Page 46 of Pietro

Instead, I shrug off my jacket and drape it over her shoulders. The leather settles around her like armor, like protection, like a claim I have no right to make.

She burrows into the warmth, and my name escapes her lips. "Pietro..."

My control cracks. Splinters. Threatens to shatter entirely.

I allow myself one more moment—my fingers ghosting over her hair, not quite touching. She smells like vanilla and something uniquely her. In sleep, she turns toward my hand like a flower seeking sun.

This woman is going to destroy me.

The thought should send me running. Instead, I pull up a chair and sit beside her, watching her sleep, my jacket around her shoulders like a promise I can't make.

I think about what Giulia said. That Pablo would have liked her. That she sees past the monster.

But what if the monster is all there is? What if I'm not capable of being what she deserves?

Maybe I can't love. Maybe I'm too broken, too damaged, too far gone.

Or maybe—and this thought terrifies me more than death—maybe I've just been waiting forher.

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

NORA

Igrab my lunch bag and head to the company dining room, trying to shake off the frustration from this morning. For the past week, I've been escaping to this bright, open space on the second floor—far enough from Pietro's office to breathe, but still within the building's security perimeter.

The dining room buzzes with normal conversation from employees who have no idea what really happens in this building. Their ordinary problems and office gossip are a refreshing change from Pietro's brooding silence and the usual tension upstairs.

I settle at my usual corner table, unpacking my sandwich when I feel someone watching me. Mark from Accounting. Tall, sandy-haired, with kind eyes and a smile that doesn't hide secrets. He's been finding excuses to chat with me all week.

I pretend not to notice him approaching, focusing intently on my lunch as if turkey on rye requires my complete concentration.

"Mind if I join you?" Mark asks, already pulling out the chair across from me.

"It's a free country," I mutter, immediately regretting my tone. He doesn't deserve my Pietro-directed frustration.

Mark laughs, unbothered. "Rough morning?"

"Something like that." I offer a small smile, the most I can manage.

"You know, I've been trying to figure you out, Nora Kelly." He unwraps his own lunch—something homemade and healthy-looking. "Executive assistant to the big boss, yet you eat lunch down here with us commoners."

I shrug. "Maybe I like normal conversation."

"Normal. That's me." His eyes crinkle when he smiles. "Boringly, safely normal."

For a moment, I let myself imagine it. Dating someone like Mark. Someone whose biggest secret might be that he cheats on his taxes or has an embarrassing hobby. Not someone who makes people disappear or has blood on his hands. Not someone whose kiss burns through my defenses like they're made of paper.

"So," Mark leans forward, lowering his voice. "I've been working up the courage to ask—do you have a free evening this week? Maybe Friday? There's this Italian place on Michigan Avenue that's supposed to be amazing."

Italian. Of course. The universe has a sick sense of humor.

"I—" I start, not sure what to say.

Movement at the entrance catches my eye. Liam Blackwood stands there, steel-gray eyes fixed on our table. His expression remains perfectly neutral, but I feel the weight of his assessment. He's not even trying to be subtle about watching me.

Mark follows my gaze. "One of the security guys, right? They're always so intense around here."

"Yeah," I murmur, wondering if Pietro sent Liam to check on me.