Chapter 20
CHAPTER TWENTY
PIETRO
Iwake and feel Nora's warm body curled against mine on the bed. Her auburn hair spills across the pillow, those freckles I find so fucking irresistible scattered across her bare shoulders.
For minutes, I just watch her breathe. The rise and fall of her chest. The peaceful expression on her face.
So different from how she looks when she's awake.
I trace a finger along her collarbone, marveling at how something so simple as touching her skin makes me feel more alive than I have in thirteen years.
Her eyelashes flutter, and her eyes find mine. A slow smile spreads across her face.
"Good morning, Mr. Sartori," she murmurs, voice husky with sleep.
Fuck. The formal address with her naked in my bed sends heat straight to my cock. I want to push her back into the mattress, spread those perfect thighs, and bury myself inside her again. Show her exactly what that proper little greeting does to me.
Instead, I brush my lips against hers.
She stretches like a cat, her body arching in a way that tests every ounce of my control. "What time is it?"
"Almost nine."
"Nine?" She bolts upright, clutching the sheet to her chest. "Shit! I have the Morrison contracts to prepare before the ten-thirty meeting!"
I can't help but laugh at her panic. Even after being thoroughly fucked all night, her mind jumps straight to work.
"Relax. I already texted Liam to reschedule."
She doesn't seem to relax at all. "I don't have any clothes here. My dress is—"
"In pieces on my office floor," I finish, remembering how I tore it from her body. No regrets. "I'll have Vittoria send someone with clothes for you."
Her teeth worry her bottom lip. "And until then?"
"You can borrow something of mine." I nod toward the closet. "Help yourself."
I watch as she wraps the sheet around herself and pads to my closet, rifling through my shirts. She selects a crisp white button-down and drops the sheet to slip it on.
The sight of her in my shirt, the hem barely covering the curve of her ass, her legs bare—Christ. My cock hardens instantly. She rolls the sleeves up her slender arms, and when she turns to face me, I nearly groan aloud.
"Will this work?" she asks, unaware of the effect she's having.
I sit up, not bothering to hide my arousal. "Come here."
She approaches the bed, and I reach for her, pulling her between my legs. My hands slide up her thighs, under the shirt to cup her ass.
"You have no idea what you do to me," I murmur against her stomach, pushing the shirt up to kiss her skin. "Seeing you in my clothes..."
Her fingers thread through my hair. "Pietro, we can't. It's late, and—"
I silence her with a kiss to her inner thigh, feeling her shiver. "I want to be balls deep in you again."
"Someone might be here soon."
I sigh, reluctantly releasing my grip on Nora's thighs. "Fine. But this isn't over."
Her cheeks flush as she steps back, straightening my shirt. "I should hope not."
I reach for my phone, checking messages while she watches me. Fuck. Damiano Feretti has agreed to meet today. The timing couldn't be worse.
"I have to meet with Damiano Feretti today," I tell her, running a hand through my hair.
Nora nods, her expression shifting to something more guarded. It reminds me that we still have unfinished business beyond the bedroom.
"Speaking of things that need resolving," I say, my voice hardening slightly. "You were going to tell me some things today."
She freezes, her fingers stilling on the buttons of my shirt. For a moment, I think she might bolt from the room.
"I know," she says finally. "And I will. But first, let me make us some coffee."
I narrow my eyes. Classic deflection, but I'm too tired to argue. "Fine."
She turns back to my closet, pulling out a pair of my pants. They're ridiculously large on her small frame, but she rolls the waistband several times until they somewhat stay up.
"I'll be right back," she says.
I watch her leave, appreciating the sight of her in my clothes. Whatever she's hiding, it's big enough to terrify her.
The door closes behind her, and I stand, grabbing a pair of pants from the closet.
A few minutes later, while I'm waiting for Nora to return, I hear my brother's voice echoing down the hallway.
"Pietro! Where the fuck are you?"
Christ. Not even ten minutes of peace. I grab a shirt, not bothering with buttons as I yank open the door.
Nico stands in the hallway, his face contorted with rage. His normally immaculate appearance is disheveled—tie askew, hair mussed like he's been running his hands through it.
"What?" I snap.
He storms toward me, jabbing a finger at my chest. "Where the hell is Nora?"
The possessive fury that rises in me is immediate and overwhelming. "Watch your tone."
Nico hisses, lowering his voice but not his intensity. "Where the hell is she?"
NORA
I pad down the hallway in Pietro's oversized clothes, feeling both ridiculous and strangely comforted by being wrapped in his scent. The executive floor is empty. A small mercy considering my appearance screams "just got thoroughly fucked by the boss."
In the small kitchen, I find the Italian coffee beans Pietro keeps stocked. My hands tremble slightly as I measure them into the grinder. The familiar ritual steadies me as I try to organize my thoughts.
I need to tell him everything. Today. No more excuses.
The coffee machine hums to life, and I lean against the counter, inhaling the rich aroma. Last night changed everything. The way Pietro touched me, looked at me, fucked me… I can't keep lying to him.
But God, the truth will destroy whatever this is between us.
I pour two cups of coffee, adding a splash of cream to mine and leaving his black. Should I bring him something to eat? I open the small refrigerator, finding it surprisingly well-stocked. Pietro hasn't eaten since yesterday. Me neither, but I can't eat right now.
The coffee will get cold if I make something now. Better to ask what he wants first.
I balance the two mugs carefully as I head back toward Pietro's office. The hallway seems longer than before, each step bringing me closer to a conversation that terrifies me.
I'm nearly at his door when I hear raised voices. Pietro's deep growl, and another voice—Nico's. My steps slow as their words become clearer.
"What the hell is going on?" Pietro demands.
"Your secretary isn't who she says she is," Nico spits back.
Ice floods my veins. The coffee mugs nearly slip from my grasp.
"What are you talking about?" Pietro's voice drops dangerously.
"Nora Kelly doesn't exist," Nico says. "At least, not the one working for you."
I press myself against the wall.
No, no, no.
"Vittoria ran a background check when she first started," Pietro argues. "Everything checked out."
"We dug deeper after what happened with Connor O'Sullivan," Nico continues. "The real Nora Kelly died three years ago in a car accident in Rhode Island."
The coffee mugs tremble in my hands. I set them down on a nearby table before I drop them.
"Then who the fuck is she?" Pietro's voice has gone deadly quiet.
"Nora O'Sullivan," Nico says. "Connor O'Sullivan's daughter."
The silence that follows is deafening. I can't breathe, can't move.
"That's impossible," Pietro finally says, but his voice lacks conviction.
"It's true," Nico insists. "She's been playing you from the start. Probably feeding information back to her father about our shipments, our security. The Irish have hit us too many times, too accurately. Now we know why."
I want to burst in, to explain that I've never betrayed Pietro, that I'm running from my father, not working for him. But my legs won't move.
"Where did you get this information?" Pietro asks, his voice so cold it chills me.
"Liam found photos. Old society pages from Boston. The O'Sullivan princess at charity events with her father. It's her, Pietro. Same face, different name."
The elevator dings at the end of the hallway. My escape route. I force my legs to move, inching toward it silently.
"I'm such an idiot." Pietro growls.
The raw hatred in his voice shatters something inside me. This is exactly what I feared—what I knew would happen when he learned the truth.
I reach the elevator and punch the button with my elbow repeatedly, praying it hasn't gone far. The doors slide open, and I slip inside just as I hear Pietro's office door slam open.
"Nora!" His roar echoes down the hallway as the elevator doors close.
I press myself against the elevator wall, gasping for breath.
The elevator descends too slowly. Pietro could call down, have security waiting. I need to move fast.
When the doors open on the ground floor, I force myself to walk calmly.
Running would only draw attention. The security guard at the front desk looks up, his eyes tracking my body in the oversized men's clothes.
Recognition flickers across his face. He was on duty last night when Pietro and I arrived.
I nod to him casually, as if nothing is wrong, as if I'm not fleeing for my life.
His phone rings.
My stomach drops. That's my death sentence.
I quicken my steps toward the revolving door, trying to appear unhurried while covering as much ground as possible. Behind me, I hear the guard's voice.
"Yes, sir. She's right in front of me."
I abandon all pretense and break into a run, pushing through the revolving door with enough force to make it spin wildly. Behind me, the guard curses.
The morning air hits my face as I burst onto the sidewalk. Chicago is alive with commuters, a stream of people I can lose myself in. I dart into the crowd, weaving between business suits and coffee cups.
"Miss Kelly!" the guard shouts. "Stop!"
I don't look back. I run faster, my bare feet slapping against the cold pavement. I didn't even grab shoes—Pietro's pants drag under my heels as I sprint.
I reach a crossroads, frantically looking both ways. Left leads downtown, more crowds to disappear into. Right leads toward the lake, fewer people but more open space to run.
"Miss Kelly!" The guard is closer now. "I won't hurt you! I just need to bring you back!"
His words might be sincere, but Pietro's weren't. Pietro wants me dead.
I hesitate at the intersection, precious seconds ticking by as I try to decide which way offers the best chance of survival.
You need to fucking run Nora.
PIETRO
I slam my palm against the elevator wall, the pain barely registering through the rage coursing through my veins.
Nora O'Sullivan.
Connor O'Sullivan's daughter.
The name repeats in my head like a death sentence—hers, not mine. I've been played like a fucking amateur. I let her into my business, my home, my bed.
And all this time, she's been the enemy.
"Fucking idiot," I snarl at my reflection in the elevator doors.
What kind of Don am I? What kind of leader misses something this obvious? She's from Boston. She recognized Connor. She froze when she saw him. All the signs were there, screaming at me, and I ignored them because I was too busy thinking with my cock instead of my brain.
I suspected yes, but I just let it pass like it was nothing.
Or because you wanted her to be real. To want you. Pathetic.
Riccardo would never have made this mistake. Pablo would have seen through her in seconds. But me? I invited the enemy right into our operation.
Showed her our shipments, our schedules, our security. Let her map our weaknesses while I was busy fantasizing about fucking her on my desk.
And I did fuck her. All night.
While she laughed at how easily she played me.
A stabbing pain lances through my chest. I ignore it. I don't have time for pain. I don't have time for the hollow feeling spreading through me.
I need to think clearly. Strategically. Not like a wounded animal lashing out. She knows our operations. She knows our security protocols. She's been feeding information to Connor O'Sullivan for weeks.
The Irish have hit five of our shipments in the last two months. Five perfectly timed, perfectly executed hits. Now I know why.
I trusted her. Worse, I wanted her. I let myself believe she could be something more than a temporary distraction.
What a fucking joke.
I am Pietro Sartori. I don't need a woman. I don't need anything except my family and my empire. I've survived worse than this.
I'll find her, make her tell me everything she's reported to her father, and then I'll use her to destroy the O'Sullivans once and for all.
And I'll make her watch as I dismantle everything she loves, piece by fucking piece.