23. Pietro
PIETRO
EVERYTHING ENDS EVENTUALLY
W orking with Amara is never quiet. Never easy. And never, ever dull.
She storms into my office, hands on her hips, eyes flashing like she’s ready to murder me.
“You changed the entire VIP schedule without telling me.”
I don’t even look up from my desk. “I did.”
“Pietro.” My name is a warning, sharp and biting.
I smirk, finally meeting her glare. “Yes, Amara?”
She exhales sharply, stepping closer. “You can’t just override me like this. We agreed—I handle VIP logistics.”
“I handle security.”
“Oh, is that what you’re calling it?” she snaps. “Because to me, it looks like you’re just doing whatever the hell you want and expecting me to deal with it.”
I lean back in my chair, tilting my head. “That is how this works.”
She scoffs, crossing her arms. “You’re impossible.”
“And you’re cute when you’re mad.”
She glares. “That’s not the compliment you think it is.”
I grin, standing slowly, watching the way her breath hitches when I close the space between us. “You sure? Because you’re still standing here, fuming at me, when you could’ve just walked away. ”
She straightens, refusing to back down. “Because you piss me off.”
I drag my knuckles along her jaw, watching the way she shivers at the touch. “And yet, you’re still here.”
She swallows hard, but her chin lifts in defiance. “Because you’re a control freak who refuses to compromise.”
“And you like pushing me.”
Her lips part, but no words come. The tension between us crackles like fire, burning too hot, too wild.
I lower my voice, my fingers trailing down her arm. “Say it, Amara.”
She glares, but there’s heat in her eyes now, something dangerous. “You’re an ass.”
I smirk, brushing my lips against her ear. “That’s not what I meant.”
She exhales shakily, and for a second, I think she’s going to walk away.
But she doesn’t.
She stands her ground, staring up at me with a fire that matches my own.
“Pietro,” she murmurs, her voice soft, laced with a needy edge that ignites something primal in me-something wild, something I never knew existed.
I grip her waist, my patience wearing thin as my cock springs to life. “Say it.”
Her fingers graze my chest, teasing, testing. “You love this.”
I chuckle, shaking my head. She’s right. “I love watching you lose control.”
Her breath catches, but before she can throw another sharp remark at me, I crush my mouth to hers.
And she lets me.
I was hard the minute she walked through the door.
I quickly pull down her pants, bend her over the desk, and unzip my slacks.
She grabs the sides of the desk to brace herself as I impale her with my cock.
I want her pregnant and swollen with my child.
The thought excites me more than anything.
The possibility of us and a future sends me over the edge, and I have the most intense climax of my life.
Late in the night, the club is packed, the bass pulses through the floor and vibrates beneath my feet. I nod at the men who work for the family as they pass, offering brief greetings, which only serves to irritate Amara further.
“You know, not everyone needs a personal audience with you,” she mutters as she walks past me, balancing a tray of drinks with effortless ease.
“They’re showing respect.” I’m the one who entertains the eccentricities of political figures—and certain underworld players—who keep the city moving without so much as a hiccup.
She huffs. “They’re wasting time.”
Before I can respond, my phone vibrates in my pocket. I pull it out, glancing at the message from Matteo.
Julia intercepted a cryptic message. Things are heating up between Milo? and Stefano.
Something is happening. I feel it in my gut. And I’m never wrong.
I fire back a message.
I don’t like this. Keep digging.
Matteo replies almost instantly.
Keep your head on a swivel.
I exhale, pocketing my phone just as Amara walks back over, her eyes narrowing as she saucily says, “Now you look like someone just pissed in your drink.”
I glance at her, my mind still working through the message. “Something’s happening. ”
She frowns, setting her tray down. “What kind of something?”
I shake my head. “I don’t know yet. But I don’t like it.” My eyes beseech hers for a clue. But when I try to read her, I can’t. Her face remains free of emotion.
Is she developing a poker face?
What is she hiding?
My thoughts are a minefield as I circle the club. My stomach growls, and if I’m hungry, I know Amara is starving.
I walk to my office and order us both a steak Oscar from the family restaurant for a late dinner. I text her when it arrives.
Dinner.
I’m busy.
I’m your boss, and you’re eating with me. Now.
Bully.
I resign myself to the fact that there is a war of information going on inside this room as well as the one with our enemies.
Amara might protest, but she appears five minutes later. She eats only half her food, when usually, she scarfs down everything.
This isn’t like her. She always eats like she hasn’t seen food in days, always stealing bites from my plate when she thinks I’m not looking. But today… she barely touches anything.
I sip my coffee, watching her. “Not hungry?”
She glances up, her expression carefully neutral. “I guess not.”
My stomach tightens. “That’s not like you.”
She shrugs, forcing a small smile. “I’m tired.”
Bullshit.
I lean back, arms crossing over my chest. “What aren’t you telling me?”
Her fingers tighten around her fork. “Pietro?—”
“Why are you shutting me out?”
She exhales sharply, rubbing her temple. “ I’m not.”
I arch a brow. “Really? Because you’re pushing food around like a kid who was served canned vegetables. Is that what I am to you? A game? You seem to have more secrets than anyone I know, and that’s saying a lot!”
Her jaw tightens, but she still won’t look at me.
“It’s not like that,” she argues.
“Well, from where I’m sitting, I’ve been the one who is honest with you, and yet you still refuse to tell me what you’re running from. Why are you running away from your father?”
She’s quiet, a wall I haven’t figured out how to breach. I stand and pound my fist on the table. The thud fills the room.
“I’m tired of being in the dark. Something is going down between your father and Milo?, and I think you know what it’s about.”
She refuses to look at me, keeping her eyes focused on the food.
I slump back in my chair and run my hand through my hair. “Fine. But you need to eat a few bites.”
She caves and eats some of the steak and potatoes. The fact that she ate something is not a victory, and I’m not happy.
She ate, so I can’t protest too much. I’m determined to keep my eyes open for any other changes, even if I don’t understand why.
Perhaps I jumped into this relationship too soon. Maybe Matteo had her pegged. I led with lust when I should have vetted her more before sinking my cock in her a second time. It’s time I begin to look at us differently.
Maybe she’s been using me all along.