Page 28 of Pietro

We sit in comfortable silence. Wind pushes against windows. The house breathes around us, old wood settling. This is the most peace I've felt since fleeing Boston. Dangerous peace, the kind that makes you drop your guard.

"Tell me something about you Nora." Pietro's voice stays soft, but command underlies it. "Just one thing."

I consider the request. One truth among so many lies.

"Someone I trusted tried to kill me." The words escape before I can reconsider. "Someone I thought loved me. He tried to end my life, and there was no one to save me."

Pietro goes still.

"What happened?"

"I saved myself." My fingers find my throat, tracing bruises. "Barely. And now I can't stop looking over my shoulder, waiting for him to finish what he started."

"Is that why you're in Chicago? Running?"

One nod. That's all I can manage.

Pietro stands, crosses to my chair in two strides.

He kneels.

Pietro Sartori is putting us at eye level.

"Look at me."

I meet his gaze. Those dark eyes hold violence and promise in equal measure.

"No one touches you while you're under my protection. Understand?"

CHAPTER NINE

NORA

The guest bed feels wrong. Too soft. My body refuses to trust the expensive sheets, the quiet that lacks sirens and shouting neighbors. Four-thirty a.m and I'm wide awake.

I slip from bed, bare feet silent on heated floors.

Through windows, Lake Michigan stretches black under pre-dawn sky. Frost patterns the manicured grounds, turning the Sartori empire into a fairy tale of ice and shadow.

If fairy tales included armed guards and bulletproof glass.

Movement catches my eye. Pietro crosses the lawn toward the estate's gym, a separate building I'd noticed yesterday but hadn't explored. He moves through darkness like he owns it, which I suppose he does.

I should go back to bed. Should respect boundaries, maintain distance. Instead, I watch him disappear inside, then see lights flicker on through the gym's windows.

The hallway feels colder than my room. Family photos line the walls. Pietro appears in few of them, always slightly apart, already carrying weight that would eventually crush him.

The kitchen surprises me with warmth and life. Giulia stands at the massive range, already deep in breakfast preparations despite the ungodly hour.

"You're up early." Her voice carries no judgment, just gentle observation.

"Couldn't sleep."

She nods toward the coffee machine. "Help yourself. Grab Pietro’s too."

"I'm not bringing him coffee."

Her knowing smile makes heat crawl up my neck. "Of course not. But if you happen to be walking past the gym with an extra cup..."