29. Amara #2
For a second, I think he’s about to kiss me, but he storms out of the room and never surfaces for dinner.
The fact that he’s ignoring me pains me more than physical abuse.
The following day, Pietro is secluded in his office when Joseph comes by to drop off dinner—salads, grilled chicken, and a couple of pasta dishes from the family restaurant.
I’m happy to see him, and I’m hopeful Pietro will eat with me tonight.
I’m wearing capri jeans and a thin sweater that shows off my curves.
I even used makeup today in the hopes Pietro would notice me.
The blue scarf adorns my neck and deepens the color of my blue eyes.
“Joseph, it’s great to see you. I’m going bonkers walking the house every day. ”
“How are you feeling?” He sets the box of food on the counter.
“Better, much better, thank you.” I unpack the to-go meals. “I thought Luca would be here, as a guard,” I interject into the conversation, hoping for a response.
“I heard Luca’s been reassigned to the hunt for Milo?,” Joseph says casually. “They’ve got him running surveillance on one of his known locations.”
My stomach drops.
He’s in the line of fire, because of me.
I keep this information to myself until Joseph leaves. Then I walk to Pietro’s study, where I find him buried in a laptop. He’s like an army of one. I doubt he gets as much sleep as Matteo, and he has a toddler.
“You didn’t tell me,” I accuse, stepping into the room, “that Luca has been reassigned.”
He doesn’t look up. “You’ve been through enough.”
“I still deserve the truth.”
“You want the truth?” His voice sharpens. “You’re locked up here because someone put a hit on me, and you could be next. You want to be outside when the bullets start flying?” He closes the lid on his electronic device.
“If I wanted to be locked up, I’d go back to my father or marry Vukan,” I snap.
His head quickly jerks to meet my gaze. His eyes blaze as he jumps to his feet. Then, he’s flying across the room until we’re face to face. “Don’t say his name in my house. You are mine.”
His hand wraps around my neck, and for a second, it’s as if we’re back to where we were before everything changed.
“You think I’m keeping you here to punish you? I keep you breathing. Milo? and your father want to take everything from me, and you’re the crown jewel.”
I’m breathing so hard that my chest is visibly moving. I meet his gaze, and it’s a battle of wills.
I inhale, preparing for him to ravage my mouth, but he drops his hand as if my skin burned him.
He takes a step back and rakes a hand through his hair.
“You think I want this? Don’t you know that I worry constantly about you and the baby?
Do I want to murder your father for what he did to you?
Of course. Don’t you know what I’d give to go back in time?
Back to where this all started without the complications?
But that’s not how this works. Not when there’s a war on our front door. ”
“And when it ends?” I whisper.
He exhales slowly. “Then I let you out of this house. But you’ll always have guards. That’s how we live. It’s the only way to keep you and my baby safe.”
But it’s what he’s not saying that makes me worried. Where do I fit into that picture? I don’t trust my voice to answer. For once, I wish he’d lie to me. I wish he’d tell me he loved me and wanted me, even if it’s not true.
But I’ve learned the truth resides in what he doesn’t say. He doesn’t declare his love for me because all he cares about is this baby, and I’m just a complication he has to bear for him to get what he wants.
I’m here to make him a father.
This realization is so devastating that I gasp like I’ve been knocked on my ass.
“It’s my baby, too!” I shout as I flee the room. I’m not hungry, but I know the baby needs to eat, so I nibble at the warm food before returning to my room to binge-watch an old TV show.
I had a simple plan to obtain protection from the Borrellis. I thought I would be safe and free. But I flew from one cage and into another. I never saw myself pregnant, and because of it, I’m tied to Pietro and this dark world forever.
Pietro is elusive as the Abominable Snowman. It’s the middle of the night when a steady flow of voices wakes me. Their voices lulled me out of my dreams even though they’re speaking softly.
I hear Matteo’s deep voice is smooth and commanding. Pietro’s is still short—clipped, even though it’s his usual tone with me, I’m surprised he’s speaking to his brother like that.
Pietro has become my Darth Vader of karma. Maybe I was doomed from the start—but what’s his excuse?
Our fathers carved their anger into our flesh. We both carry scars from our childhood, but something shifted the night I was beaten to a pulp.
The night everything cracked open like an egg.
The night something in both of us died—and something darker took its place.
It’s killing me to live with Pietro and knowing he won’t touch me. I’ve been here for weeks, and I’m getting stronger, but he’s not changed toward me. I can’t imagine living like this. I want him to pull me into his arms and tell me we can fix this, we can fix us.
But day after day, his lack of involvement disappoints me.
Then there is the fact that I’m horny as fuck, and he’s here, within my grasp, but unobtainable. It’s a mind fuck.
I hear the brothers talking, their muffled voices drifting through the walls. It seems they are discussing their business and how to find Milo?.
I pull the blanket tighter around me as I sit up, and the dull ache in my chest isn’t from my ribs; it’s the dull ache of emptiness.
Tonight, I slide out of bed carefully, my bare feet are cold against the tile as I tiptoe toward the door so I can hear them.
I place my ear against the door and hesitate, listening.
“She’s stable now,” Matteo says, the sound of a beer bottle clunking down on the table follows. “We can move forward.”
Pietro exhales heavily. “We have to be careful with the next shipment. The Feds are on us, and I don’t like how many eyes are watching the ports.”
“You think the Serbs are behind it?”
“I know they are,” Pietro mutters. “Milo? has too many connections. We’re watching Elio, but he hasn’t slipped up yet. He will, though. Every traitor eventually does.”
Matteo hums in agreement. “We need to adjust the routes. Keep the guns moving inland and off the usual channels. The drugs are the priority—higher risk, higher reward for us and our enemy.”
I swallow, and the sound rings in my ears. I want to join them, and my fingers itch to push the door open. But it’s an itch I can’t scratch. They speak about the events that are unfolding so casually—the logistics of crime, power, and the world they control.
And just like that, I’m pulled into the heart of the chaos.
I thought Pietro would keep me safe, but I brought this war to their doorstep. Their lives, their families… all at risk because of me.
I was selfish. I wanted a life I was never meant to have.
If that’s the case, I deserve his wrath. I did use him for protection, never thinking about the consequences.
I was born into this mess, and there’s no way for me to escape it, especially now. My father said Pietro would discard me. It’s the baby that he wants. His heir is the only reason he is protecting me. The baby is his sole focus for the future, not me.
And my heart breaks a little more.
The men are quiet for a moment, and I gingerly push the door open and step into the dimly lit living room. Pietro is sitting on the couch with his legs stretched out and an Italian beer in his hand. Even though he treats me like a stranger, I still want him.
Matteo is beside him, looking far too relaxed for a man who runs an empire. Both turn when they see me.
Pietro’s eyes darken slightly before they flick over me like he’s checking for what? An apology? I’m not sure. I don’t know where we stand, so I assume we’re still at a standoff.
Matteo shifts uncomfortably before setting his drink down.
I wrap my arms around myself, the loose fabric of my sweater barely enough to fight off the chill in the air.
Matteo is the first to speak. “How are you feeling?”
“Better,” I say, my voice softer than I intended. “Thank you… for taking me in.”
He smirks, but there’s warmth in it. “It’s all Pietro.”
I glance at Pietro, who says nothing, but his jaw tightens slightly.
Is it my imagination, or is he softening ?
Matteo pushes to his feet and then stretches. “I should go.” He looks between us with something unreadable in his expression. “Take care, Amara.” He pats my arm as he passes by.
Pietro stands but doesn’t answer. He gives his brother a slight nod. Matteo sighs before he punches his brother’s arm, walks to the door, and lets himself out.
I hesitate, standing there, unsure of where I belong in this moment.
The pregnancy hormones are making me horny. Too horny to not want more from him.
Then Pietro stands, and he moves toward me as his eyes meet mine.
The space between us disappears as he reaches for me, his hands sliding around my waist, careful of my injuries. His touch is warm and steady, and I crave it.
“I’ll protect you,” he murmurs. “No matter what.” And for a second, I allow myself to believe this is his way of making up. And if it is, I’ll take it, because the weight of everything consumes me—the fear, the stress, the exhaustion. I’d brave it all if only he were mine again.
There’s no pain like wanting something with your whole soul… and knowing they might never want you back.
I lift my chin, but before I can say anything, his lips are on mine.
The kiss is slow and deliberate, his hand cupping my jaw, and his fingers threading through my hair. I tremble under his touch. My stomach does flip-flops as I melt into him, gripping his shirt and pulling him closer.
And then, he lifts me into his strong arms. I don’t protest when he carries me into my bedroom.
And for the first time in weeks, I feel safe.
Because Pietro is holding me.
I can’t get enough of him. We’re like a fire that’s been starved. Our hands frantically cover the other’s body, grasping, pulling, kissing and sucking. It’s crazy.
It’s hot and intense. He consumes me.
I snuggle into him, wondering where we are as a couple, but after he places me on the bed, he takes a step back. And his look stops me cold .
“You need your rest.”
And those four words send me reeling. He’s deflecting. He’s putting another wall up.
Filled with the weight of rejection, my heart drops like glass slipping off a ledge—silent until it shatters.
I long for him to say something meaningful— anything, but he remains quiet. Then, he turns and leaves abruptly.
When the door clicks behind him, I cry. I try to stifle my sobs, but it’s impossible. I cry, and when I think it will subside, I cry some more. This is what it’s like to be in love.
I’ve reached my breaking point. I hate love. Love is overrated. Love is misery and pain. Love requires two people to love equally, and I’ve never witnessed that. Love is just a way to trap women, like my mother, and now me.
I never believed he would cast me aside. How did he turn into someone that I don’t even recognize?
I still crave his affection, his attention, and his love, but the sight of me turns him off. I know I shouldn’t want more, but I do.
But he only sees me as a means to an end, and he wants his baby.
It kills me to admit that my father was right.
I’m here to serve a purpose—to birth the next heir.