strong, and she didn’t think it was a cologne; it was his skin, a faint spicy trail she wanted to follow that made her feel safe every time she got near him. Intellectually, she was certain she felt that way because he was the one who had come at her darkest hour, and when she inhaled and drew air—and him—into her lungs, she felt that sense of well-being.

“Thank you, Taviano. You’re always so generous. You and your family.” She nodded toward Pia and Bianca, who were dancing to one of Kain’s most popular songs. Clariss was downing a strawberry-filled flute of champagne. “They’re having a fabulous time, drinking your best champagne.”

“That’s what it’s for. I see you’re not drinking.”

This time she couldn’t control the blush. It started somewhere low and crept steadily up her neck to her face. She avoided his eyes. “I stopped drinking some time ago.”

There was a small silence. “Nicoletta.” “Mmmm?” It was the best she could do. She fiddled with her phone, pretending she was occupied with a text message.

“Look at me.”

It was a command, nothing less, and she was used to obeying a Ferraro command. No one disobeyed them. It just didn’t happen. She had to steel herself to meet his gaze. It took courage, but she managed to raise her lashes and meet all that dark blue. It was like looking at a turbulent night sky. Every time she did it, he robbed her of her ability to breathe.

Nicoletta was hopelessly in love with him and there was nothing she could do about it so she didn’t even try anymore to fight it. She had made up her mind a couple of years earlier just what she was going to do with her life—she was going to be like Emmanuelle and Mariko Ferraro. They were quiet about it, but they were warriors, exuding confidence, commanding respect, and she was slowly coming to find that belief in herself thanks to them.

The one thing the Ferraros had drilled into her over and over, wanted her to believe and given her as a gift, was that she could rise above everything that had been done to her—everything that had been taken from her. She could be a phoenix, rising like that firebird from the ashes of who she had been. She was determined that no one would ever be able to hurt her like that again, destroy her or anyone she loved. She would be a strong, confident woman and ensure that her daughters would be as well. If she had sons, she was determined they would be like the men in the Ferraro family, because she didn’t know better men.