28. Pietro #2
He nods. “We’re working on intel,” he adds .
Renalto steps forward, making his presence known. He cracks his knuckles like he’s warming up for a fight. “A shot at a Borrelli is never tolerated.”
No. It’s not.
I turn back to Amara and watch the way she looks at me, like she’s waiting for me to blame her. To hate her.
She doesn’t understand.
She’s mine.
Because this war isn’t just about me anymore.
It’s about her.
About our baby.
And I’ll burn this whole fucking city down before I let anyone take them from me again.
An hour later the colossal house feels too small. I’d have a worn trench under my feet if I were walking on dirt. My calves ache, they’re protesting the number of times I’ve paced the hard flooring.
Amara is on the bed, wrapped in silence and blankets.
Her bruised face is half-buried in the pillow.
Her breathing is still shallow. I hear every breath she takes, and each inhale is a reminder of how badly she was hit.
My stomach twists as rage simmers beneath my chest. I need an outlet for my rage.
I clench and unclench my fists, eager to hit something, someone, just to release my anger and frustration.
How did I miss this?
The blindfolded doctor arrives. One of Matteo’s men leads him in, and the old man grumbles under his breath.
“That was unnecessary,” he mutters.
"No offense, Doc," I say, arms crossed, watching his every move. "It’s not you we don’t trust. It’s anyone within six degrees of you."
He huffs but doesn’t argue.
The blindfold is removed, and he blinks, adjusting to the dim light. His gaze sweeps the room, and I lead him into the bedroom where his gaze settles on Amara.
“Jesus.” He exhales through his nose before approaching her and kneeling beside the bed. “What the hell happened?” he asks no one in particular.
“Her father.” The words taste like poison.
The doctor doesn’t press for more details; he just nods. His hands move with precision, gently pressing against her ribs, feeling for breaks.
She flinches, her eyes squeezing shut.
“Sorry, dear,” he murmurs. “I need to see how bad it is.”
She barely makes a sound, but I see it—the way her body tenses, and the way she grips the blanket like she’s holding on for dear life.
“She needs an X-ray,” the doctor says after a few minutes, his voice grim. "I can’t tell if they’re cracked or broken just by feeling. But either way, she’s in rough shape. She needs to be careful—no sudden movements, no lifting, nothing strenuous."
My jaw clenches.
“She’s pregnant, no x-rays unless it’s necessary,” I say.
“I’ll wrap them," I say. "We’ll figure out the rest later."
He nods, pulling a roll of bandages from his bag. He works quickly, securing her ribs and taking a painstaking effort to make his movements as gentle as possible.
“She’ll need painkillers,” he says, glancing at me. "I have some here, but only give them to her as needed. If the pain gets worse, call me immediately. They are safe for someone in her condition.”
I take the bottle he offers, rolling it in my palm.
“She’ll be okay?” I ask, the words low, almost hesitant.
He studies me for a moment like he sees more than I want him to.
“Physically? Yes. But she’s been through hell. That kind of damage—it doesn’t just heal with time.”
I glance at Amara. She hasn’t moved, but I know she’s awake. She’s always listening and always bracing for what comes next. She’s just surviving.
“Is the baby okay? ”
“She’s not spotting. It’s early, it’s probably fine. Time will tell,” he shrugs.
“What else does she need?”
“Rest. Hydration. Someone to make sure she follows my instructions.” He gives me a pointed look. “Which is where you come in.”
“She won’t have a choice,” I muttered, slipping the medicine into my pocket.
“Spoken like a Borrelli. Now let me have a look at your arm.”
“It’s nothing,” I brush him off, but his stern look makes me pause, and I reconsider. I need to be healthy to take care of her. If I get an infection, it will compromise me and her.
“Fine.” I capitulate because Amara needs me. I gently run my hand down Amara’s, caressing her swollen face before we leave her to rest. We make our way into the house.
I sit in a chair, and the doctor chuckles, shaking his head, as he sits across from me at the kitchen table. “You boys are something else. Try to stay away from bullets, okay?”
“We try, Doc, we try,” I sigh. He cleans my flesh wound. It stings at first, then burns, and finally, the dull ache subsides after it’s wrapped.
“Change the dressing daily. Take these antibiotics,” he says, thrusting a vial into my hand.
“Thanks.”
“Good luck with the baby,” he says, standing and stretching his back. “She’ll need an obstetrician. There’s only so much I can do.”
“Thank you for helping,” I say, knowing Matteo pays him handsomely to be at our beck and call. He’s retired, so the cash is always welcome.
Doctor Summers is getting on in years, but he’s trusted. Matteo’s men blindfold him again and lead him out.
I stand and walk to check on Amara. I sit on the edge of the bed, rubbing my hands down my face, and I notice Amara still hasn’t moved.
I give her two pills and make her drink water before I place the medicine on the nightstand, my fingers lingering on the bottle before returning to her .
“You heard him,” I murmur. “You need rest.”
“Thank you for coming for me,” she says, and my heart breaks a little. She’s so weak. Did she really think I wouldn’t come for her?
What kind of monster am I that she believes she’s a burden to me?
Doesn’t she know I’d burn the city down for her?
Revenge hangs around me like a chain, heavy and unrelenting. I can feel it in every breath, every heartbeat. The men who hurt her won’t get mercy.
They’ll get me.
I stare at the ceiling, tension pulsing through my body. My hands stay balled into fists beneath the covers, rigid and unmoving—wanting to punch someone or something.
Then the memories come—slow, suffocating, impossible to escape.
The way she used to sass me at the club. I loved the fire in her eyes when I pushed her buttons, knowing it was a look she reserved for me and me only.
“Are you always this mouthy?” I asked once, leaning over the bar.
She smirked. “Are you always this full of yourself?”
Christ, she was fun.
A storm in heels. A mouth made to be challenged.
But those days are gone.
And if I want to keep her alive, they need to stay gone.
So, I lay there in the dark, wide awake beside the woman I can’t love… and the only one I’d burn the world down to protect.
But fuck I need to get off. My blue balls are killing me. I’ve taken more than an unhealthy number of cold showers. I grab my cock and stroke it envisioning the woman I want but can’t have.
I hover over Amara. I’ve never been so restless, but I take comfort in the fact that she’ll be okay. The slow rise and fall of her chest is reassuring. Sleep aids recovery, but she’s been out for hours.
I need answers. She has to know something. Something worth dying for.
Her eyes fluttered as if I willed them open.
“Where am I?” she asks.
“A safe house. How do you feel?”
“Terrible.”
“You should have come to me.”
“I was handling it.”
And there is my defiant Princess again.
Her voice breaks before the words even land.
“My father… he put a hit out on you.”
The room spins. The walls close in, the air thick with something I can’t breathe through.
I stare at her, heart pounding, fists curling at my sides.
“Say it again,” I growl.
Amara’s eyes shine with unshed tears, but she doesn’t back down. “He wants you dead. He must have put a contract out on your head, Pietro. He’s forcing me to marry Vukan Petrovi?. But I won’t do it. I’m the reason you’re being hunted.”
Her betrayal slices through me like a goddamn blade.
“And you’re just telling me this now?” My voice is hoarse, but there’s steel beneath the fury.
“I didn’t know how to tell you,” She whispers. “I was trying to protect you.”
“Protect me?” I laugh bitterly. “You kept secrets. From me . While my men are bleeding in the streets, while I’ve been planning how to protect you , you stood there with a knife behind your back. ”
Her lips part, and I see it—the hesitation. The guilt. The truth teetering on the edge.
“There’s more,” she says quietly.
Of course there is.
I stiffen, waiting.
She takes a breath. “I didn’t know who you were in the club. I changed my name so I wouldn’t be found. I burned my past, but I can’t leave my grandmother. She’s the only one who truly loves me. I told my father I’m pregnant. I thought it would end the arranged marriage….”
Silence falls so heavily that I feel it crushing my chest.
I can’t move. I can’t breathe.
Everything inside me shatters into silence.
“You told him about the baby?”
She nods, slowly.
I step back again, further this time. My hands tremble with the need to destroy something, anything, but I can’t. Not when she’s looking at me like that.
“You told him too much.”
“I was trying to protect you?—”
“That doesn’t fucking matter.” My voice is low and raw. I fiercely protect what is mine. “Your family is our sworn enemy,” I yell. My eyes shoot daggers at her. How could she betray me? How could she betray us ?
It’s as if I don’t know who she is anymore.
She reaches for me, and I jerk away.
I want to walk out the goddamn door and never look back.
But I can’t.
Because even as the fire of betrayal burns through my veins, I can’t erase what I feel.
“This baby is the bridge between two empires. Do you know what that means?” I look at her, wondering if she understands the danger.
“That they’ll hunt me down like a dog,” she whispers.
“Damn right that’s what they’ll do. And they won’t stop until they get you and my son. ”
And with that, her lips tremble and tears flow down her face freely. I know she’s upset, but so am I. I should comfort her, but I can’t bring myself to touch her.
She’s a Moretti.
She could have told me they would come after me.
She could have confided in me.
But none of that matters now.
The genie is out of the bottle, and we can’t put it back.
No matter what happens, I love her.
God help us both.
It kills me not to lie beside her. She’s inches away, knowing I can’t touch her, feel her, kiss her… One touch—just one—and I’d unravel.
If I so much as touched her, all the control I’ve fought to keep would dissolve in a heartbeat.
I watch her as she curls into herself, her hair a dark wave against the pillow, and I’m thankful that tonight, her breathing is soft and even. I hover over the bed, then I stare out the window and into the darkness like it’s got answers I haven’t earned.