Page 137 of Pietro

I'm on him before he hits the ground. My fist connects with his jaw, snapping his head back. Again. Again. Bone cracks under my knuckles. Blood sprays across concrete.

"Pietro." Nora's voice pulls me back. "Pietro, stop."

I freeze, fist raised for another blow. Declan whimpers beneath me, face already unrecognizable. Not dead. Not yet.

I leave him bleeding and rush to Nora. The chains are heavy, industrial. The lock simple but solid. I pull out my knife, work it into the mechanism.

"Your hands—" I start, seeing the damage up close. Three fingers definitively broken, possibly more damage I can't see.

"Later." She meets my eyes as the lock clicks open. "Just get me out."

The chains fall away. She tries to stand and sways. I catch her, gathering her against my chest as gently as possible. She makes a sound—pain or relief, maybe both.

"I've got you." I breathe in her scent beneath the blood and fear. Still her. Still mine. "You're safe."

"I knew you'd come." She presses her face into my vest.

Footsteps on the stairs. I spin, shielding Nora, but it's Connor O'Sullivan who appears. He stops at the bottom, taking in the scene.

"Nora." The name breaks on his lips.

She turns her head slightly but doesn't leave my arms. "Dad."

They stare at each other across years of mistakes and betrayal. Connor's eyes catalog her injuries, his jaw working.

Connor's voice is gravel. "The building's clear. No casualties on our side." His eyes are on Nora, then on me, then on the pathetic thing bleeding on the floor. "And Declan?" he asks, my gaze following his. Declan claws at the concrete, leaving a wet, red trail.

"I have plans for him." I say. Already knowing that I'll take my time.

"Medical team's three minutes out," Liam says from the stairs. "We should move."

"Ask someone to grab this piece of shit. I want him put in a warehouse and no one touches him until I get there."

I return to Nora, lifting her carefully. She wraps her good arm around my neck, broken fingers cradled against her chest.

Connor steps aside as we pass. His hand twitches like he wants to reach for her but doesn't. "Nora, I?—"

"Not now." She doesn't look at him. "Maybe not ever. I don't know yet."

He nods, accepting the rejection. "I'll be in Chicago if you change your mind. When you change your mind."

We climb the stairs slowly, Nora's breathing labored. Each step hurts her. I feel it in how she tenses, how her grip tightens. But she doesn't complain. Doesn't ask to stop.

The main warehouse floor looks like a warzone. Bodies scattered between containers. Blood pooling on concrete. My men and Connor's already loading weapons, preparing to sanitize the scene before cops arrive.

"Holy shit." Marco sees Nora's condition, his face going pale. "Boss, is she?—"

"She's going to be fine." I say it for her benefit as much as his. "Where's that medical team?"

"Pulling up now."

Sure enough, an ambulance screams into the loading dock, Nico jumping out before it fully stops. He's got a stretcher ready, two paramedics behind him.

"No hospitals," I tell them as they ease Nora onto the gurney. "Private clinic. The one in Wilmette."

"Already arranged." Nico's examining Nora's injuries with clinical efficiency. "Orthopedic surgeon's standing by for those fingers."

"I'm riding with her."