Chapter 14
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
PIETRO
I'm reviewing shipment manifests when my phone rings. Josh's name flashes on the screen.
"What?" I answer, not bothering with pleasantries.
"Sir, Miss Kelly asked for a ride downtown to Osteria Langhe at seven tonight."
My pen freezes mid-signature. "She what?"
"She requested transportation to a restaurant on Armitage Avenue. Should I arrange it?"
I lean back in my chair, a cold feeling settling in my gut. "Did she say why?"
"No, sir. Just the location and time."
"Fine. Handle it." I hang up before he can respond.
Two fucking days. Two days of this silent war between us since she stormed out of my office. Giulia told me Nora takes dinner alone in her room. Two days of seeing her only at the company, where she's perfectly professional and completely distant.
And now she wants to go to a restaurant? Alone?
Every man watching her has strict instructions to report her movements.
Not that she's done much. Work, compound, repeat.
She's been taking lunch with the other employees despite my direct order not to, but I've refused to confront her about it.
I won't give her the satisfaction of knowing it bothers me.
But a restaurant at night is different.
I grab my phone and type: Why do you need a ride to a restaurant?
Her response comes quickly: Since I'm not allowed to go anywhere alone, I need transportation.
That's not what I'm asking and she knows it. My fingers tighten around the phone.
With who?
Three dots appear, disappear, then reappear. She's thinking about her answer. Making me wait.
Finally: Mark.
Just his fucking name. Like it's nothing.
White-hot rage floods my system. Mark. The accountant. The boring, safe accountant who had the balls to ask out what's mine.
I'm going to kill him. Slowly. Painfully. I'll make him disappear so thoroughly his own mother won't remember he existed.
My phone buzzes again with another message from her: Is that a problem?
I can practically see the challenge in her eyes as she typed it. The same defiance from two days ago when she told me to watch her.
Well, I'm watching. And I don't like what I see.
I dial Liam's number.
"Sir?" he answers on the first ring.
"Cancel all my meetings tonight."
"May I ask why?"
"I'm having dinner at Osteria Langhe."
A pause. "The Italian place on Armitage?"
"The very one."
I toss the phone on the desk.
NORA
I take my time getting ready, selecting a deep burgundy dress that hugs my curves without being too obvious about it. The neckline is modest but flattering, and the hem falls just above my knees. Professional enough for a work colleague, but nice enough for dinner.
I know Josh will report every detail back to Pietro. The thought makes me smile as I apply a touch of lipstick in a shade that matches my dress. Let Pietro stew in whatever this is between us. I'm not his possession.
Truth is, I'm looking forward to talking with Mark. In Boston, I never had the chance to just be a woman having dinner with a nice man or just a male friend. I was always Connor O'Sullivan's daughter, always being paraded in front of potential allies, always Declan's fiancée.
Mark doesn't know anything about my past. He just sees me as Nora Kelly, the competent secretary who laughed at his accounting jokes.
I slip on my heels and grab a small clutch, checking my reflection one last time. I ordered everything online for tonight and thankfully had arrived this morning. My hair falls in loose waves around my shoulders.
As I step into the hallway, I nearly collide with Vittoria coming from the opposite direction.
"Oh!" She steps back, her eyes widening as she takes in my appearance. "Wow, Nora. You look stunning."
"Thank you." The compliment feels genuine, warming something inside me. I haven't had much chance to spend time with Vittoria or anyone else in the house. Pietro keeps me busy, and when we're not working, I've been keeping to myself.
I notice her eyes are rimmed with red, and there's a slight puffiness to her face.
"Vittoria, is everything okay?" I ask, stepping closer.
She attempts a smile that doesn't reach her eyes. "I'm fine."
"You don't look fine." I keep my voice gentle. "You look like you've been crying."
Vittoria's shoulders slump slightly. "That obvious, huh?" She glances down the hallway. "It's nothing. Just... family stuff."
I hesitate, not wanting to pry but feeling a genuine concern for this young woman who's been nothing but kind to me. "I know we don't know each other well, but if you ever want to talk, I'm here."
Something vulnerable flashes across her face. "Thank you. That's... that's really nice of you."
"I mean it." I touch her arm lightly. "Sometimes it's easier to talk to someone who's not directly involved."
Vittoria nods, a real smile finally appearing. "I might take you up on that. Thanks, Nora." She gestures toward my dress. "You heading out?"
"Just dinner with a colleague."
"Well, have fun. You deserve a night out." She turns toward her room, then pauses. "And Nora? Thanks again."
I watch her disappear into her room before continuing down the grand staircase. Josh waits by the front door, his expression carefully neutral as he opens it for me.
"The car is ready, Miss Kelly."
Outside, a sleek black sedan idles in the circular driveway, another of Pietro's security men standing beside it.
I arrive at Osteria Langhe right on time.
The restaurant's warm lighting spills onto the sidewalk, creating a welcoming glow against the darkening Chicago evening.
Mark stands by the entrance, shifting his weight from one foot to the other.
When he spots me stepping out of the car, his eyes widen and he actually chokes a little on whatever he was about to say.
"Nora, you look beautiful," he stammers, then immediately flushes. "I mean, you always do, but tonight especially."
I laugh, genuinely amused by his awkwardness.
"Thank you, Mark. That's sweet of you to say."
He produces a single rose from behind his back, offering it with a shy smile. "I hope this isn't too much."
"It's perfect," I say, accepting it and bringing it to my nose. The gesture is old-fashioned but thoughtful. When was the last time someone gave me flowers without an agenda?
Mark guides me inside with a light touch at my elbow. The restaurant is intimate and elegant—exposed brick walls, wooden beams across the ceiling, and soft lighting from iron chandeliers.
"I've heard they have the best Piedmontese cuisine in Chicago," Mark says as the host leads us to our table. "I made the reservation last week, actually. I've been wanting to try it."
"So this wasn't just for me?" I tease as we sit.
Mark blushes again. "Well, having company makes it better. Especially good company."
After we order drinks—a glass of Barolo for me and the same for Mark—I lean forward. "So tell me about yourself, Mark. All I know is that you're good with numbers and you have excellent taste in restaurants."
"Not much to tell, really. I grew up in Michigan, studied accounting at Northwestern, and—"
The door to the restaurant opens.
Pietro Sartori walks in like he owns the place, his imposing figure commanding attention. But it's not his unexpected appearance that makes my stomach clench—it's the woman on his arm.
She's stunning—tall and blonde with legs that seem to go on forever. Her dress is black and shows off every perfect curve. She laughs at something Pietro says, touching his arm.
The hostess greets them warmly, and Pietro's eyes scan the restaurant with practiced casualness until they land on me. His expression doesn't change, but something flashes in his eyes—satisfaction, maybe. He knew I'd be here. Of course he did.
I force myself to look away, focusing on Mark who's still talking about his college years. I take a sip of my wine, willing my hands not to shake.
"Sorry," I say, plastering on a smile. "You were saying about Northwestern?"
"Are you okay?" Mark asks, his brow furrowing with concern. "You look like you've seen a ghost."
"I'm fine," I lie, refusing to glance in Pietro's direction even though I can feel his gaze burning into me. "Just remembered something I forgot to file today. It can wait until Monday."
Mark continues his story, and I nod at all the right places, laughing when appropriate. But my awareness remains split—half on Mark's words and half on the table across the room where Pietro and his date are now being seated.
I won't give him the satisfaction of seeing how much this bothers me.