Isabella rode with her father to the emergency room at the nearest trauma center and waited while he was examined and the doctor sutured the wound closed. By the time they were finished, it was past noon and Ronin still had not surfaced.

Isabella worried. Had he found the attacker? Had the attacker struck him with the same knife with which he’d cut her father?

She focused on calming her rampant thoughts with less bloody scenarios. Ronin probably didn’t know where they were or how to speak enough Italian to get directions. Although he’d been practicing his Italian over the past two years, it didn’t mean he could understand all its nuances.

Isabella held her father’s hand in hers, studying the dried blood on his fingers, thankful the knife hadn’t hit any vital organs.

The man had lost blood, but not enough to keep him from giving his report to the detective who came to question him about the man who’d stabbed him. Once the detective left, her father could not be held down.

He blustered at the doctor and nurses, complaining that they were taking too much time, and didn’t they know what night it was? “I have to get back to my home. There are preparations to finalize for the masquerade ball at the Pisano mansion. My guests expect me to be there to welcome them.”

“You’re not welcoming anyone tonight,” the doctor said. “You need to cancel the event.”

“Agreed,’ Isabella said. “Even the doctor knows you’re not up to a party.”

“I can’t break tradition or disappoint the guests. Besides, the party doesn’t need me to be there for the guests to enjoy the festivities. I can stay in my rooms, as long as someone acts as host to all those people.” He puffed out his chest. “It’s a Pisano tradition your mother started all those years ago. She would never have cancelled.” He looked up at Isabella. “I’ve never missed one since Viviana insisted on the first, over twenty-five years ago.” He squeezed Isabella’s hand. “If she hadn’t died, she would have been there.”

To keep her father from becoming agitated and morose, Isabella nodded. “Fine, Papa. I’ll be there to carry on the Pisano tradition. But you are going home to bed.”

“Pisanos do not wallow in bed,” he groused.

“They do if they want to give their bodies time to heal and get well.” When he opened his mouth to protest, she held up her hand. “I’ll greet the guests, if you promise to stay in your rooms.”

His lips pressed together in a tight line, and he frowned mightily. Then he sighed and nodded. “All right. But only if you promise to stay with your fiancé or one of the bodyguards throughout the night. I don’t know what I’d do if I lost my only daughter.”

“I’m not going anywhere, Papa.” She patted his hand and stood. Her gaze drifted to the door. Still no sign of Ronin.

“He’s a US Navy SEAL,” her father said, as if reading her mind. “He’ll be fine.”

“I know, Papa, but I can’t help worrying.”

“You really love him, don’t you?” he asked.

She turned to face her father and nodded. “I do. But there are so many reasons why we shouldn’t be together.”

“And only one reason why you should.” Her father’s eyes misted. “The same reason your mother and I married…love.”

Isabella closed her eyes as tears stung the backs of her lids. “But is it enough? ISIS wants me dead. Your enemies will continue to target you and me as long as—”

“As long as I have money for ransom.” He nodded. “I could give away all my money and solve that problem.”

She shook her head. “You worked too hard to build your empire. Besides, Pisanos don’t give up.”

“Family is more important,” her father said. “Your mother taught me that.”

“And she also taught you that money can’t buy everything.” Her breath caught in her throat. No matter how many doctors her father had taken her mother to, none of them could take away the cancer. None of them could keep her alive. She’d died despite all the specialists her father brought in on her case, despite all the drugs they’d employed.

“Money isn’t everything,” her father whispered, looking down at his hands, the lines in his face deeper, the shadows in his eyes darker than Isabella had ever remembered seeing.

Isabella laid her hand on his. “You still miss her, don’t you?”

“Every day of my life.”

Every day she’d been in Syria, she’d thought of Ronin, wondering where he was in the world. He could have been in the same country, and she’d never have known. All the while she’d told herself, she’d done the right thing by letting him go, but her heart had told her a different story. He was the one for her. They felt right together.

“Oh, thank God,” a deep voice said behind her. “Isabella, I finally found you.”

She turned and fell into Ronin’s arms. “I thought you’d never get here.”

“I had to talk to police and detectives. I couldn’t get away sooner.” He pulled her into his arms and held her close. “How’s your father?”

“I’ll live,” her father said. “If someone will get me out of here.”

Isabella laughed. “He’s irritable and wants to go home. We’re waiting on his release instructions.”

Ronin led Isabella over to the bed and stared down at her father. “Vital organs?”

“Safe,” her father said.

“Good.” Ronin nodded. “Bleeding stopped?”

Her father gingerly touched the bandage on his belly. “Yes.”

“Good,” Ronin repeated.

“The attacker?” Isabella asked.

“Dead.”

“I turned the body over to the police and had to go to the station to answer questions. Otherwise, I would have been here sooner.” Ronin had been fit to be tied by the time he’d left the station. “Thankfully, the police located the hospital they brought your father to. I got here quickly but had a hard time communicating with the people at the front desk.” He grimaced. “My Italian’s a little more rusty than I thought.”

“But you found us, you’re all right and that’s what matters.” Isabella hugged him around the middle. She still wore the flamboyant costume, sans the elaborate headdress. Her own hair hung around her shoulders in long dark waves. God, she was beautiful.

“What matters is your father is going to live.” He kissed the top of her head and nodded to Mr. Pisano. “It could have been a lot worse.”

“Did they identify the assailant?” Pisano asked.

Ronin nodded. “He was a Syrian refugee they’d been watching. They suspect he had ties to ISIS.”

Isabella froze in the curve of his arm.

Her father shook his head. “You can’t blame yourself, Isabella.”

“How can I not?” She took a step away from Ronin. “Don’t you see? Stabbing you could have been a warning to me.”

“Or he could have been paid by someone else to do the deed,” Ronin offered. “I didn’t kill the man. He was already dead when I found him face down in the canal. Someone put a bullet through him. A boat was getting away when I caught up with the guy.”

Both the older Pisano and Isabella frowned heavily.

“Someone shot him,” Isabella said, more as a statement than a question.

“At pointblank range, based on the hole in his chest,” Ronin supplied.

Mr. Pisano’s gaze met Ronin’s. “Whoever hired him obviously didn’t want the man to talk.”

The door to the room burst open and Niccolo rushed in, speaking in Italian.

From what Ronin could make out, he was thankful to locate the man and that he was alive.

“Speak in English, please,” Pisano said.

Niccolo shot an irritated glance at Ronin and continued in English. “I was at the office when I heard and came immediately.” He stared at his boss, his gaze running the man’s length. “What did the doctors say?”

Pisano nodded. “I will live.”

Niccolo released a huge sigh. “Thankfully. What happened?”

“It appears someone might have been paid to stab my father and run.” Isabella reached for her father’s hand. “The question is why?”

“No, the more important question is why I have not been released from this hospital.” Her father sat up in the bed and winced. “Hand me my clothes.”

Isabella complied.

The man didn’t wait for anyone to clear the room. Instead, he swung his bare legs over the side of the hospital bed and jammed them into the fancy pants he’d worn at the parade. “I’d give half my fortune for a proper pair of trousers,” he grumbled.

“You’ll have to make do until we get home.” Isabella helped him into the shirt, leaving the front open. Then she bent to assist him into his shoes.

By that time, the nurse returned with his release instructions advising him to rest and take antibiotics to keep infection from setting in.

The trip back to his Venetian mansion was slow and arduous as they worked their way through the canals crowded with revelers.

When they reached the Pisano estate, Ronin and Andre half-carried, half-walked Mr. Pisano up the stairs to his second-floor suite. Isabella and Andre took over from there, getting her father dressed in comfortable clothes, tending his wound and settling him into his bed.

From outside the bedchamber, Ronin could hear the older Pisano grumbling and grousing throughout the process.

Andre descended the stairs and returned with a tray of tea and biscuits to wash down the painkillers and sleeping aid.

In the meantime, Ronin took the opportunity to shower the canal water off his body and out of his hair and put on a clean pair of jeans, not the tights and costume he’d been wearing when he dove into the canal. He hated leaving Isabella for even a minute. With someone willing to pay someone to stab Mr. Pisano, and then kill him to keep him silent, the stakes had just gotten significantly higher. Couple that with a houseful of workers, decorating the historic mansion for the annual ball, and the possibility of another attack seemed not only possible but probable.

He caught Isabella backing out of her father’s suite, talking as she went.

“I will, Papa. Don’t worry. Ronin and Lorenzo will be by my side all evening. The ball will continue as always.” She closed the door, heaved a huge sigh and turned. She had removed the huge gown and wore only the torn petticoat and chemise. Her dark hair hung past her shoulders in wild disarray, and her cheeks were pink from exertion.

Ronin caught her arms and pulled her against him. “Did I hear right?”

“What did you hear?” She smiled up at him, her lips so tempting, it was all Ronin could do not to kiss them.

“That the ball will go on as planned?”

She nodded, resting her hands on his chest. “I made a deal with my father. If he stayed in his room all evening, I would greet the guests.”

Ronin shook his head. “It’s too dangerous.” He touched a finger to her lips. “And don’t say you can take care of yourself.”

She moved his finger with one of her own. “I can take care of myself. But I will also have you and Lorenzo to be my eyes and ears in case I miss anything.” Isabella stared up into his eyes. “That is presumptuous of me.” She smiled. “I haven’t even asked if you would accompany me to the ball.”

“You know I’ll go wherever you go. You don’t have to ask.” He clutched her body against his and bent to kiss her. “But I don’t feel good about this. Though the man who stabbed your father is dead, there’s someone out there who still means business.” He kissed her forehead, and then pressed his lips to her eyelids and the tip of her nose. Finally, he hovered over her mouth. “I can’t lose you.”

“You won’t,” she whispered, her breath warm on his mouth. “We’ll have to be vigilant.”

He claimed her mouth and would have thrust his tongue past her lips if a noise behind him hadn’t alerted him to someone else’s presence.

“What are we being vigilant about?” a voice interrupted from the landing.

Ronin stepped back from Isabella to face Pisano’s assistant, irritation making his lips press together in a tight line. The man had crappy timing. “Costa.”

The man nodded. “Magnus.”

“It isn’t polite to sneak up on people,” Isabella chastised, smoothing back her hair from her face.

“How is your father?” Costa asked.

“He should be asleep by now,” she responded. “He is not to be disturbed. Andre will be with him throughout the remainder of the day and evening.”

Niccolo nodded. “Business will wait.”

She nodded. “Exactly. Nothing is so important it can’t wait until the weekend is over and my father has had sufficient time to recover.” Isabella moved past him. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have to check on preparations.”

Ronin followed her down the stairs into the massive front foyer where the guests would be met later that evening.

Men and women were busy decorating the walls and banisters with flowers, lights and yards of ribbon. They set out chairs along the sides and were erecting a dais in one corner for the musicians.

Isabella met with the woman in charge and spoke to her in Italian, rattling off instructions too fast for Ronin to keep up.

The woman nodded and went back to work, directing her workers.

Isabella marched through the hallway and dining room, and into a large kitchen bustling with men and women in white coats and chef’s hats. She spoke with the man who appeared to be in charge. He nodded and went back to work.

Isabella turned to Ronin. “We have a couple of hours before the festivities begin. I suggest we eat now. We might not get the chance to later.”

Ronin’s belly rumbled. He hadn’t realized time had blown past noon, and they hadn’t stopped long enough to have lunch. Though he could go a couple days without a meal, he preferred to power up while he could. Situations changed quickly, and he might need the energy boost for later that evening. Preferably after the guests left. “How long does the party last?”

Isabella gave him a twisted grin. “Until the last person leaves. It usually equates to all night.”

Ronin sighed. So much for needing energy for more pleasurable pursuits. At least he’d be with Isabella throughout the ordeal, even if it wasn’t in her bed, making sweet love to her.

If the crowd he’d seen that morning at the opening ceremonies was any indication, tonight, the room would be packed. He’d have to stay close or risk leaving her exposed to another sneak attack.

Ronin insisted on eating at the table in the kitchen. They didn’t need the staff to take too much time out of their preparations for the evening’s events.

The chef prepared a light meal for them consisting of a delicious lentil soup and paninis stuffed full of a variety of meats and cheeses. They washed the food down with some of the best red wine Ronin had ever tasted. As someone who preferred beer and whiskey, he found that he could easily become a convert to Italian wine.

When he thought the meal couldn’t be tastier, the chef provided a delicate French pastry covered in powdered sugar. The morsel melted in Ronin’s mouth. When he kissed Isabella afterward, he could taste the sugar on her lips, and the flavor was all the sweeter.

She wiped her fingers on her napkin and pushed away from the table. “The musicians will arrive in less than an hour, and the guests will be begin trickling in shortly afterward. I’m sorry, but the dress for the evening will be costumes.

Ronin nodded. “Anything for the hostess.”

“At least you don’t have to wear one of those ridiculously heavy dresses. I could not have survived during the Renaissance.”

He grimaced. “If I had to wear tights all the time, neither could I.”

“But you have such sexy legs.” She winked and stepped past him, reaching out to pinch his butt.

“Hey.” Ronin rubbed the spot and laughed. “Two can play that game.”

“Then we’d better hurry or we won’t have time.” She ran past the workers in the hallway and foyer and up the stairs in her chemise and petticoat, her hair flying behind her, her laughter echoing off the walls and ceilings.

Ronin raced after her, his heart lighter than it had been in years. He pushed the worry to the back of his mind. For that moment, they were a young couple in love, about to make love, and that’s all he needed to know. The evening would arrive soon enough. Then he’d slip back into tactical mode. If you could call wearing tights and a sissy costume tactical. He wished he had his SEAL team around him for what promised to be a very long night. Or his brothers who were equally trained in combat skills. Mack, Wyatt and Sam would have had his back and helped him protect Isabella.

But what about when he left? Isabella’s father had nailed that question. What happened to Isabella when Ronin deployed? Who would protect her? He wouldn’t be there.