35. Pietro
PIETRO
BLOOD IN THE AIR
M atteo’s headlights slice through the pouring rain as his SUV pulls up.
I knew something was wrong before he even stepped out—it’s late, so that means it’s important.
He must have news that needs to be delivered in person.
He trudges through the rain, not caring that the rain is soaking his clothes.
His stance is tight, and his expression is darker than usual as he strides into the house.
“The doctor’s dead,” he blurts out as he shakes off the rain from his arms and runs his hand through his hair, slicking it back numerous times to keep it from falling under the weight of the water. He’s agitated.
My gut drops. “What?”
“Julie just called,” Matteo says as his voice turns to steel. “The doctor was stabbed in his garage. No media coverage, and of course, no witnesses. It was a clean hit, Pietro. They didn’t want attention—they wanted silence.”
“Amara…” I whispered before I could stop myself.
“They know she’s pregnant,” Matteo confirmed grimly. “And I guarantee you, Milo? knows too.”
I rub a hand down my face as the implications crash down around me. “She told her father, thinking it would put him off on the arranged marriage. I assumed he told Milo?. ”
“I think he’s keeping that information to himself. Or he thought she was bluffing.”
We walk into the living room in silence.
“She’s not just my woman anymore. She’s carrying the heir to the Morettis and us.”
“She’s a walking treaty,” Matteo mutters.
“And he’s no idiot. Reckless perhaps, but with that baby, he can destroy two empires and wrap himself in a cloak of protection.
If he obtains Amara, well, she gives him bulletproof protection.
She and your baby are his get-out-of-jail-free card. He’ll have total immunity.”
This is bad. Very bad, and this makes him very dangerous. But as much as his admission floors me, I’m not oblivious to the fact that Amara is listening from the bedroom. She has an uncanny sense of timing, and she’s done it before.
“She’s been a pawn this whole time,” I murmur through a clenched jaw. “We didn’t see the entire chessboard. We’ve been playing catch-up.”
Matteo nods. “If we lose this war, the Borrelli territory gets carved up. Serbs. Russians. Even the fucking Irish will pick apart what’s left. And Milo?? He will enter the void with a power play that secures the entire East Coast.”
“Like fuck that’s happening,” I growl.
“We’ll protect her. And that child. At all costs,” he says.
I met his eyes, my voice low but firm. “At all costs.” Because I know we’re finished if our plan doesn’t work.
I fall asleep with her in my arms, contemplating how we get out of this pickle.
Another day passed, and tonight, she didn’t speak to me at all, even though we ate dinner together .
She avoided my eyes and didn’t ask where I’d been today. But then again, she knows better than to ask questions I can’t answer.
She pushes food around her plate like it offended her.
Afterwards, I bring her an herbal tea and sit beside her on the couch. Her legs are tucked under her, but her arms are wrapped around herself like armor. She’s defensive.
“What’s going on?” I asked, watching her closely.
“Nothing,” she said without looking at me.
“Don’t lie to me, Amara.”
Her eyes didn’t move from the TV. “I’m just tired.”
“No, you’re angry ,” I said quietly. “Tell me why.”
She finally turns to face me, and her voice is soft and sharp all at once. “Because I’m just the vessel now, right? The heir-maker. Suddenly, I matter because I’m carrying the one thing that could end a war.”
“Is that what you think this is?” I ask, stunned.
“You’re making peace deals,” she snaps. “Calling in your family. Matteo shows up like the world’s on fire. And then I hear you both talking as if I were some prized offering. A truce in a womb.”
“I’m trying to protect you,” I bit out.
“No, Pietro,” she says, shaking her head. “You’re trying to control me. It’s not the same.”
My hand reached for hers instinctively. She flinches—but not enough to stop me.
“You believe I’d only come back to you because of the baby?” I ask, my voice raw and disbelieving. What kind of animal does she think I am?
She doesn’t answer.
“You know better, Amara.”
Her lips part, like she wants to protest, but she doesn’t.
I brush my thumb over the back of her hand, watching how her breath hitches. But even now, with all her doubt and anger, she still responds to my touch.
“I’m not making love to you because of what you’re carrying,” I said. “I’m here because of you . ”
She turns her face away, but not before I see the tears she didn’t want me to see
And I know, I have to remind her, not with words.
With everything else.
Because it’s always been her.
Baby or no baby.
It’s her that I want.
I scoop her into my arms and carry her to bed.
I’m fucking this silly notion out of her head. The thought that all I care about is the baby is absurd. And I’m going to pound her tight little pussy into submission.
The warehouse smells like cold steel and old blood—neutral ground, but not by choice. It's far enough from our ports and his docks for both of us to be uncomfortable. Good, because no one gets too comfortable in a meeting like this.
Julia obtained Vukan’s information, and Matteo reached out. I’m sure that piqued his interest. We approach the building with our men behind us. Gio remains at the door, and we have sharpshooters placed on the perimeter for the ‘just in case’ scenario.
Perhaps this is why I had to have Amara this morning.
I can’t leave this world with her thinking I don’t care about her when, in fact, I love her.
The thought of us, happy with kids around us, is sublime.
She’s given me purpose beyond my immediate family.
She’s given me a glimpse of what the future can be if I reach out and take it.
And so today, I’m doing just that. I’m carving out a deal that will set the tone for how that future will be lived.
I hope.
We’re patted down for weapons, and when the burly mercenary is satisfied, he grunts for us to enter. The overhead lights are dim, and the warehouse is filled with pallets of vodka .
When we reached the table, I saw that Vukan was already there.
He’s seated at the metal table like he owns it with his legs crossed and a reserved look on his face.
I can tell he’s smoking by the smoke ring that hangs above him, and as we step closer, I notice a silver ring glinting on his finger.
He must be a tall man, as his legs stretch for miles and tattoos cover every inch of his body.
His expression is unreadable. Not that I would understand the Serb, even on a good day.
“Gentlemen,” he says smoothly, his Serbian accent brushing the edges of his words. “I was beginning to think you’d stand me up.” He puffs his cigarette, and when he exhales, he does so slowly, as if he doesn’t have a care in the world.
“We’re not in the habit of wasting our time,” Matteo replies, his voice is commanding but cold.
Vukan smiles like this is all a game. “Good. We won’t waste any more— time. ” And the way he pauses before the word ‘time’ has me on edge—like ours is running out.
Fuck me. I’d hate to live with him, he’s proficient in psychological warfare.
He gestures to the plastic chairs, and we sit, summing each other up to the best of our abilities.
The man’s presence is enough to make men quake in their boots.
He a large man—broad shoulders, chiseled chin, and steely gray eyes.
He’s older than Matteo and judging only by his weathered face, I’d say he’s a man who’s seen more death than life, and he’s tempered it with booze and dangerous decisions.
He’s a transplant from Serbia, but his English is good, even if he has the accent of his homeland.
He gestures to the empty chairs across from him. We sit. My eyes remain locked on his face, watching every twitch and every flicker as if it will project the outcome of our meeting.
He’s cagey—to have skipped out to meet with us without his brother knowing is risky. Or does his brother know? I suppose I’ll have to wait and see how this unfolds. Will we strike a deal or not is the only thought running through my mind .
If I were in his shoes, I would be nervous, but Vukan takes his time, his dark brown eyes meet mine with a steadfast gaze.
“So, you fell for the woman,” he says, and for a second, I see a glint of amusement in his eyes. “You’re a fool, but I admire your bravery.”
“She’s someone I’d like to keep alive,” I deadpan.
“Of course. Leave it to a woman to unravel empires,” he chuckles. “You have so much at stake, a baby, a woman. You have so much to lose.”
I moved to the edge of my seat, ready to strangle him. How dare he talk about my woman?
“Relax, I mean no disrespect,” and he flicks his fingers out peacefully.
His brother is tearing down the city brick by brick, and Vukan’s standing in the fallout with blood on his hands, whether he earned it or not.
Still, there’s something else in him.
Ambition or vision?
No one would want to inherit his brother’s mess. Does he desire something better, cleaner, and more sustainable?
“You think I want this chaos?” Vukan says suddenly, leaning forward, as if he had read my thoughts, effectively diffusing the situation.
“You think I want the feds crawling through every shipping lane, every dock, every damn alley? My brother burns down the city, and what happens? They come for all of us.”
“You’re concerned,” Matteo says flatly.
Vukan doesn’t deny it. “I’m realistic. My brother’s ego is bigger than his common sense.
There is no room for inflated importance in our world,” he turns to Matteo.
“You know that. Besides, I have men in Serbia to answer to, and if you think these streets are unforgiving, you have no idea what my country is like. We rule by guns, and I’ve seen enough war to last a lifetime,” he says as he grounds out his cigarette on the table and tosses the butt like it’s a bad idea.
“There’s enough to go around,” I say. “Plenty of product. Plenty of profit. The only thing we don’t have is stability. ”
He nods slowly. “Agreed. But I need assurances. If I give you Milo?, but I need assurances Moretti won’t retaliate.”
“Easy,” Matteo says, smiling for the first time. “I have a plan to make sure that doesn’t happen.”
And just like that?—
We all lean in.
I’ve never believed in hope.
Not in the way most people do.
Hope is a weakness when you're born into blood and taught that power is survival. But lately… I can taste it because we’ve got a solid plan.
Matteo and I had a private meeting with Vukan. He’s been briefed on our plan. We either seize today, or we perish in it.
Vukan’s playing his part, whether he knows it or not.
Julia’s watching every move he and Milo? make like a hawk circling its prey.
Renalto and Niccolò are locking down supply chains, and hitting Moretti assets with precision, effectively cutting all the power and resources he has in his reach—slowly, and methodically.
Every move we make draws our enemies closer to the end, making Milo? beg for a meeting. We have to squeeze him to make our plan work.
I’m confident we will, because we’re not playing with checkers here. This is chess, and for once, we’re two moves ahead.
We need everyone to play their role.
There’s no room for hesitation and no margin for error.
If we hit hard, hit fast, and do it right, this war ends before Amara even shows that she’s pregnant with my child growing inside her, and before Amara has to see any more of the dark shit I’ve tried to shield her from.
I picture her smiling in the kitchen with that record player spinning soft Italian music, barefoot, and dancing around in one of my shirts. Later, she’d feed me bites of some ridiculous dessert, which she insists is better than her grandmother’s.
I want that.
God, I want that.
For the first time, I can see something past the next hit or the subsequent betrayal.
I can see normal.
Not quiet. Not boring. Not soft. But ours.
A future.
Her hand in mine.
The coos and cries of a child in our home.
Peace—whatever version of it we can steal in a world like ours.
We’re so close I can feel it in my bones.
Now we have to finish what others started.
And I vow, on every scar, every loss, and every brother I’ve bled with, that I won’t let anyone take this dream from me.