38. Pietro
PIETRO
WE END THIS OR IT ENDS US
T he pressure’s a steady throb in the back of my skull, like it’s been for days.
I can’t eat. Can’t sleep.
I can barely think with the weight of what’s coming pressing down on me like a loaded gun to my head.
The plan is in motion. One wrong move, one delayed step, and everything goes to hell.
And I can’t tell her.
I watch Amara from the hallway, her silhouette bathed in soft light as she moves through the living room, barefoot, humming something under her breath. She’s in one of my old T-shirts, her hair pulled into a loose knot, and she looks… safe.
And fuck, that’s what ruins me.
Because I know the moment safety becomes real, it disappears.
Follow her like a bloodhound on a scent. Room to room. Step by step. Like I’m memorizing every second—like this might be the last day I get to watch her move, breathe, live .
She catches me leaning against the doorframe, arms crossed, eyes tracking her every move.
“What?” she asks, setting down her book. “You’ve been staring at me all afternoon. ”
I shrug, keeping my voice steady. “Can’t I look at my woman without retribution?”
She arches a brow. “That’s not just a look. That’s the kind of stare you give before delivering bad news or dragging me into a war room.”
I smirk, trying to play it off. “Maybe I’m just enjoying the view.”
Her lips tug up slightly, but her eyes search mine. She knows me too well.
“Pietro,” she says softly, stepping toward me. “What aren’t you telling me?”
I shake my head. “It’s nothing you need to worry about.”
“Bullshit.”
“I said, it’s nothing.” I push off the doorframe, closing the distance and brushing a strand of hair behind her ear. “You focus on growing that little fighter in there,” I say, rubbing my hand over her belly.
She places her hand on mine, it’s the smallest motion, but it wrecks me.
I lean down and kiss her forehead. She closes her eyes like she can feel the storm in me, even if she doesn’t know what it is.
“I’m just trying to hold on to this,” I whisper. “To you. ”
“Stop looking at me like you’re saying goodbye,” she murmurs.
I don’t answer. I pull her in, arms wrapping around her like maybe, just maybe, if I hold tight enough?—
I’ll survive what’s coming.
Or at least make sure she does.
Inside the Borrelli headquarters, we hover over the table set up inside the warehouse.
The map of the port is spread out on the table again, this time it’s layered with satellite images, marked shipping routes, and scribbled notations from Julia.
The quiet hum of the overhead lights only adds to the intensity in the room.
Matteo leans in. His eyes are locked on the details like he’s already seeing the end of the war in the ink.
“This is where we make our move,” he says, pointing to the southern dockyard. “They’ve got a shipment scheduled to arrive tomorrow night—guns. Heavy ones. Unregistered, untraceable. We leak just enough intel that makes Milo? think we’re vulnerable.”
Renalto raises a brow. “We’re letting them think they can take it?”
“More than that,” Matteo replies. “We let them think they can take him .”
All eyes shift to me.
I already know.
“I’ll be the bait,” I say, voice steady. “Let Milo? believe I’m overseeing the exchange. Make it look personal. He won’t be able to resist.”
“You sure about this?” Niccoló asks. “Because once we put your face out there, it’s not just a hit—it’s a fucking invitation.”
“It’s no secret he wants you dead, so does Stefano,” Renalto says.
I nod. “That’s what we want. I hope they both come out of hiding. We’re forcing their hand.”
Matteo looks between us all. “We control the location. We control the timing. We plant a decoy shipment. The real guns are rerouted. But we give them just enough reason to bite.”
“And what if they don’t?” Renalto asks.
“We end them,” I answer. “For good. One way or another.”
Silence settles momentarily, and the weight of what we’re planning hangs thick in the air.
“We don’t get a second chance at this,” Matteo says. “It’s not just about the docks or the weapons. This is about ending Stefano. With him gone, we’ll end the long-standing feud. And if we remove Milo?, there is a chance we can achieve peace, effectively ending both wars. Because if we don’t…”
“Then everything we’ve built gets ripped apart,” I finish for him. “Piece by piece.”
Matteo gives a single nod. “So we lure him in. We end it. And we take back our city.”
And just like that, the trap is set .
Now, all we need is for Milo? to take the bait.
I’m nervous about the plan, but if it works, we’re golden. One can’t reap great rewards without taking significant risks.
A blood-curdling scream pierces the night.
Something’s wrong. Very wrong.
I leap to my feet, grab my gun and haul ass to Amara but Arman and I collide as we push to get through the doorway. He backs off, letting me go first.
I scan the room with my gun drawn. I know Arman is behind me, backing me up, weapon drawn.
The sweep of the bathroom reveals nothing amiss.
It’s only then that I can attend to my woman, and she’s thrashing around the bed. I hear her muffled sobs.
I rush in and take her in my arms, and soothe her as she shivers.
“You’re safe. I’m here.”
Her tear-filled eyes reach mine, and my heart breaks. The nightmares I anticipated have manifested.
“It was terrible. I was running, I fell...”
“I’ll check the perimeter,” Arman mumbles as he leaves us.
“Try to think of something else. Something happy,” I suggest.
“I can’t. It felt so real .”
I hope this isn’t a premonition. Italians tend to be superstitious. But perhaps I want to know what scenario we don’t have a contingency plan for. Either way, I’m on the fence, preferring to believe we have some control over our destiny.
But maybe we don’t. And that concerns me.
“I’ll stay with you,” I say, which seems to comfort her. I slide into the bed and pull her into my arms.
I remember her supple skin, the softness in her caress, the way her lips melt under mine, but I stop myself from remembering more. It’s locked in a vault where it belongs.
It would be so easy to kiss her fears away—to make love to her and tell her we have a plan to end the war. But I can’t cave.
My resolve for justice has my focus. That’s how it has to be, for now.
It’s still dark outside when my sleep-laden eyes open.
Unfortunately, sleeping beside Amara was precisely what I needed. Not that it’s easy to be in the same bed with her and not touch her.
Last night was the first night I slept without waking up with a raging hard-on that kept me up for hours. My energy level is back to normal.
I move gently, being mindful not to disturb her. I stand and watch her chest, which barely moves, as she sleeps. The nightmares are to be expected. I wonder what episode is her worst memory. It must be her father, perhaps, Milo?, who stalks and haunts her the most. I’m not sure.