His smile was full of gentleness. “Yes, you may. Would that be the worst thing that can happen to you at this point? Follow both decisions through, and you will come to your answer.” He placed a kiss on my mouth, then stepped back. “I’ll be waiting in Lucca—text me if you need anything. I’ll take care of them.”

I watched him climb into the car and slowly drive away.

Clenching my fists, I headed into the house, my mind furiously working on getting alternate plans into place. I texted Kate, ordering the team to drop everything and call me on the conference line in fifteen minutes. I sifted through my notes and began to prep for the upcoming meeting.

But I couldn’t stop thinking about Allegra’s face. And Enzo’s words. And my mother’s crushing disapproval.

I’d broken another promise. Yes, this was important. But had I ever considered not responding to any crisis at my company? My work ethic gave me a sense of pride and accomplishment nothing ever had. Knowing I was needed and had a clear role. This moment proved to me everything I’d always craved.

I was needed. I was important. I was somebody.

But wasn’t I all those things to my daughter and my mother?

It began with a trickle, then built—the horrifying strangle of air, the trembling seizing my legs, the wriggle of anxiety and fear rushing from my gut to flood my weak body.

No. Not now. Please, not again.

The attack reared and launched, and I dropped my head into my hands, desperately seeking something solid to cling to. But there was nothing but choppy breath and gripping panic, my brain spinning out of control.

Breathe, Francesca. Count to five, pause, then release. Listen to my voice.

I heard Enzo’s directions vibrate through my mind, taking me back to Capri when he’d helped guide me through one of the attacks. As my heart thumped like a mad rabbit, I began to concentrate on my breath, counting down each digit, then slowly exhaling.

Eyes closed, I fought my way out with tiny increments of numbers and breaths, until the panic began to slowly recede.

I had no idea how much time had passed when I finally raised my head. Frustrated tears stung my eyes. I stared at the blinking cursor on my computer and the stacks of notes I’d furiously pulled out, and then my phone began to ring with a shrieking demand I’d once revered and now dreaded.

I can’t do this anymore.