Chapter 13
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
NORA
Igrab my lunch bag and head to the company dining room, trying to shake off the frustration from this morning. For the past week, I've been escaping to this bright, open space on the second floor—far enough from Pietro's office to breathe, but still within the building's security perimeter.
The dining room buzzes with normal conversation from employees who have no idea what really happens in this building. Their ordinary problems and office gossip are a refreshing change from Pietro's brooding silence and the usual tension upstairs.
I settle at my usual corner table, unpacking my sandwich when I feel someone watching me. Mark from Accounting. Tall, sandy-haired, with kind eyes and a smile that doesn't hide secrets. He's been finding excuses to chat with me all week.
I pretend not to notice him approaching, focusing intently on my lunch as if turkey on rye requires my complete concentration.
"Mind if I join you?" Mark asks, already pulling out the chair across from me.
"It's a free country," I mutter, immediately regretting my tone. He doesn't deserve my Pietro-directed frustration.
Mark laughs, unbothered. "Rough morning?"
"Something like that." I offer a small smile, the most I can manage.
"You know, I've been trying to figure you out, Nora Kelly." He unwraps his own lunch—something homemade and healthy-looking. "Executive assistant to the big boss, yet you eat lunch down here with us commoners."
I shrug. "Maybe I like normal conversation."
"Normal. That's me." His eyes crinkle when he smiles. "Boringly, safely normal."
For a moment, I let myself imagine it. Dating someone like Mark.
Someone whose biggest secret might be that he cheats on his taxes or has an embarrassing hobby.
Not someone who makes people disappear or has blood on his hands.
Not someone whose kiss burns through my defenses like they're made of paper.
"So," Mark leans forward, lowering his voice. "I've been working up the courage to ask—do you have a free evening this week? Maybe Friday? There's this Italian place on Michigan Avenue that's supposed to be amazing."
Italian. Of course. The universe has a sick sense of humor.
"I—" I start, not sure what to say.
Movement at the entrance catches my eye. Liam Blackwood stands there, steel-gray eyes fixed on our table. His expression remains perfectly neutral, but I feel the weight of his assessment. He's not even trying to be subtle about watching me.
Mark follows my gaze. "One of the security guys, right? They're always so intense around here."
"Yeah," I murmur, wondering if Pietro sent Liam to check on me.
Liam holds my gaze for one more second before turning and walking away, his message delivered without a word: I see you, and Pietro will know.
I turn back to Mark, who's waiting expectantly for my answer. His normal life and kind smile suddenly seem like a lifeline—a reminder that not every man is dangerous, not every relationship is a power struggle.
"I'll think about it," I tell him, surprising myself. "Things are... complicated right now."
Mark's face brightens. "I can work with 'I'll think about it.' Way better than 'get lost.'"
As he launches into a story about his weekend hiking trip, I nod and smile in all the right places, but my mind keeps drifting to Liam's watchful eyes and what he'll tell Pietro.
I finish my sandwich and gather my things, feeling Mark's hopeful gaze on me.
"I should get back," I say, standing up. "Thanks for the company."
Mark's smile reaches his eyes. "Same time tomorrow?"
"Maybe," I answer noncommittally, though part of me likes the idea of something predictable and safe in my chaotic life.
I make my way back to the executive floor. The elevator doors open, and I step into the quiet hallway, the plush carpet muffling my footsteps.
I've barely settled at my desk when Pietro's voice thunders from his office.
"Nora! In here. Now."
My spine stiffens at his tone. I take a deep breath, smooth my skirt, and walk into his office with my head high.
Pietro stands behind his desk, hands planted on the surface, leaning forward like a predator. His dark eyes flash with something that looks suspiciously like jealousy.
"Close the door," he orders.
I do, crossing my arms as I face him. "You bellowed?"
"From now on, you'll eat lunch in the kitchen on this floor."
I blink, caught off guard. "Excuse me?"
"You heard me. The executive kitchen is fully stocked. Giulia sends meals. There's no need for you to go downstairs."
"Are you dictating where I can eat my lunch now?"
"It's a security issue," he says flatly.
"Bullshit." The word slips out before I can stop it.
Pietro's eyes narrow. He rounds the desk in three long strides, invading my space until my back hits the glass wall behind me. He plants one hand on the window beside my head, effectively caging me in with his body.
"What was that?" His voice drops dangerously low.
I lift my chin, refusing to be intimidated. "I said bullshit. The dining room is inside your building, surrounded by your security. This isn't about safety."
His face hovers inches from mine, his breath warm against my skin. "Why do you need to eat with them? With him?"
So Liam did report back. Of course he did.
"Maybe I want to socialize with normal people," I say, keeping my voice steady despite our proximity. "Maybe I'd like to have a friend in this city."
"Friend?" Pietro practically spits the word. "Is that what you call it?"
"What would you call it?" I challenge, my heart racing. "Since you've been avoiding me for days, I figured I'd find company elsewhere."
"You work for me," he says, his voice tight with restraint. "Your loyalty—"
"Is to my job," I cut him off. "Not to you personally. I do my work exceptionally well. What I do during my lunch hour is none of your business."
"Everything about you is my business." His eyes drop to my lips for a fraction of a second. "You're not allowed to see him."
A laugh bubbles up from my chest, sharp and disbelieving. I place both hands on his chest and push him back, creating space between us.
"Watch me," I say, my voice steady and clear.
Pietro's eyes widen slightly, surprise flickering across his features. He's not used to being challenged.
"What did you just say?" he asks, his voice dangerously soft.
"I said ." I step around him, heading for the door. "You don't own me, Pietro. You never will."
PIETRO
I stand frozen as the door slams behind her.
Did she just...?
Watch me.
The words replay in my mind, each syllable stoking the fire building in my chest. No one speaks to me like that. No one challenges me. Not my captains, not my siblings, not even Riccardo when he was alive.
Yet this woman just walked out after telling me to my face that I don't own her.
My fist connects with the wall before I even realize I've moved. Pain shoots through my knuckles, but it's nothing compared to the rage coursing through my veins.
She wants to play games? Fine. I can play better than anyone.
I pull my phone from my pocket, my fingers moving with controlled precision despite the fury making my hands shake.
Need name and details on the accountant Nora had lunch with today. Everything.
Liam's response comes quickly: Mark Daniels. 32. Five years with the company. Clean record, no connections to other families. Lives in Wicker Park. Single.
Single. The word makes my jaw clench.
More.
Three dots appear as Liam types. I pace the length of my office, the same path Nora's heels had traced minutes before.
What specifically are you looking for, sir?
Everything. Where he lives. What he drives. His fucking shoe size if you have to.
A longer pause this time. Then: Is this about security concerns or something more personal?
I can practically see Liam's knowing expression through the text. The smug bastard.
Just do your fucking job.
Another pause before his reply appears: Address is 1422 North Damen Avenue. Drives an Audi A4. No criminal record. Credit score 780. Graduated Northwestern. No suspicious contacts or activities. Seems painfully boring, sir.
I read the message twice, picturing this Mark. Boring. Safe. Normal. Everything I'm not.
And sir, if I may... perhaps your energy would be better spent addressing why Miss Kelly is seeking company elsewhere rather than investigating her lunch companion?
"Fuck you, Liam," I mutter to the empty office, tossing my phone onto the desk.
He's right, and we both know it. I've been avoiding Nora for days, trying to get my head straight after that kiss.
Watch me.
Two words that sound suspiciously like a declaration of war.
If Nora Kelly wants war, she has no idea what she's in for.