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need further investigation, because if his suspicion proved true, than Marco's family was in danger, too.
    Giorgio swiveled his chair round and smiled grimly at the scene he could see through his window. After several attempts, which had resulted in tantrums, swearing, and paint flying any which way, Jemima finally seemed to be getting somewhere. Eyes drawn together in a frown, one streak of paint on her cheek, tongue peeking out from her lips, she was a picture in concentration. The dungarees she always wore to paint in hung off her slight frame, and Giorgio swore under his breath. She was too thin, yet no matter how many of her favorite meals Clara prepared, Jemima had the appetite of a sparrow, and picked at everything.
    He turned his back on her with a disgusted click of his tongue.  He had no business obsessing over the way she looked, or worse still, remembering how she had felt pressed up against him. With her long legs wrapped around him, her scent had set him on fire, recalling the passions they had once shared. Even now images of her lush lips wrapped around his cock while she knelt at his feet had him harden in record time.
    Clearly he had been too long without a woman's touch. Picking up his phone, he scrolled through the many beauties, who would only be too willing to accommodate him for a while, no strings attached, just the way he liked it. Too bad he didn't want any of them. Giorgio threw the phone across the room in disgust and shook his head at his maudlin thoughts.
    He was not going to be ruled by his dick, no matter how easy it would be to claim the frail woman in his garden, and make her suffer, like he once had. He had a code of honor, damn it, and taking advantage of her, while she still was not fully aware of all the facts—he just couldn't do it— no matter how much she might deserve it. That wouldn't make him any better than the bastards who were after her.
    He had tripled security since the night they had almost gotten to her. How dare they invade on his property? This had become personal on more levels then one. Don Luigi had been spitting fire down the phone when he'd found out and had sent some of his own soldiers to boost Giorgio's numbers.
    "After all, I must protect my favorite wine maker. How is she, holding it together?"
    "Sort of, don't worry about her. I've got it covered."
    The Don's voice had been grave, the threat undeniable in his next words.
    "Women are dispensable, Giorgio, remember that. Especially the likes of her. If she remembers anything, anything at all, I want to be informed immediately. You know what you need to do to protect the family."
    " Va bene, capisco, Don."
    Giorgio had hung up the phone with a heavy heart. What was that English expression? Caught between a rock and a hard place . Never a truer word spoken.
    Choose between his Don, and his cousin's express wishes, not to mention his aunt's? How the hell was he supposed to do that, and did he have any choice at all? It was his duty to protect that woman out there, no matter what the cost. She was his wife after all.  He grimaced anew, recalling the quiet ceremony in the hill side chapel. He'd told no one, especially not the Giovanni clan. That would have meant answering questions he had not been prepared to answer. There had been too many inconsistencies in Jemima, even back then. He'd found them charming at the time. They'd been less so when she'd betrayed him as easily, as though he'd meant nothing to her.
    At least he'd spared his family, both his real and his adopted one, that particular agony.
    His feet moved of their own accord, out of his study, out through the French doors, and into the garden. Jemima had stopped painting. Silent tears streamed down her face, and her trembling hands stretched out to the face she had just finished projecting onto the canvas.
    Giorgio murmured to her bodyguard to make himself scarce, and Alfonso nodded and disappeared silently. One of the Don's best men, Luigi had assigned him