Page 56 of Pietro

She crosses her arms, chin lifting in that defiant angle I've memorized. "Are you kidnapping me now?"

"If that's what it takes." I lean across and push the passenger door open. "We're going to the market. You need supplies if you're staying at the compound."

"I told you I'm finding my own new place where none of your enemies will reach me."

"No, you're not."

The standoff stretches between us. A couple walks past, the woman glancing at my car with appreciation. Nora notices, her jaw tightening.

"Fine." She slides into the passenger seat, slamming the door harder than necessary. "But this changes nothing."

I pull into traffic, heading toward Little Italy. The silence in the car is a physical weight. My fingers itch to reach across the console, to touch her hand where it rests on her thigh.

I grab a cart at Gennaro's, the main grocery. Nora walks beside me, maintaining careful distance.

"What do you need?" I ask.

"Basic things. Coffee, milk, some fruit?—"

"Real food. Giulia will murder me if she finds out you're living on coffee and fruit."

"I don't need?—"

I'm already moving toward the imported goods aisle. "We'll start with olive oil."

"I know how to buy olive oil."

"Not the right kind." I reach for a bottle on the top shelf, Tuscan extra virgin that costs more than most people's weekly groceries. "This one. From my family's region."

Nora takes the bottle, examining the label. "Sixty dollars for olive oil? That's insane."

"It's worth it."

"For salad dressing?"

"For everything. Cooking, bread, even just tasting on its own." I take the bottle back, adding two more to the cart. "You'll understand once you try it."

She shakes her head but I catch the hint of a smile. "You're such a snob."

"I have standards."

We move through the aisles, and something in my chest unknots. Nora starts actually selecting items instead of just following. She reaches past me for pasta, choosing a brand I've never tried.

At the produce section, she takes over completely. I watch her select tomatoes with practiced ease, pressing gently to test ripeness, bringing them close to smell.

"These are terrible." She sets aside the ones I'd grabbed. "Too firm. No scent. They'll taste like cardboard."

"They look fine."

"Looking fine and tasting good are different things." Her fingers brush mine as she takes the last tomato from my hand, and electricity shoots up my arm. "See? This one has given. Smell it."

She holds it up and I lean in, catching her scent along with the fruit's. "Tomato."

"Barely. It should smell rich, almost sweet. Like summer." She selects different ones, building a pile in a bag. "My mother taught me. She said you shop with all your senses, not just your eyes."

Past tense. A crack in her armor, revealing something real.

"Smart woman."