Page 42 of Pietro

Hearing that was like a knife to the heart.

"What? No?—"

"You brought him into our lives. Into our family. Into our business."

"That's not true! You wanted him on your crew. You said he had potential. You're the one who made him your second!"

"Because you vouched for him! Because you were sleeping with him!"

I'd pressed myself against the car seat. "Dad, please. I need help. He's trying to kill me."

"And now the Murphys know everything. Our shipments, our contacts, our safe houses. Everything's compromised because you couldn't keep your legs closed."

The cruelty had stolen my breath. This was my father—the man who'd taught me to ride a bike, who'd kissed my scraped knees, who'd once threatened a boy who made me cry at prom.

"Dad—"

"Fix your own mess, Nora. You're not dragging me down with you."

The line went dead.

I'd stared at the phone, disbelief numbing me more than the cold rain. Then survival instincts kicked in. I'd pulled out the SIM card, threw it out the window, and tossed the pieces down separate storm drains before throwing the phone itself too.

My father had abandoned me. Blamed me. For loving someone who'd only pretended to love me back.

I blink, returning to the present. My reflection stares back at me from the vanity mirror.

I set the brush down with a decisive click.

That night changed everything. The daughter who'd always sought her father's approval died in that car

CHAPTER TWELVE

PIETRO

Three days of scheduling meetings at dawn, at midnight, any hour that keeps me from crossing paths with her. I send Liam with messages. Use email for documents that need approval. Take calls from the warehouse instead of the office.

Three days of pretending Nora Kelly doesn't exist.

Except she's everywhere.

Her laughter floats from the kitchen where Giulia teaches her some family recipe. Liam mentions she fixed a shipping error that would have cost us fifty grand. Even the dock workers—men who trust no one—go quiet when she walks by. They tip their heads. "Miss Nora," they call her, a respect they don't even give me.

I pace my office, phone pressed to my ear as Lorenzo's voice fills the silence.

"I went to see Bruno today." The name hangs in the air, heavy as a tombstone.

My hand tightens on the phone, the plastic groaning. The medical facility. The place we pay obscene amounts to keep our brother alive while machines breathe for him.

"How is he?"

"The same." Lorenzo pauses. "Pietro, we need to talk about this. About Bruno. About Riccardo. We've been burying it all, pretending?—"

"There's nothing to discuss." The words come out sharper than intended. "Bruno's getting the best care. Riccardo's gone. What else is there?"

"You know that's not what I mean." His voice gentles the way it always does when he's trying to reach me. "We lost our brother. Bruno might never wake up. And you're carrying all of it alone."

"I'm managing."