Coming to Nic was her last hope, but also a calculated risk. The Marcelli and Giovanni families had been feuding for years. Her grandfather might find out about the loan if she’d secured it through traditional sources such as a bank, but he would never know if Nic funded her. Grandpa Lorenzo would cheerfully rip out his tongue rather than speak to a Giovanni.

Brenna and her sisters had never been all that interested in the feud. Nic hadn’t been, either, which he’d proved the first time she’d met him. But to her grandparents-hostilities were alive and well.

“There’s a certain irony to this conversation,” she admitted. “I would think that appealed to you.”

He studied her. Brenna would like to know what he saw, but on second thought-maybe not. She was still recovering from a disastrous, impulsive haircut. Several months at the family hacienda eating her grandmothers’ cooking had added seven pounds to her already plentiful curves. She thought the suit she’d chosen looked pretty good on her, but was that enough? She’d come a long way from the seventeen-year-old who had promised to love Nic with her whole heart; but the question was, would he consider the changes good or bad?

“Rumor has it I’m a ruthless bastard,” he said casually.

“I’ve heard. Should I be scared?”

“You tell me.”

She could remember everything about being with Nic-the way he touched her, the way he kissed, the scent of his skin. She knew the boy he had been, but not the man. What was the same and what had changed? Or did it matter?

Ruthless bastard or not, she wanted the money.

“I don’t scare easily these days.” She pushed the proposal toward him. “Look it over and tell me what you think.”

He rested his hand on the leather cover but didn’t open it. “How much?”

The butterflies appeared in her stomach and began to fly in formation. She thought they might be practicing touch-and-go landings. Her mouth got dry, her palms got wet, and the room lurched once for good measure.