9. Pietro
PIETRO
DISTRACTION AND DEADLINE
H er scent was still on my skin as I shut the penthouse door behind me.
My steps carry me toward a world that doesn’t allow for distractions.
But fuck if she wasn’t exactly that. A distraction.
A spitfire with no fear, no hesitation, no pretense.
Just raw, unfiltered sass. A rarity in my world.
No one sasses me. No one talks back to me. Ever.
I roll my shoulders, trying to grasp the tasks before me as if they will force my mind back into the present. The streets blur as the guard drives me to the warehouse secluded far beyond the bleeding and damp pavement of the city’s center, which is alive with its usual hum of vice and violence.
Matteo’s office isn’t far—a nondescript warehouse on the city’s edge. It’s one of many, but this one is the backbone of our operations.
I walk in without knocking.
Matteo is perched against his desk, his eyebrows furrowed in thought with a tumbler of whiskey in hand, while Renalto sits sprawled in a leather chair, his boots crossed at the ankles, and he’s drinking the dog that bit him last night.
He tosses back a handful of aspirin. Niccoló is lounging on the antique leather sofa.
Their conversation cuts off as soon as I enter .
Matteo lifts a brow. “Look who finally decided to crawl out of his bougie penthouse,” he smirks.
Niccoló smiles as he flicks the ash from his cigar into an ashtray beside him. “Didn’t think we’d see you before noon, considering your… exhausting night.”
I exhale sharply, dragging a hand down my face. “I’m here, aren’t I? What’s the latest?”
“Damn brother, she must have been a hellcat because you’re walking funny,” Renalto says with an amused look on his face. He pulls himself upright and observes me. “Are you okay?”
I have to admit I strained a few muscles fucking her so hard. “I’m fine,” I snap.
“Damn,” Matteo chuckles. “We’re just busting your balls.” He gestures to the laptop on his desk. “We just got off a call with Julia. She’s been monitoring Moretti’s private communications and found something interesting.”
Renalto’s smirk fades as he straightens in his chair. “Several Moretti warehouses have been torched. That’s not the real issue, though. The problem is, Stefano’s requesting a meeting with Milo?.”
I frown. “Petrovi? doesn’t do casual meetings.”
“Exactly.” Matteo takes a slow sip from the Styrofoam cup that was sitting on his desk. He takes a sip of the coffee before he speaks. “Which means he wants something. Either Moretti has something valuable… or Petrovi? thinks he does or wants something he knows he has.”
“Or,” Renalto interjects. “Moretti lost something, and Petrovi? knows it. ” He’s suddenly alive but must have a hangover as he grabs the water bottle at his feet and chugs it.
His voice drops lower, “Whatever this is, it’s not about a friendly chat.
Stefano wouldn’t meet with Milo? unless he’s desperate to make amends for something.
Perhaps the botched deal on the women he was selling before Trey blew his cover. That must have hurt.”
I shrug. “It’s anyone’s guess. All we have are guesses and assumptions.
I don’t like it,” I add, my mind working through the angles.
“The Moretti’s have taken hits before, but nothing like this with torched warehouses.
It’s a desperate request for a sit-down.
It all reeks of vulnerability. And we all know vulnerability is just another word for opportunity. ”
Matteo’s face lights up. He likes my recap of the morning’s events even though I just arrived.
“Julia, got anything else?” I ask.
Matteo taps on the laptop, bringing up a transcript of the intercepted messages.
“Just blips from our messenger app they’re using—encrypted, but Julia cracked enough to confirm that someone inside Moretti’s camp is panicking.
Stefano is eager to meet, but there’s no mention of us.
But we can’t assume we’re off his hit list. The Morettis have an axe to grind with us over their father, whom they believe we killed.
Thank goodness Vincenzu’s wife killed him, or we’d be on the hook for that murder as well. ”
Luckily for us, it took the attention off Santino’s recent death. Of which, we’re guilty of ‘disappearing’ him.
Niccolò rubs his square and determined jaw. “Which means Petrovi? might be gunning for them. But why? The botched flesh trade is easy to restart.”
I let out a slow breath, waiting for the pieces to fall into place. “If Petrovi? is circling Moretti’s camp, Stefano’s stuck between two problems. He’s either trying to cut a deal… or buying time. Possibly both.”
Matteo’s lips curl. “And Petrovi? doesn’t do favors. Whatever he’s after, Moretti either doesn’t have it… or he’s not willing to part with it.”
Silence settles between us as the weight of the implications hangs in the air. If Petrovi? is making a move, it is calculated. Men in his position don’t play games unless they already know the outcome.
I cross my arms. “So, what’s our move?”
I look at Renalto and Niccoló as the silence stretches.
Matteo chuckles and pushes his leather chair back.
His fingers come together as the pensive look on his face changes to one of decisiveness.
“First? We find out what Moretti’s hiding.
If he’s weak, we take advantage. If Milo? Petrovi? is sniffing around, we will try to track the conversation and the collateral damage Stefano incurs. Stefano will eventually bleed money.”
My brothers nod in agreement.
“I’ll have Julia continue digging. Maybe she can pinpoint what Moretti’s so eager to protect,” Matteo adds.
I exhale slowly. The morning’s dampness has passed, and it’s been replaced by the chill of strategy. I should have expected it—the transition from one battlefield to another.
But Matteo isn’t done. His head tilts slightly as he studies me. “Before we get too deep into business, I gotta ask… how was she?”
I narrow my eyes. “What?”
Niccoló grins. “The spitfire who had you out of commission for the past twelve hours.”
Matteo smirks, adding, “We bantered over scenarios at breakfast. It was quite entertaining.”
Great, I’ve become the amusement of my siblings.
Matteo leans back in his chair, and it protests with a squeak. “Come on, little brother. Indulge us. Was she worth the trouble?”
I clench my jaw. I could brush it off and keep it vague. But the truth is… I’m not sure how to sum it up.
She was unexpected. A woman with no fear, no hesitation, no games. I’d been with countless women before—flings, distractions, something to pass the time. But her? She had met me head-on, with sharp words and sharp eyes, unafraid to challenge me.
And I liked it.
More than I should.
I shrug my shoulders, keeping my expression neutral. “Let’s just say… she’s not easily forgotten.”
Matteo and Niccolò exchange knowing glances, and their smirks widen.
“Oh, shit,” Niccolò laughs. “You actually like her.”
I glare at him. “Shut the fuck up.”
Matteo chuckles, lifting his coffee again. “To Pietro finally meeting his match. ”
I shake my head but can’t shake the thought of her as we return to business.
Or the way she had looked at me.
Or the way she had felt in my arms.
And, more than anything, of the dangerous thoughts that occupy my mind?—