Safe within the walls of the Delano fortress, Roxanne continued to paint.

Ria Delano had come to visit her assortment of nieces and nephews with her daughter, Daphne. The gap-toothed little girl was a bundle of mischief, with the trademark blonde curls and grey-blue eyes of the Mafia Don’s grandchildren.

It was Ria who had stated the obvious.

“Van Dyke will not be back for another fortnight, Roxanne,” she had said gently as she studied the wan, drawn face of the young woman who was in the kitchen, drinking coffee listlessly.

“Why don’t you get on with your artwork?”

Roxanne had brightened up at that. And soon she was in...