Chapter 25
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
Nora
Nico’s voice. A sharp, angry buzz. Something about docks. Pietro’s response is a low rumble I feel in the metal chair, but the words dissolve before they reach me.
Sound without meaning. I stare at my hands. They don’t look like my hands. Twenty-three years.
A hysterical laugh bubbles in my chest. It wants to claw its way out, turn into a scream. All those movies. The dramatic reveals. I always thought, so fake.
Nobody falls apart like that.
But I am. I’m coming apart right here.
My father isn't my father.
My uncle... is my father.
A lie. Every memory, every hug, every story. The thought circles, a vulture in my head.
Lie. Lie. Lie.
At least now I understand why he changed after Mom died. The man who'd been warm and protective turned cold and distant. Not grief—rage. He'd been forced to keep raising his brother's child, the living reminder of his wife's betrayal.
"Nora?"
Lorenzo's voice breaks through my spiral. He's crouched in front of me, his warm brown eyes filled with concern. When did he move?
"Are you okay?"
The question hangs between us. Am I okay?
I open my mouth to answer, but nothing comes out. What words exist for this?
Lorenzo's hand hovers near my shoulder, not quite touching. "You're in shock. It's understandable."
Heavy footsteps scrape the concrete. Pietro. His presence fills my vision—dark suit, controlled movements, that barely leashed violence that surrounds him like cologne.
"She needs rest," he states. It’s not a suggestion. "It's late."
Late. Is it? Time has become elastic, stretching and compressing. The warehouse could be suspended in permanent midnight for all I know.
"Where?" My voice cracks on the single word. Where do I go? My apartment isn't safe. My family—which family? The father who isn't my father left me alone when I needed him. The father who is my father is not an option for now. I have nowhere to go.
"The estate."
The words are flat. A verdict. The estate.
The Sartori compound with its walls and guards and rooms that dwarf my entire apartment. The place I ate dinner just days ago, pretending to be Nora Kelly, secretary.
Before I was Nora O'Sullivan, hunted daughter. Before I became Nora Nobody, a biological accident.
Nico shifts his weight, his disapproval radiating like heat. "Pietro—"
"It's decided."
The brothers exchange one of those loaded looks that carry entire conversations. Lorenzo nods slowly. Nico's jaw works like he's chewing words he won't speak.
Pietro extends his hand toward me. "Come on."
I stare the same hand that held a gun on me hours ago, that gripped my throat in the restaurant bathroom, that traced patterns on my skin last night. How many versions of him exist? How many versions of me?
My legs shake as I stand without taking his offered hand. The warehouse tilts slightly, and Pietro's hand shoots out to steady me, his fingers wrapping around my upper arm. The contact burns through my shirt.
"I can walk."
He doesn't let go. "I know."
A metal door screeches open. Cold air slaps my face. Broken asphalt under my shoes. Then Pietro’s hand is on my lower back, a firm pressure guiding me. A black SUV idles in the dark.
He opens the passenger door. I climb in, my movements mechanical. The door closes with a muffled thud that sounds final.
Pietro slides behind the wheel. The engine purrs to life, and we pull away from the warehouse.
We drive in silence for ten minutes before Pietro speaks.
"Giulia should have told me."
The streetlights catch his profile in flashes.
"She arranged this. You. The job." The words are tight, strained. "She’s been with us for so many years, and she didn't tell me."
I don't respond. What can I say? That Giulia was protecting me? That she was honoring my mother's memory? That everyone lies to everyone in this world we inhabit?
"I understand why she did it." Pietro's admission comes out rough. "You needed help. She knew Finn. It makes sense."
He's trying to convince himself. I recognize the tone—I've used it myself when attempting to rationalize betrayals.
"But she should have told me. After you started working for me, after—" He cuts himself off.
After what? After he kissed me? After I ended up in his bed?
The estate's gates loom ahead, ornate iron wrapped in shadows. The guard waves us through without stopping. Pietro's jaw tightens as we drive up the long, winding driveway. The fountain in the circular drive is lit from below, water cascading in engineered perfection.
He parks near the main entrance. Neither of us moves.
"She acted out of kindness." My voice sounds hollow. "Everyone in this story acted out of love or kindness or protection, and look where it led."
Pietro turns to look at me fully for the first time since leaving the warehouse. His eyes search my face.
"You didn't know. About any of it."
It's not quite a question, but I answer anyway. "No."
He nods once, then exits the car. I follow, my legs steadier now but still unreliable. The front door opens before we reach it.
Giulia stands in the doorway, backlit by the foyer's warm light.
Her hands twist together, and her face carries the weight of someone who knows the storm has finally arrived.
She's wearing her usual simple dress and cardigan, but somehow she looks older than she did this morning.
Or was that yesterday? Time has become meaningless.
"Pietro, Nora—"
"I'm going to my room."
Pietro's voice cuts through whatever Giulia planned to say. He moves past her without making eye contact.
Giulia's face crumples slightly before she catches herself. "Pietro, please—"
He stops but doesn't turn around. "Not tonight, Giulia. I can't—not tonight."
His shoes click sharply on the floor as he disappears up the sweeping staircase. A door closes somewhere above us, the sound reverberating through the vast space.
Giulia and I stand in the foyer, the chandelier casting prismatic light across the walls. She looks at me with eyes that hold too much understanding.
"You know." Not a question.
"Finn called me after he spoke with you all." Her voice is soft, maternal. "Come, cara. You need food and rest."
"I'm not hungry."
"I know. But your body needs fuel even when your heart is broken."
She leads me through the house, past the formal living room with its silk-covered furniture, past the study where Pietro makes his dark decisions. The kitchen is warm and smells of garlic and basil and home, even at this late hour.
"Sit." She points to a stool at the massive island.
I obey because it's easier than arguing. She moves around the kitchen with practiced efficiency, heating something on the stove, slicing bread. The smell of garlic and basil is so normal it makes my head spin.
"Your mother..." Giulia’s voice is thick. She keeps her back to me, her hands busy at the stove. "Siobhan was... she was my only real friend. I miss her every day."
She sets a bowl of soup in front of me. Minestrone, thick with vegetables and beans. The steam rises, carrying scents that remind me of being young and safe.
"She would have hated this. She wanted to protect you from all of this. From families like ours." Giulia sits across from me, her weathered hands flat on the marble counter.
"Families like ours." I stir the soup without eating. "I don't even know what family I belong to anymore."
"You belong to yourself first." Giulia reaches across the counter but stops short of touching me. "That's what Siobhan would say. That's what she learned too late."
My mother's name in Giulia's mouth makes my chest ache. This woman knew her, really knew her, in ways I never did. The questions pile up in my throat, but I can't voice them. Not yet.
"Pietro is a good man." Giulia says it like a prayer. "He's been broken by loss, hardened by necessity, but underneath he's still the boy who used to help me in this kitchen, who cried when his goldfish died."
"He doesn't trust me now."
"He doesn't trust himself. There's a difference." She stands, moving to a cabinet. "He cares for you. I've known him since he was a newborn."
"That was before he knew I came here through lies."
"You didn't lie. You were placed here by people trying to protect you." She returns with a glass of amber liquid. "Whiskey. It'll help you sleep."
I take a sip. It burns. Not as much as my heart burns from breaking to pieces.
"Finn loved your mother desperately." Giulia's voice drops to almost a whisper. "And she loved him. But she loved you more. Everything she did, every choice she made, was to keep you safe and whole."
"She stayed with a man she didn't love. For me."
"She stayed with a man who threatened to take you away. Don’t take blame on you Nora. You’re the only one in this story that cannot be blamed."
The whiskey spreads warmth through my belly, but it doesn't touch the cold that's settled in my bones.
"Where will I sleep?"
"The blue guest room. Same as before."
I don’t respond. I know I won’t sleep.
"Come. You need rest."
She leads me up the stairs, down the hallway. The blue guest room is exactly as I left it. Elegant and impersonal. My suitcase sits on the bench at the foot of the bed, my laptop bag beside it.
"There are fresh towels in the bathroom. The house phone connects directly to my room if you need anything."
She pauses at the door, her hand on the frame.
"Giulia?"
She turns back.
"Did my mother ever regret it? Staying?"
Her face softens with memory and sorrow. "Every day. And never. That's what love does to us. makes us capable of holding contradictions without breaking."
She closes the door softly behind her, and the click of the latch is as loud as a gunshot in the silence.
I stand in the middle of the enormous room. A stranger's room. A stranger's life.
I walk to the gilded mirror over the dresser. The woman staring back is a ghost. Pale skin, haunted eyes. Red-rimmed and empty.
Who are you?
The question hangs in the quiet, unanswered. I don't know her. I don't know her name.
I am nobody. And I am utterly, terrifyingly alone.