She was about to ask if she could try to cover it herself when he began opening jars and tubes and canisters, whipped out a small makeup brush, and went to work. He’d done this before.

Had he hit other women in the face like Angelo had? Was that why he hadn’t reacted in the kitchen? Was this so commonplace and okay to him that covering his tracks had become second nature?

He’d said he would keep her safe, but he’d meant from others. Would he hit her like this if she made him angry? How else could he be so self-assured about which makeup to use and how? It took everything inside her not to start crying again, but she kept control. If her endless blubbering messed up his work, she might have to find out why he was such an expert at this.

After a few minutes, he closed the tubes and canisters and handed her a compact. “What do you think?”

Faith took the small mirror and turned her face this way and that. The evidence was gone. She nodded, not trusting her voice as a single renegade tear started its way down her face.

He quickly brushed it away with his thumb before the wet trail could undo his work. “Look at me.”

His voice was stern and brooked no argument. Faith’s eyes rose to his. She felt a flood of warmth at the unexpected kindness in his expression.

“No one is going to touch you. No one is going to hurt you. I will not leave your side again. I didn’t anticipate Angelo’s behavior, but I should have known he’d suspect you and I weren’t carrying on the relationship he intended.” Leo pulled her into his arms.

Everything inside her broke into a million pieces; God help her, but a tiny part of her was falling for him. She wanted so desperately for the ruse they were playing on his family to be real, for the story to be true. She wanted to be someone he loved; she wanted this tenderness to be honest.

Leo nudged her off him and reached back to undo the clasp of the gold St. Christopher medal he wore under his shirt. He put the jewelry around her neck. “My ma’s favorite saint. It’ll give you an in with her.”

The medal was warm from his skin, like something magic and alive. It felt like a talisman that could protect her from anything and everything.

The intercom buzzed. “Mr. Raspallo?”

“Yes, Demetri?”

“Dinner is ready.”

“Thank you. We’ll be right down.”

Faith took a deep, shuddering breath as he helped her to her feet. Whether it was wise or not, she did trust him to keep her safe from his brother and anyone else who might pose a threat. When he offered his hand, she took it and followed him downstairs to where the family gathered.

The dining room was large and filled with voices speaking part English and part Italian. If she had to name it, she’d call it Italish. True to his word, a buffet table was set up filled with seafood and pastas and sauces. Another table overflowed with cookies and cakes and fruits and nuts. And of course there was wine. Bottles and bottles of it along with alternatives for the kids.