Chapter 15
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
PIETRO
Unbelievable.
She's fucking stunning in that dress. The fabric hugs her like it was meant only for Nora fucking Kelly, her hair falling loose around her shoulders instead of the tight bun she wears at work.
And she's wearing it for dinner with a fucking Mark?
I guide Amanda to our table, strategically chosen to give me a clear view of Nora while remaining close enough to hear their conversation. Mark stands as we approach, his eyes widening with recognition.
"Mr. Sartori," he says, extending his hand. "Good evening, sir."
I shake his hand with more force than necessary, enjoying the slight wince that crosses his face.
"Mark," I say, my voice deliberately casual. "Didn't expect to see you here."
His eyes dart nervously between me and Nora. "Just having dinner with Nora—"
"Enjoy your meal," I cut him off, dismissing him as I turn to our table.
Amanda slides into her seat, a knowing smile playing on her lips.
She's one of Vittoria's close friends, and when I called her this afternoon with my request, she agreed immediately.
I told her I needed a date for appearance's sake.
She didn't ask questions, but the gleam in her eyes told me she understood more than I'd explained.
"So that's her," Amanda whispers, leaning close. "The one who has you acting like a jealous teenager?"
I shoot her a warning look. "I'm not jealous."
"Please." She laughs, the sound deliberately musical. "Your eyes haven't left her since we walked in."
I force myself to look at Amanda instead, but my ears strain to catch Nora's conversation. Mark is talking about some theatre, and I can hear the smile in Nora's voice as she responds. The sound makes my jaw clench.
Amanda places her hand on mine as she leans forward. "You know, we could really give her something to be jealous about."
I withdraw my hand to pick up the wine list. "That's not what this is about."
"Of course not," she says, not bothering to hide her amusement. She tosses her blonde hair over her shoulder, making sure to laugh at everything I say, touching my arm repeatedly.
I manage to keep my composure, but it takes every ounce of self-control. Mark keeps leaning toward Nora, his eyes constantly dropping to her lips, her neck, lower. If I let go of my restraint for even a second, I'd grab him by his perfectly pressed collar and smash his face into the table.
"You're going to break that glass if you grip it any tighter," Amanda murmurs.
I relax my hand, not realizing how white my knuckles had become.
Nora hasn't looked at me once since I sat down, keeping her back partially turned. But I can see the way she holds herself too rigidly to be truly comfortable.
Good.
Let her feel what I'm feeling.
"Tell me more about your work," Amanda says loudly, trailing her fingers down my arm. "Vittoria says you're absolutely brilliant at what you do."
I play along, describing some sanitized version of my business while watching Nora's back stiffen further at Amanda's flirtatious tone.
Mark says something that makes Nora laugh, and the sound cuts through me like a blade.
I watch Nora excuse herself from the table. My body moves before my brain catches up, ignoring Amanda's questioning look.
"I'll be right back," I mutter.
The hallway to the restrooms is dimly lit, tucked away from the main dining area. I pause for only a second before pushing open the women's bathroom door. Fuck propriety.
Nora stands at the sink, leaning forward to apply fresh lipstick. Her eyes meet mine in the mirror, but she doesn't startle. Doesn't even turn around.
"Men's bathroom is the other door," she says coolly, her fingers steady as she caps her lipstick.
I cross the space, my hand finding her throat. Not squeezing, just holding—feeling her pulse jump beneath my palm as I turn her to face me. Her back presses against the counter as I turn her and lean in, my face inches from hers.
"You're leaving. Now." My voice comes out low, dangerous. "Tell Mark you need to go."
Her green eyes flash with defiance, not a hint of fear despite my hand at her throat. "No."
The single word ignites something primal in me. I lean closer, my breath mingling with hers. "If you don't, Mark won't make it home tonight."
"You wouldn't." But there's a flicker of uncertainty in her eyes now.
"Try me." I tighten my grip slightly, just enough to make my point. "You think I got where I am by making empty threats? Mark breathes because I allow it."
Her jaw clenches, that stubborn defiance I've come to expect from her. "You don't own me, Pietro."
"No?" I press my body against hers, pinning her to the counter. "Then why does seeing you with him make me want to paint this bathroom with his blood?"
She freezes, but she doesn't look away. "That's your problem, not mine."
"It became your problem the moment you walked into my office." I release her throat, my hand sliding to cup her jaw instead. "I don't share what's mine."
"I'm not yours," she whispers.
"Aren't you?" I brush my thumb across her freshly applied lipstick, smearing it slightly. "Tell Mark you're leaving. Or I'll tell him myself, right before I show him exactly what happens to men who touch what belongs to me." I say letting her throat.
NORA
"What the hell is wrong with you?" I hiss, shoving against his chest. He barely moves.
Murder flashes across his face. "I don't want you with him."
"That's not good enough." I push against him again, harder this time. "You don't get to decide who I spend time with."
"Nora—"
"No." I cut him off. "I have needs, Pietro. If I want to fuck someone, I'm not going to ask your permission."
His hands grip the counter on either side of me, caging me in.
"Is that what this is?" His voice drops to a lethal whisper. "You're going to fuck Mark tonight?"
The truth is I had no intention of sleeping with Mark. He's nice, normal—everything I should want—but there's no spark. No fire.
Not like with the man currently pinning me against the bathroom sink.
But the possessive rage in Pietro's eyes pushes me to lie.
"Yes," I say, lifting my chin defiantly. "I am."
Pietro goes completely still. His eyes bore into mine, searching for the lie. Then his hand slides into my hair, gripping tight enough to sting but not hurt.
"No, you're not." His voice is pure darkness, sending shivers down my spine. "The only man who's going to be inside you is me. The only name you'll scream is mine."
"You don't get to decide that."
"I already have." His lips brush against my ear, his body pressing harder against mine.
"You think I don't know how your body responds when I'm close?
" His free hand slides down my side, gripping my hip.
"You're not going to fuck Mark because he can't give you what you need. He can't make you feel what I can."
"You're delusional," I manage to say, but my voice betrays me, coming out breathless.
"Am I?" His lips ghost over my neck. "Tell me you don't think about that kiss. Tell me you don't lie awake imagining my hands on you, my mouth on you." His grip tightens in my hair. "Tell me, and I'll let you go back to your date."
I open my mouth, but the lie won't come.
"That's what I thought." His thumb traces my bottom lip. "You're mine, Nora Kelly. Whether you admit it or not."
His thumb presses against my bottom lip, his eyes never leaving mine. "You're going to leave this restaurant right now. Alone."
The command in his voice makes me want to defy him just to prove I can. .
"And what about you?" I ask, hating how breathless I sound. "Going to finish your date with Barbie?"
A cruel smile curves his lips. "Jealous, bambina?"
"You wish."
He leans closer, his breath hot against my ear. "When I finally fuck you—and I will—I'm going to make you come so hard you forget your own name. I'll have you begging, screaming, clawing at my back for more." His teeth graze my earlobe. "And after I'm done, you'll never look at another man again."
My entire body shivers, as his words paint vivid pictures in my mind. I hate my reaction, hate how much I want what he's promising.
"You're so sure of yourself," I whisper.
"I'm sure of us." He pulls back, his expression unreadable again.
He releases me abruptly, stepping away and straightening his jacket. Without another word, he walks out, leaving me trembling against the sink.
What the hell was that?
I stare at my reflection. Cheeks flushed, lipstick smudged, eyes too bright. I look like a woman who's been thoroughly kissed, even though his lips never touched mine. I splash cold water on my face, reapply my lipstick with shaking hands, and try to pull myself together.
When I return to the dining room, Pietro's table is empty. He and his date have vanished, leaving only a half-empty wine glass as evidence they were ever there. The relief I feel is embarrassing.
Mark stands when I approach, his smile faltering as he takes in my expression. "Everything okay? You were gone for a while."
"I'm sorry, but I don't think I'm feeling well." The lie comes easily, guilt following close behind. Mark doesn't deserve this. "I think I need to go home."
Concern replaces his disappointment. "Of course. Is it something you ate? Do you need me to take you to a doctor?"
"No, just... a headache. Coming on suddenly." I press my fingers to my temple for effect. "I'm really sorry about this."
"Don't apologize." He signals for the check. "Your health comes first."
While Mark pays the bill, I text Josh to bring the car around. The cool night air helps clear my head when we step outside, but Pietro's words still echo in my ears.
"I had a nice time, despite the early ending," Mark says, his hand hovering near my elbow without touching me. "Maybe we could try again sometime when you're feeling better?"
"Maybe," I say, knowing we won't. Not because of Pietro's threats, but because it wouldn't be fair to Mark. Not when I can't stop thinking about someone else.
Josh pulls up to the curb, and I turn to Mark with an apologetic smile. "Goodnight, Mark. Thank you for understanding."
"Feel better, Nora."
I slide into the backseat, exhaling slowly as the door closes behind me.
PIETRO
I pace my bedroom, checking my watch for the fifth time in as many minutes. Josh texted an hour ago that Nora had arrived safely at the estate. Alone. Good.
The memory of her pressed against the bathroom sink, her body responding to mine despite her defiance, burns through me. I shouldn't have followed her. Shouldn't have touched her. But seeing her with that accountant made something primal snap inside me.
I grab my phone and type out a message:
Meet me in the library in 10 minutes.
Simple. Direct. Not a request.
Her response comes faster than I expect:
No. Soon I'm leaving the estate. I'll find my own new place to stay. From now on, we only speak at the office. About work.
"Fuck!" I hurl my phone against the wall, watching it shatter into pieces. The destruction doesn't satisfy the rage building inside me.
She can't leave.
She fucking can't.
I slam my fist into the wall, welcoming the pain that shoots up my arm. Better than this other feeling. This hollow ache in my chest at the thought of her walking away.
I don’t know how to react to this.
I know that I have this need to keep her but I can’t.
She is just my secretary. I keep her safe because she is in danger from working with me.
I rake my hands through my hair, trying to make sense of the chaos in my head. I don't know how to do this. I don't know how to want someone without scaring them away.
I stalk to the bar in the corner of my room and pour whiskey in a glass, downing it in one burning swallow.
I don't know how to be gentle. I don't know how to court a woman properly. I take what I want. I always have. But Nora isn't something to take—she's someone to earn.
And I'm fucking it up at every turn.
First, I kiss her. She pushes me away and then I do what? I show up at her date with another woman just to make her jealous. What am I, sixteen?
No wonder she wants to leave.
I pour another drink, staring out the window at the moonlit grounds. The estate has always been my sanctuary, my fortress. Now it feels like a prison—for both of us.
"Cazzo," I mutter, setting down the glass.
I need to fix this, but I don't know how. Every instinct I have is wrong when it comes to her. I want to storm to her room, tell her she's not going anywhere, that she belongs to me. But that's exactly what drove her away.
From that first day in my office, with her sharp tongue and unflinching gaze, she's been the one. She sees through my bullshit. She's not afraid to push back. And instead of handling it like a man, I've been acting like a jealous teenager.
I close my eyes, leaning my forehead against the glass of the window.