Marco sidled into the kitchen and put his coffee mug under the machine.

"Breakfast."

"For me?"

"For Florence," I corrected, pushing scrambled eggs around a pan.

"And Cecelia," a second voice sang. Cecelia entered the kitchen wearing one of my shirts, her damp hair slung up into a messy bun. She pulled out a chair and sat down. "I like my eggs poached."

Marco shot me a look out of the corner of his eye as he sipped on his coffee, eyebrows raised. I shrugged, although it felt wrong seeing someone other than Florence wearing my clothes. The shirt covered less of Cecelia's long, toned body, only just reaching her thighs. She didn't seem to care.

"Guess who I just got off the phone to," Marco said.

"I don't play guessing games."

"Do you know what day it is on Saturday?"

"Get to the point," I snapped, losing patience as I poured the scrambled eggs on to toast along with cooked tomatoes.

"I was on the phone to Madre, and she kindly reminded me that it's someone's birthday on Saturday. I'll give you a clue: she looks just like you, but she's scarier."

"Al diavolo," I cursed. "Madre."

(To hell with that)

"Is there something wrong with your mum?" All heads in the room turned to the doorway where Florence was stood. Her eyes surveyed the scene before her, coming to land on Cecelia and the shirt she was wearing. Her lips pulled into a thin line.

Cecelia picked up on the heat of her gaze and turned to me. "Oh, Arturo! I forgot to say, I borrowed this to sleep in since my other clothes are torn. I hope you don't mind?"

Florence's eyes met mine and I could feel the tension behind them, like a bow string stretched taut. "You should have asked," I told Cecelia, "Sofia has plenty of spare clothes."

Cece turned to Florence. "I didn't mean to threaten you, Flo."

"It's Florence," she corrected flatly, an acidity in her voice I hadn't heard before.

"Right. Well, Arturo, if it's your Madre's birthday on Saturday I want to come to Italy. I've missed the Sicilian sea air."

"I'm going to get a shower." Florence turned and left the room, trying and failing to hide her irritation.

I picked up the plate of food I'd made her and followed quickly behind. I didn't catch up until she reached our bedroom. "Wait," I commanded.

She stopped at the sound of my voice and turned, a hard expression on her face. "I'm not overreacting."

"I know you're not. I didn't know she'd taken one of my shirts, if she'd asked I would have said no." I held out the plate to her, "I made you breakfast."

Florence was still angry, I could see it in the cute pucker of her lips, but I also knew the promise of food was something she rarely turned down. She stared at the plate and raised an eyebrow, "I don't want to eat down stairs."

What she really meant was that she didn't want to be around everybody else, and truth be told I didn't blame her. Usually I didn't allow food or drink to be taken into the bedrooms of the house, but I knew right now I needed to make an exception. As much as it pained me.

"You can eat up here," I said grudgingly.

"With you?"

I handed her the plate and sat down on our bed. "I'm all yours."

She continued to frown for a moment, watching me wearily, before she finally sat down too. I watched her as she began to eat, noticing the small smile she couldn't hide and the way her red curls fell down to frame her face. She glanced up and caught me staring, her cheeks blushing pink. "This is good," she said, "thanks."

I didn't say anything, instead I began tracing patterns on her back with my fingertips. Whatever tension Florence felt about Cecelia's presence, I wanted to get rid of it.

I cleared my throat. "I've been meaning to thank you."

"Thank me for what?"

"For being selfless. You had no personal reason to help Cecelia..."

"My personal reason was you, Arturo."

"Yes, well, thank you."

We lapsed into silence and I felt it again, that familiar sensation of having not said enough. Florence finished her breakfast and put her plate down on her lap, but she didn't get up. She was waiting for something more.

"I know I don't always think you are, but you're brave. When you came up with that plan I started to realise that you're not the same woman I knew four years ago."

Florence bit her lip. "And your feelings are the same?"

"Of course," I shrugged because it was obvious. If Florence couldn't see how strongly I cared for her after all this time then she was wilfully avoiding a truth that was staring her straight in the eyes. "I can tell Cece not to come to Italy, if it would make you uncomfortable. I'll be gone one day, two at the most."

"Don't you mean we?" She frowned.

"I didn't realise you'd want to come."

"The other week you almost proposed to me. Don't you think it's time I met your parents?"

"These aren't normal circumstances."

"I don't care about the circumstances," she said fiercely.

I reached over to cup her face and I could feel the set of her jaw, the determination that pulsed under her pale skin. When I looked into her eyes I knew this was a battle I wasn't going to win. "I don't know how they would react to you," I admitted. Imagining madre approving of any woman was a difficult task, but padre was near impossible. Loyalty flowed in his veins, it was the force of his life. He'd never accept an outsider, let alone one borne from the enemy.

"I guess we'll have to find out." Her eyes didn't leave mine until I nodded slowly.

I had to admit, I was impressed by her insistence. Knowing all that she knew about the mafia, asking to be taken right into the heart of a rival family was brave, if a little stupid. Of course I would always protect her, but the worry remained that she might need protecting.

"I'll book our flights," I conceded. "First class, of course."

"Of course," she rolled her eyes. "Can't you just act like a normal person for once?"

"Normal people fly first class, Florence. Besides, I could have taken the private jet."

"You're ridiculous." She leaned over and kissed me, "and I love you."

"Yes, well, you might not after you've met my family."

"But they like Cecelia?" Worry fell like a shadow over her face.

"The Ricci's are old family friends. They've known Cece since she was born, so yes, they like her."

Florence sat back, processing this information. She was quiet for a long time, her gaze intense but far away from anything in front of her. "Should I be worried about Cecelia, Arturo?"

"Worried in what respect?"

"You know what respect. Is she a threat? Look me in the eyes and tell me the truth."

I moved closer, holding her face until our lips were almost touching. She seemed startled at first, her eyes fixed on mine and her breathing uneven. "You don't need to feel threatened by anyone, Florence. Cecelia is a friend, how I feel about her isn't comparable."

"You promise?" she whispered.

I nodded, pressing my lips to hers.

**

When our plane touched down in Palermo I let out a sigh of relief. Amber and Sofia had been at each other's throats the entire time and I hadn't managed a second of sleep despite the lengthy flight. I was feeling exhausted and worse for wear, especially since Cecelia and Arturo had been sat together towards the front of the plane. They talked almost constantly, and now there was a dull ache in my neck from craning it to watch them.

I told myself it didn't bother me, not really. The two were old friends and they had a lot of catching up to do – offering to babysit Amber and Sofia was the least I could do, after all I'd been the one to invite my friend along.

"Where am I supposed to fit my cases?" Amber whined, staring into the boot of the Jeep which was already filled to the brim with luggage belonging to Marco, Arturo, and I.

The Luccheses had arranged for two cars to be waiting on the airfield, ready to take us to the family house.

"In here, sweet cheeks," Sofia said with a smirk. She was leant against the bonnet of a Jaguar, cigarette between her lips. Cecelia was already inside of the car.

"You've got to be kidding me," she huffed under her breath. It was no secret that Arturo's sister and Amber resented one another.

Arturo leaned in closer and whispered in my ear, "Did we really have to bring her?"

I shot him a disapproving glance and shoved his shoulder lightly. I wanted Amber with me as an ally, someone to make being surrounded by so many strangers seem less daunting.

"The boot of Sofia's car will have room," I told my friend encouragingly. When I'd proposed the idea of a holiday to Italy, I hadn't exactly told Amber that it was a family affair.

"Great," she muttered.

Arturo placed his hand on the small of my back and guided me towards the waiting SUV, pulling the door open for me. He caught my gaze as I climbed in and I shot him a tight, nervous smile.

"Rilassare," he whispered, leaning into the car to kiss me. "It's only a couple of days."

Arturo climbed in beside me and we began to move, a cool blast of air-conditioning flowing through the car. The Sicilian heat had already drawn a sweat across my brow which I dabbed at absently, staring out of the window.

"I'm surprised Cecelia isn't riding with us," I said, eyeing a wind sock stuck into the scorched grass which fell limp down the pole. There wasn't a breath of wind to cool the stifling heat.

Arturo reached for my hand. "Why is that?"

"No reason," I tried to make my voice sound light but it fell flat.

My comment was met with silence.

"She seems to have monopolised your attention the whole way here is all," I shrugged.

"Florence." I didn't want to look at him but Arturo knew the precise tone of voice to use that could make me do anything. "Now my attention is all yours," he smirked, hiking a brow up. "Entertain me."

I pushed away his hand which had been working its way up the inside of my thigh, smiling. "You're filthy!"

"You have no idea. I can show you just how filthy I am later, if you'd like?"

I felt my cheeks heating up with a blush as I glanced to the driver of our car, embarrassed. Could he hear through the partition – could Marco?

"Are you embarrassed of me?" Arturo asked, clearly enjoying himself.

"Terribly."

"Good."

Hands linked, we sat in a comfortable silence for most of the journey – I was absorbed by the view out of the window, a landscape I hadn't seen in many years. So much of my early childhood had been spent here; it felt like coming back to a part of myself.

"Is everything okay?" Arturo asked when the silence dragged out further, my face practically pressed to the window of the car.

"I'm glad I came," I beamed.

"I'm glad you're here."

He squeezed my hand as the car came to a stop before a set of towering metal gates emblazoned with the letter L. The driver rolled down his window and pressed a button on the panel by the gates.

A few moments passed where the driver spoke in Italian over the intercom. Arturo's gaze was focused as he listened to the conversation, a slight frown on his face.

"Everything alright?" I wondered.

"My father has stepped up security."

"Is that a bad thing?"

Arturo's gaze remained fixed ahead. "I can't tell just yet."

And that was when a sudden rap against the window made me jump. I turned quickly, heart pounding, to find that four men carrying automatic weapons had surrounded the car.

"Step outside of the vehicle."