Disclaimer: The characters belonging to Janet Evanovich are used strictly for entertainment purposes.

A/N: *Eleven degrees mentioned below is in Celsius, or about 52 degrees Fahrenheit.

…

FromChapter8:

I knew whatever he had to tell me wasn't good and stood up to pace in front of the couch, carefully avoiding the table and Ranger's feet. "I'm not going to like this, am I?" I asked, afraid to hear what he had to say.

"No."

His answer spiked my blood pressure up several notches. I didn't want more bad news, but I needed to know so I stopped in front of him, hands on my hips … waiting.

He stood up and pulled me into a gentle embrace. I held myself rigid, not allowing him to mold me against him. "There's been a death in your family."

…

Chapter 9

I wanted to deny someone in my family could be dead. My head spun and I felt weak and dizzy. I slumped down onto the couch and, staring at the floor, gasped out, "Who?"

Ranger pulled me into his arms and tucked my head under his chin. "Your grandma. I'm sorry, babe."

"What?" I squeaked out on a strangled whisper.

"She got very sick shortly after your funeral and never recovered."

Grandma Mazur. Dead. I had no idea how to process that news. I let myself believe nothing the spunky woman would live forever, but she didn't. I'd been her downfall. We'd always been close, understood each other, and I imagined she took my 'death' harder than anyone. I hadn't gotten to say goodbye.

As if I'd only heard him subconsciously, the second part of Ranger's statement struck me somewhere between the eyes. If I'd taken time to reallyconsider that I'd been 'dead', I would have realized there'd been a funeral for me. But I hadn't thought about it in those terms. Because I wasn't dead.

Thinking about funerals seemed to zap something inside my brain. A strange sensation seeped into my body and I suddenly struggled to keep my eyes open. Ranger gripped my upper arms and gave me a slight shake. I heard him talking to me, but I couldn't understand him because of the rushing sound in my ears. My limbs felt heavy and slow. Soon, fatigue overtook me and I shut down, getting sucked away in a white haze. The last thing I thought before Ranger's face faded out of view was how fucked up my life had become and I didn't have anything to do with it.

...

Muffled male voices called to me, but I didn't want to listen to them. I was in a fuzzy, dreamy state of mind and confusion edged out rational thought. I knew instinctively that waking up would bring deep emotional pain. I feared the unknown surrounding me because the further I drifted, the more I seemed to forget. The voices were gone now and I felt myself float away, a whisper of a spirit transcending space and time and wandering through a sea of nothing.

Snapshots of places and people flashed before my eyes, but I couldn't remember who I was and who they were. When I heard the ocean, I was comforted and moved toward it. Soon, it was all I could hear and the wispy, ethereal world dissipated and I materialized through the fog, standing in a bathroom and staring into a mirror.

I blinked my eyes a few times and shook my head slightly. Why had I come into the bathroom? I looked down at the vanity and saw my tube of lip balm and smiled slightly, relaxing. I was almost concerned I didn't remember coming in here, but then I remembered the daydream of three uncommonly good looking men and laughed lightly. When I allowed my imagination to run, it really ran, but it was time to get back to reality.

The thought of where I was going sobered me and I studied my reflection in the beveled vanity mirror over the sink. My beautiful dark, curly locks were gone. The need for life-saving surgery to remove a brain tumor had far surpassed my pride. It had been three months and I now had an inch and a half of soft brown hair on my head that already curled gently against my scalp. I could have worn a wig, but it didn't seem worth it. I was a survivor now, and proud to be so.

My heels clicked on the stone floor of the bathroom and then swooshed softly on the plush carpet in my bedroom. I cast my eyes over the spotless living space and felt peace wash over me. The neutral tones and comfort of the room always filled me with serenity and soothed me now before the upcoming difficult event. I'd lost so much. It seemed I'd never stop losing: first, my mother when I was just a child, and now both my father and Teo, my fiancé of less than a month.

I walked over to my dressing table and sat on the cream colored stool, tracing a fingertip over the cream and gold marble surface. Like a powerful tidal wave of horror, memories of my mother screaming as a man attacked her flooded my mind. I could never seem to remember anything before that day and I couldn't really remember much after it, up to the last few years.

Fear, habitual and potent, reared itself up and consumed me. A shaky sob warbled from my throat as my body began to tremble with a violence that left me incapacitated and unable to move. Damn my traitorous body falling back into old habits. I slid off the stool to the floor, moving to my side to curl my body up into a tight ball, forehead to my knees. The fear monster spoke to me, telling me that I couldn't leave this sanctuary. The room was my protective force field and no one could sneak up on me or harm me if I kept myself protected in its familiar walls.

I nearly succumbed to the power of the beast, but rational thought broke through the vice around my soul. Even when I had locked myself inside a bubble of my own creation, I'd still lost everything that was important to me. My self-induced confinement hadn't saved me from pain and couldn't spare my life. When my father and lover died, I'd made the decision that I would begin to live free from my fear and inner prison.

Determined to move forward, I pushed myself up from the floor and reclaimed the stool. A knock on the door announced the current champion of my newfound strength. I stood and smoothed my clothing and my hair, what little of it there was, and then strode purposefully over to the door, teetering on wobbly legs.

I turned the knob and swung open the heavy, hand-carved piece of craftsmanship genius with a happy smile. Standing quietly on the other side was my greatest supporter and friend — Giuseppe Marotta. His short stature didn't diminish the protective power of his love. This man represented the end of my journey of fear. In scarcely over a month, I'd learned to find my backbone and gained more courage each day.

"Camila, you look beautiful." He entered my room and took both of my hands in his, pressing a kiss to the knuckles on each.

"Thank you, Seppe."

Still holding my hands, he spread his arms wide and took in my crimson sweater, black wool slacks, black leather boots with a moderate heel, and the tasteful pearl necklace at my throat. "Will you be warm enough? It is only eleven degrees* today."

I smiled, thankful I'd moved into his home before the Christmas holidays began. Mid-December was the hardest time for me. It was my mother's birthday in a few days and mine was the day after Christmas. I knew I wouldn't survive this time of year alone, especially after the recent loss of loved ones. Seppe had been caring and affectionate. I appreciated the way he always considered my best interests because I needed someone to trust right now. Because of that, I took his counsel willingly. "I have a wrap. Just a moment."

I went to my closet and withdrew my black sable. One of my favorite fall accessories. I walked back to Seppe, slipping the soft, warm fabric around my shoulders, and picked up my knit cloche from the small table beside the door. "Okay, I'm ready."

Ten minutes later, we walked arm in arm through the Marotta's private cemetery which was adjacent to the grounds where his practically impenetrable compound stood. Five generations of Seppe's family were buried here. The history astounded me. I could only name one generation in my family, and only two people at that: my parents. I looked at tombstone after tombstone of Marottas, but then my eyes fell on the two stones that seemed misplaced and my steps slowed.

Seppe released my arm and raised his hand to my cheek, leaning in to place a kiss on the opposite side. "Are you sure, my dove?" He'd called me that since my first day in his home. I'd been a wounded bird then and, though I'd since learned to stand on my own, the endearment had stuck.

I nodded. "I need to do this." He patted my cheek once more and I leaned forward to hug him. "I won't be long."

"I'll be right here with you." He put his hands in his coat pockets and stood in place behind me, guarding me as I approached the freshly carved granite obelisks for the first time since they'd been erected. The smooth, shiny black surfaces gleamed in the bright morning sunlight. I looked at the chiseled writing on one of the stones. It read: Mario Giuliani Francesci, beloved father and listed his birth date and the date of death as 4 October 2010. The other stone read Teodoro Antonio Paroni, lover and friend and listed his birth date and the same death date. Etched at the base of each was the phrase: Placed here by the Marotta family in honor of Camila, who belongs to us.

I put a hand on each stone and lowered my head, tears dripping off my lashes. There had been no bodies to bury, but touching the stones forged a connection just the same. How I missed them both. They had been my only constants and worked tirelessly to help me overcome my deep seated fears, sparked by my mother's violent death. They'd told me for so long not to fear life and had lost theirs on a simple flight to Corinth. The near-death experience from my tumor that same week had done what years of therapy and unconditional love had not accomplished. It changed my fear. I began to worry more about not living as opposed to stumbling into the messiness of life. These two wonderful men would never see their hard work come to fruition — to see me become whole and able to live my life freely.

"I wish you could see how well I am," I whispered to each of them. "I moved out of papá's house, I go shopping. I've made friends, been to dinner parties with Seppe. I'm … normal." I smiled and then broke down into soft sobs.

After several seconds, Seppe's warm hand touched my shoulder. I turned to find him studying me with a pained look on his face. He hated to see me sad. I dropped my hands from the cold stone memorials and held them out to him. He promptly took them in his and drew me close into a tight hug. His warmth seeped into me, reminding me that life would only be what I made of it.

"Seppe, thank you for putting these memorials here in your own cemetery, even though we aren't family."

"Camila, you are family. I would do anything for you. You lost everyone and it has been my pleasure to help you through the tragedy. I only wish I could do more." He tucked my hand into the crook of his arm and we began walking back toward the house. "Those stones not only represent your family, but our family."

I nodded and looked ahead to the house and thought, 'Now my future begins. No more looking back.'

...

The house faded away and Seppe disappeared in a bright flash of white light that sent pain through my head. I panicked, reaching my hands out to him. I wasn't ready to be alone just yet. "Seppe!" I shouted. He'd been protecting me and now he was gone. "Don't leave!"

Someone rocked me gently and I realized I was encased in a pair of strong arms, seated on the lap of a man with a firm chest and very warm body. Definitely not Seppe. Though he was in good shape, he was not as firm or broad as this man.

"Stephanie, please wake up," he spoke in a pained voice, a voice I didn't recognize. I tried to open my eyes, but a blinding headache halted my effort and I quickly shut them again. Familiar concern gripped my heart. The headache, the blurry vision, and the nausea were the same symptoms I'd had with my tumor.

Panic seized me when I realized I didn't know where I was or who was with me. "Am I in hospital?" I groaned and began to feel sick.

The man must have noticed because he barked in a commanding tone, "Bathroom. Move," and rose from his seat, keeping me in his arms, and began to walk quickly across a carpeted floor that muffled his steps. "This isn't a hospital. You passed out." He had to be very strong to carry me without effort and still be able to talk in a normal voice, so I dubbed him 'Muscles' in my head.

A door opened and he lowered me to a cold floor on my knees. He gently massaged my back with a gentle hand while the other pressed a cool cloth to my forehead. The cold tiles and cloth against my clammy skin calmed my stomach convulsions and I nodded, thankful I hadn't thrown up. I opened my eyes, but everything was so blurry I could only make out his rough shape and no fine details.

"Why am I here?"

"You don't remember?"

I didn't remember and that alone made me skeptical about the situation. Seppe had always explained that he had powerful enemies, even within his own family, and I was to trust no one. That included strangers who showed me what appeared to be kindness. "Please, if you don't mind, I'd like to make a phone call and have a lie down." I closed my eyes against the nausea caused by my distorted vision.

"Babe?" He seemed to hesitate and then, with his face turned toward the wall behind me, quietly added, "Speech pattern is different. And her accent." Who was 'Babe?'

"Please," I asked again. "Call Giuseppe Marotta and have him collect me. He'll make appropriate arrangements." Muscles once again lifted me up against his rock solid chest and I floated through the air before being settled onto a bed with a set of cool, smooth sheets. "Comply with my request and I'm certain he will reward you kindly."

"I'm calling Young," Muscles said. I opened my eyes again as I pushed the top sheet away and tried to swing my legs over the side of the bed, but another bout of nausea hit me swiftly. I dropped back onto my elbow, propping myself up on my side as I shut my eyes tight and took slow, deep breaths.

A few moments later a phone conversation drifted to my ears and I became even more confused.

"…need you to come to Paris." Paris? Why was I in Paris? Had I been kidnapped? "No, we got Stephanie, but something happened to her." Stephanie — there was that name again. "I know that, and I wouldn't ask if I didn't have to." He paused. "Tank will be your contact, give him your details." And who was Tank?

"My name isn't Stephanie," I mumbled.

"Just rest."

How could he expect me to rest? I was in an unfamiliar place with a stranger who called me by someone else's name. I didn't want to risk opening my eyes to look around, to see if I was safe, because the nausea was a greater problem than lack of sight at the moment. There was also the matter of the killer headache pounding behind my eyelids and the possible return of the tumor. That thought alone made panic rise up in my throat. I'd finally found the urge to live and something threatened to take it away … again.

A minute later, I heard him say, "Santos, call Willis at Hilliard and have him send the doc over. I want him to examine her ASAP." He paused and said, "Tank, call Spitz. Get intel on Marotta and his connection to her." Two men replied in the affirmative. Knowing there were two other men with us made me jumpy and I scooted back from Muscles, who'd remained at my bedside during the conversation, using my elbow to inch my body along to the other side to gain some distance from the three of them.

Suddenly, I felt a presence behind me and then a big, soft hand touched my shoulder. In fear, I jerked away and sat up quickly, pressing my back to the headboard, momentarily frozen in place. "Easy, Sweetness. I have some water for you," he said. I didn't know which man it was, Santos or Tank, but there was no way I was going to drink anything I couldn't see.

What kind of man called a woman he didn't know Sweetness? How did I know if I should even trust him? I shook my head and wrapped my arms around myself in a protective gesture, panic running rampant in my head. Seppe's warnings made the sudden presence of these men in my life suspicious, especially when I couldn't remember how I got here — in Paris, of all places. There was no way I could trust them, even if they treated me well.

"Easy," the man said, his deep voice reverberating throughout the room. "We just want to help you."

His voice spurred me into action and I plunged myself forward toward the foot of the bed, intending to get to neutral ground between him and Muscles. I didn't like the thought of being trapped between them on a bed where I could be restrained. When my hand hit the edge, I attempted to swing my feet around in front of me, but someone, it felt like Muscles, gripped my upper arms and pulled me back towards him.

"Hang on, babe. You're not ready for that, yet."

My reaction could only be described as 'caged wild animal' because I launched myself off the bed what felt like three feet in the air. He didn't release me and I felt my knee connect with the side of his head. A sound I didn't recognize as my own voice ripped from my throat in some sort of strangled roar of fear and panic. My only thought was that I was not going to allow these men to take advantage of me without a fight.

"Tank," Muscles spoke across my body to the large man, whom I sensed had moved closer to us.

I swung my elbow around to connect with Muscles' chest and my other hand clawed out, scratching his cheek. In a strained voice, he bit out, "Close your mouth. Help me calm her down"

"No!" I yelled as I felt Tank close his hands around my ankles while Muscles laid me on the bed to hold my shoulders steady against the mattress. I didn't know exactly where the thought came from or why it came, but all I could think was, 'No! No more restraints!' I shouted, "Let go of me!"