Page 38 of Pietro

"Pietro." My sister's voice goes gentle. "It's okay to want something for yourself."

"Is it? Last time I wanted something for myself, Pablo died."

"That wasn't your fault."

"Wasn't it?"

She stands, moves around the desk to hug me from behind. "You can't live your whole life punishing yourself for one night."

But I can. I have. I will.

After she leaves, I sit in darkness, nursing whiskey and bad decisions. The compound is quiet, everyone settled for the night. Safe behind walls and guards and bulletproof glass.

Everyone except me.

Because the real danger isn't outside the walls. It's down the hall, probably lying awake like I am, probably replaying that kiss like I am.

Probably wondering what happens next.

CHAPTER ELEVEN

NORA

Istep into the executive floor's reception area. No one else arrives this early. Which is exactly the point. I need the quiet. Time to mortar the cracks he put in my walls last night.

My hands shake as I unlock my desk drawer. Last night replays in my mind. His mouth on mine. The desperate hunger in that kiss.

I focus on the familiar ritual of organizing. Files sorted by priority. Calendar updated. Coffee brewing in the small kitchen down the hall. If I can just maintain professional distance, pretend nothing happened, maybe we can navigate through this without destroying everything.

The elevator chimes at six-fifteen.

Pietro steps out, and a crack runs through my composure. My breath hitches. My hands freeze over the keyboard. He's wearing a suit, the jacket already discarded somewhere, white shirt sleeves rolled to his forearms. His hair falls across hisforehead. His eyes find mine immediately, holding for one charged second before sliding away.

My tone is flat, the words clipped. "Good morning, Mr. Sartori."

He pauses at my desk, jaw working. "Nora."

Just my name, but the way he says it sends heat pooling low in my belly. I force my attention back to the computer screen, typing nonsense just to have something to do with my hands.

"Your nine o'clock with the dock supervisors has been moved to nine-thirty. The Torrino contracts are on your desk for review. And Lorenzo called—something about the restaurant permits."

Pietro's fingers drum once on my desk. "Thank you."

He walks past. My fingers stumble on the keyboard. The door to his office closes with a soft click.

I breathe. In through my nose, out through my mouth. Professional. Controlled. Unaffected.

The kiss burns on my lips like a brand. Every time I lick them, I taste him.

It was just adrenaline.

Had to be. Bodies flooded with fear chemicals, seeking release after almost dying. Nothing more.

I can't kiss my boss. He can't kiss his secretary. Simple workplace boundaries that exist for exactly this reason. To prevent complications that destroy everything.

My fingers pause over the keyboard. Pietro Sartori is my father's enemy. Connor O'Sullivan would put a bullet in Pietro's head without hesitation if given the chance. The thought shouldn’t disturb me that much, but it does.

Dad has so many enemies I've lost count. The Murphys, the Ferrettis, half the Russian bratva. Pietro is just another name on a long list of men who want my father dead.