Page 130 of Pietro

PIETRO

Thirty-six hours since she walked into his hands.

The office is a tomb of stale coffee and emptied bottles.

She managed to make me love someone except my family, in only two months.

"Pietro." Finn O'Sullivan sits in the leather chair across from my desk, exhaustion carved into every line of his weathered face. "Connor will call soon."

I pour another three fingers of whiskey, not offering him any. It might be a trigger for him right now, and part of me wants to hide any bottle but I can’t control it. I’m weaker than ever

"Your brother better have something useful."

"He's been negotiating with Declan for the past twelve hours." Finn shifts forward, elbows on his knees. "Whatever Connor's faults, he won't let Declan keep hurting her."

"He already let it happen." The whiskey burns down my throat. "Where was his fatherly concern when she fled Boston with bruises around her throat?"

Finn goes still. "That's between them."

"No." I slam the glass down hard enough to crack the crystal. "Everything about Nora is between me and whoever threatens her. Including your brother."

The secure line rings before Finn can respond. I stare at the phone for three rings, gathering what remains of my control. Can't let Connor hear how close I am to losing it completely.

"Sartori."

"Pietro." Connor O'Sullivan's voice carries that distinctive South Boston edge, rougher than his brother's educated tones. "We need to discuss terms."

"The only terms I'm interested in involve Declan’s corpse."

A pause. Static crackles across the line. "On that, we agree."

I straighten in my chair. This isn't what I expected. "Talk."

"Declan believes he holds all the cards. He's demanding I reinstate him as my lieutenant and approve his marriage to Nora. In exchange, he'll broker an alliance between our families."

"Marriage." The word tastes like ash and broken glass. "To a woman he's been torturing."

"He spent a day trying to get your business out of her," Connor says, his voice tight. "Shipping, security, who’s on your payroll."

I grip the edge of the desk, the wood groaning. "And?"

"She told him to go to hell. So he got rough."

The whiskey glass explodes in my fist. Shards bite into my palm. I don't feel it. "How rough?"

"Broke her fingers. Cracked her ribs. Busted up her face. At least that’s what he told me." The words are clipped, but the rage underneath is pure acid. "I need to speak with her. Verify she's alive before we proceed."

"Proceed with what?"

"Killing the bastard who touched my daughter."

He finally cares now.

Asshole.

I meet Finn's eyes across the desk. He nods once—his brother means it.

My hand tightens on the phone as I hit the speaker button. Just as another call comes through from , Connor's voice fills the room. "Declan. I've considered your proposal."