Chapter 33
CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE
NORA
The spreadsheet blurs on my monitor. Numbers that should make sense swim together like they're written in a foreign language. I blink hard, forcing myself to focus on the Morrison shipment discrepancies, but my mind keeps sliding back to last night.
To Declan's face in the warehouse shadows. That smile that once made me feel safe now twisted into something monstrous.
My fingers hover over the keyboard, trembling slightly. I press them flat against the desk, willing them to stop. I'm in Pietro's office—my office—of the Sartori building. Bulletproof glass surrounds me. Security guards patrol every entrance. I'm safe.
But I can still feel Declan's hands around my throat from three months ago. Still hear his voice calling me mo stór like he has any right to Irish endearments after what he did.
The door to Pietro's inner office slams open, making me jump.
"You shouldn't be here." Pietro stalks toward my desk, fury radiating from every line of his body. "I told you to stay at the compound."
"And I told you I needed to work." I keep typing, even though the numbers mean nothing right now. "These invoices won't process themselves."
"Fuck the invoices." He plants his palms on my desk, leaning over me. "Declan knows you're alive. Knows you're with me. You think he won't come for you?"
"He got what he wanted. Pier forty-seven access." I finally meet his eyes. They're wild, darker than usual. He hasn't slept. Neither have I. "That deal was stupid, by the way."
"It got Michael back."
"It gives him legitimate cover for whatever he's really moving through those docks."
Pietro's jaw works. "You think I don't know that? You think I handed over millions in territory for a child's life without considering the consequences?"
"I think you're so focused on hunting him down that you're not thinking strategically." The words come out sharper than intended. "Liam says you've had every soldier in the city looking for him since four this morning."
"He threatened you."
"He's threatened me before." My voice cracks slightly. I clear my throat, hating the weakness. "This isn't new."
"It is now." Pietro rounds the desk, spinning my chair to face him. "Now he dies for even looking at you wrong."
"He's working alone." I try not thinking about whatever that means for us, focusing on facts instead of feelings. "Whatever operation he's running, it's not with Murphy backing anymore."
Pietro's eyes narrow. "How do you know?"
"The way he talked. The crew he had—hired muscle, not Murphy soldiers.
And he called me princess, not O'Sullivan.
" I turn back to my computer, needing distance from Pietro's intensity.
"He doesn't have the power structure anymore.
When he lost Connor's backing, he lost his position.
The Murphys might use him for specific jobs, but he's not inner circle anymore. "
"Good. Makes him easier to kill."
"Pietro—"
"No." He grabs my chin, forcing me to look at him. "He put his hands on you. Tried to kill you. Then last night, he dared to speak your mother's name. He's dead. The only question is how much he suffers first."
"There's something else." I pull away from his grip.
"Connor never retaliated against Declan.
After what he did to me, after the betrayal—Connor did nothing.
Declan betrayed the family. Used me to get information.
Tried to murder Connor's daughter." I laugh, but it's bitter, hollow.
"Even if Connor blamed me for bringing Declan in, he should have hunted him down.
That's how it works. Blood for blood. But Declan's still breathing. "
"Maybe Connor couldn't find him."
"Maybe. And that's why I think he operates without Murphy's back. It would have been easier tracking him on wherever the Murphy's are."
Pietro's hands frame my face, his thumbs brushing my cheekbones. "You need to calm down."
"I am calm."
"Your pulse is racing." His thumb finds the spot on my throat where my heartbeat betrays me. "I can feel it."
"That's not from fear."
His expression transforms. Rage giving way to desire for a fleeting instant. Then his mouth is on mine, firm and possessive, swallowing whatever protest I might have made.
When he pulls back, I'm breathless.
"I'm going to take care of it soon." His forehead rests against mine. "Declan, Connor, all of it. But right now, I need you safe."
"I'm in your building. Surrounded by your security."
"Not enough." He straightens, adjusting his tie. "After I handle the next meeting, we're going back to the compound. No arguments."
"Pietro—"
"No. Arguments." He heads toward his office, pausing at the door. "And eat something. Giulia packed lunch. It's in the kitchen."
The door closes with finality. I stare at it for a moment, then turn back to my computer. The Morrison numbers still swim, but at least now I can blame it on the kiss instead of fear.
My desk phone rings, the sharp trill cutting through the quiet.
"Mr. Sartori's office."
"Ms. Kelly?" The receptionist from the lobby sounds uncertain. "There's a package here for you, but the courier says he needs your signature specifically. He won't leave it with security."
I frown. "A package? I haven't ordered anything."
"He says it's from..." Papers rustle. "O'Sullivan Imports? Said you'd know what it was about."
My blood turns to ice. O'Sullivan Imports doesn't exist. It's a message. From Connor or Declan.
"Ms. Kelly? Should I send him away?"
"No." The word comes out steady somehow. "No, I'll come down."
"Are you sure? Security could—"
"It's fine. I'll be right there."
I hang up before she can protest further. My hands shake as I save the Morrison file. If I interrupt Pietro to tell him about the package, he'll lock down the building. Overreact. Make everything worse.
Besides, we're in the middle of the Sartori building. The lobby has metal detectors, armed guards, cameras everywhere. Whoever this courier is, he can't hurt me here.
I grab my keycard and head for the elevator. The executive floor is quiet. Liam must be out coordinating the search for Declan. The elevator arrives immediately, empty.
I step inside and press L for the lobby. The doors slide closed, sealing me in the mirrored box.
PIETRO
My phone rings, cutting through the financial reports I'm reviewing. The number shows internal—lobby extension.
"Mr. Sartori?" The receptionist's voice wavers. "Mr. Blackwood left instructions that I should inform you about anything involving you or Ms. Kelly."
My hand tightens on the phone. "What about Ms. Kelly?"
"A courier arrived with a package from O'Sullivan Imports. He insisted on Ms. Kelly's signature specifically. I called her about it, and she said she'd come down, but I thought you should know—"
I'm already moving, phone dropping as I burst from my office. Nora's desk sits empty, computer still glowing, her coffee growing cold.
"Nora!" My voice echoes through the executive floor. Nothing.
I slam through the stairwell door, taking the steps three at a time while yanking out my cell. "Security, lock down the lobby. Now. No one in or out—"
Thirty-five floors. My shoulder crashes into walls as I round each landing, dress shoes sliding on concrete. Twenty-eight. Twenty. My lungs burn but I push harder.
Fifteen floors. Ten. My phone buzzes—security trying to respond—but I can't stop to answer.
Five floors. The lobby door appears below.
I burst through it just as glass explodes.
Gunshots crack through the air. The lobby erupts in screams. A black sedan tears away from the curb, tires smoking. I draw my weapon, firing at the vehicle, but a security guard slams into me.
"Get down!"
The shotgun blast catches my shoulder, spinning me sideways. Blood sprays across marble. Another shot—sniper—chunks of stone rain down where my head was.
"Inside! Everyone inside!" I scramble through the shattered doors, glass crunching under my palms. Blood runs down my arm, hot and sticky.
The lobby is chaos. People pressed against walls, crying. Security guards with weapons drawn, scanning windows.
I grab the nearest guard by his vest. "Where is she? Where's Nora?"
"She—she got in the car, sir. The black sedan—"
"You let her leave?" My fist connects with his jaw before I can stop myself.
The receptionist cowers behind her desk, holding something. I stalk toward her, blood dripping onto floors.
"Mr. Sartori, the package—after Ms. Kelly took it, this fell out—"
She holds up a letter with trembling hands. I snatch it.
Get in the car within sixty seconds or the bomb in the box explodes. Come alone or everyone dies. Don't make me kill innocents for you, princess.
The paper crumples in my fist. She took the package. Got in the car.
"You called her down here." My voice is deadly quiet. "You told her about the package."
"I—I was following protocol. The package was from the courier service that
was on the pre-approved list—"
"You're fired. Get out."
"Mr. Sartori, I didn't know—"
"OUT!"
She flees, sobbing. I don't care. Nora's gone. Taken. Because this woman—
"Pietro." Liam appears at my elbow, tactical vest over his suit, assault rifle in hand. "We need to leave. Now."
"She's gone. Declan has her."
"I know. But right now we need to move. That sniper's still active, and we've got movement on the north side. Could be more shooters."
I look at the blood pooling at my feet. My blood. It doesn't matter.
"I need to find her."
"We will. But not if you're dead." Liam grabs my good arm. "Armored car's in the garage. We go now, or I carry you."
Through the shattered windows, I see police cars converging, sirens wailing. The lobby still echoes with terrified whispers. But all I hear is silence where Nora's voice should be.
"He has her, Liam."
"I know." His grip tightens. "And we'll get her back. But first, we get you patched up and operational. Come on."
He pulls me toward the garage entrance.
Gone.
She's gone.