Page 79 of Pietro

But I can't.

Her eyes stare back at me, wide with fear but still defiant.

"You were supposed to be different," I growl, my voice barely recognizable to my own ears. "I let you in."

The towel slips slightly, revealing the curve of her breast where my mouth was just hours ago.

"I trusted you." The words taste like poison on my tongue.

Her lips part, trembling slightly. A tear slides down her cheek, and I hate myself for wanting to wipe it away. For wanting to believe there's some explanation that could make this right.

I move the gun to her temple, pressing the cold metal against her damp hair. This close, I can smell the soap on her skin, can see the pulse hammering in her throat.

Pull the trigger. End it.

But my finger won't move. My hand actually shakes.

Cazzo.

I've killed men for less. I've ordered deaths without blinking. Why can't I do this?

"You made me weak," I hiss, circling behind her, pressing my body against her back while keeping the gun at her temple. "You made me want things I can't have."

Her body trembles against mine, and I hate how my own responds, even now. Even knowing who she is. What she's done.

I lean in close, my lips brushing her ear. "I should kill you right here," I whisper, "but that would be too merciful. Instead, I'm going to use you to destroy your father. I'm going to make him watch as I dismantle everything he loves, piece by piece, starting with you."

The door crashes open.

I spin, shoving Nora behind me instinctively, gun raised toward the intruder.

Connor O'Sullivan stands in the doorway, flanked by two armed men. His face is a mask of cold fury as he takes in the scene—his daughter in nothing but a towel, my gun now pointed at his chest.

"Sartori," he says, his Boston accent thick with contempt. "Step away from my daughter."

I don't move.

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

NORA

Istand frozen behind Pietro, my body trembling as my father's cold eyes meet mine. The absurdity of this situation is almost comical.

And suddenly, I'm laughing.

It starts as a small sound in my throat, then builds until I'm shaking with it. Both men turn to stare at me like I've lost my mind.

Maybe I have.

I step out from behind Pietro, clutching the towel tightly around me. "Why the hell are you here?" I ask my father, my voice sharp with bitterness. "Where was this concern when I called you bleeding and terrified after Declan tried to kill me?"

Dad's face hardens. "Nora, this isn't the time?—"

"When is the time?" I cut him off, taking another step forward. "When Declan had his hands around my throat? When I begged you for help and you told me to fix my own mess?"

Pietro's eyes flick between us, his head moving from one direction to the other.

"You left me alone," I continue, my voice cracking. "Your own daughter. And now you show up with guns because what—I'm with a Sartori? That's what finally gets your attention?"