Chapter 40
CHAPTER FORTY
PIETRO
My mother sits at the head of the dining table like she owns the place. Which, technically, she does. The Sartori estate belongs to all of us, but Aria Sartori has a way of making any room feel like her domain.
She arrived this morning with my aunt Francesca and Valentino. No warning. Just showed up at the gates with enough luggage for a month-long stay.
"So, Nora." My mother's voice cuts through the quiet clinking of silverware. "Pietro tells me you've been working as his secretary."
Nora sets down her fork carefully. Her splinted fingers make the movement awkward, but she doesn't let it show. "Yes, ma'am."
"Please. Call me Aria." My mother smiles, but I know that smile. It's the one she uses when she's gathering information. "And how are you finding Chicago? It must be quite different from Boston."
"It is." Nora's voice is steady. Calm. "But I'm adjusting."
"I'm sure you are." My mother takes a delicate sip of wine. "Your father is Connor O'Sullivan, yes? I remember meeting him years ago. Before all this unpleasantness."
I tense, but Nora doesn't flinch.
"Connor raised me," she says evenly. "But my biological father is Finn O'Sullivan. I only learned that recently."
My mother's eyebrows lift. "How... complicated."
"Family often is." Nora meets her gaze without wavering. "I'm sure you understand that better than most."
Cazzo. I hide my smile behind my wine glass. Nora just challenged my mother. Politely, but unmistakably.
Aria's lips curve. Not the testing smile from before. Something closer to approval. "Indeed I do."
Across the table, Lorenzo catches my eye. He's trying not to laugh.
"The ravioli is excellent, Giulia," my aunt Francesca says. "You must give me the recipe."
Giulia nods from where she's refilling water glasses. "Of course, signora."
Valentino leans toward Lorenzo, his voice low but carrying. "The Sicily operations are running smoothly. No issues with the shipments this month."
"Good." Lorenzo cuts into his chicken. "And the political connections?"
"Solid. The mayor's office is cooperative. As is the port authority." Valentino's formal tone never wavers. "We've had no trouble since the restructuring."
I should be paying attention to this. Should be engaged in the business discussion. But I'm watching Nora instead, the way she handles my mother's scrutiny with quiet grace.
She's wearing a simple black dress. Nothing fancy. But she looks beautiful in the candlelight, her hair pulled back, those green eyes steady and clear.
A month since Declan. A month since I nearly lost her.
The nightmares still wake her sometimes. I hold her through them, wait for her breathing to steady. Her fingers are healing. The ribs too. But some wounds take longer.
"Pietro."
I blink, focusing on Nico. He's staring at me with an odd expression.
"What?"
"I said the doctor called me an hour ago." Nico's voice is careful. Measured. "About Bruno."
The table goes quiet.
"And?" My heart pounds against my ribs.
"He moved his fingers." Nico sets down his fork. "Both hands. The doctor says it's the first real progress since—"
My mother's sob cuts him off.
She presses her napkin to her mouth, shoulders shaking. Aunt Francesca immediately moves to her side, murmuring in Italian.
"Mio Dio," my mother whispers. "Mio figlio."
I should go to her. Should offer comfort. But I'm frozen in my chair, Nico's words echoing in my head.
He moved his fingers.
Bruno. My brother. The one who should be sitting in my chair, leading this family. The one who's been trapped in his broken body for months while I've fumbled through being Don.
"That's wonderful news," Nora says softly.
My mother looks up, tears streaming down her face. "You don't understand. After Riccardo—" Her voice breaks. "I thought I'd lost both my sons."
"Mamma." Lorenzo's voice is gentle but firm.
She shakes her head, switching to rapid Italian. Words about Riccardo's funeral. Bruno's wedding that turned into a massacre. How she buried one son and watched another fade away in a hospital bed.
Vittoria reaches across the table to squeeze my mother's hand.
I feel Nora's gaze on me. When I look at her, there's understanding in her eyes. She knows what this means. Knows the weight of it.
Bruno moving his fingers means hope. Means possibility.
Means I might not have to carry this burden alone forever.
NORA
Grief follows me like a shadow.
The thought hits me as I watch Aria cry over Bruno's progress.
I'm sitting at this table, surrounded by a family that isn't mine, watching them process hope I can't fully share.
I don't know Bruno. I can feel happy for them but I can't say that happiness is exactly what they feel about it.
Losing a child and nearly losing another one, doesn't make happiness really exist.
You don't belong here.
I push the thought away and try to focus on Aria. She's wiping her eyes, switching back to English.
"I'm sorry." She dabs at her cheeks with the napkin. "It's just been so long since—"
"You don't need to apologize," I say quietly. "You've been through hell."
Aria looks at me.
She nods slowly, then straightens in her chair. The vulnerability disappears behind that polished exterior. "Well. At least there's good news tonight."
"The best news," Vittoria agrees.
Aria takes another sip of wine, her gaze settling on me again. "So, Nora. When are you and my son getting married?"
Nico chokes on his water.
Lorenzo starts laughing.
I freeze, my brain stuttering over the words. "I—what?"
"Marriage." Aria says it like it's the most natural question in the world. "Surely you've discussed it. A Don needs a wife. That's how things operate."
I turn to Pietro.
He's got his head down, two fingers pinched against the bridge of his nose. The picture of disappointment.
"Mamma." His voice is tight. "Nora is still young. We're not discussing things like that here."
"Why not?" Aria waves her hand dismissively. "You're together, aren't you? She's living in your penthouse. Working at your side. The family already knows—"
"She's twenty-three," Pietro cuts in. "And we've been together for two months. Can we not do this now?"
Lorenzo leans forward, grinning like the devil. "Mamma has a point though. A Don does need a wife. It's tradition."
"Vaffanculo,"
Lorenzo just laughs harder.
I'm still frozen in my chair. Marriage. She's talking about marriage like it's inevitable. Like I'm already part of this family.
"I'm just saying," Aria continues, completely unbothered by Pietro's cursing, "that these things should be considered. Planned properly. A Sartori wedding is an important event."
"Mamma." Pietro's voice drops to that dangerous tone. "Enough."
"I'm only thinking of the family."
"The family is fine."
"Is it?" Aria raises an eyebrow.
"I said enough."
The table goes quiet.
I stare at my plate, my face burning. This is mortifying. Completely mortifying.
Nico clears his throat. When I glance up, he's watching me with an unreadable expression. Then he does something unexpected.
He nods. Just a small tilt of his head. Acknowledgment.
It's not approval. Nico is far from liking me. But it's something. A tiny gesture that says I see you're uncomfortable and I'm not going to pile on.
"Well," Giulia says brightly from the doorway. "Who wants dessert?"
"Sì," Vittoria says quickly. "Dessert sounds perfect."
The tension breaks slightly as Giulia disappears into the kitchen.
Aria smooths her napkin, completely unrepentant. "I'm simply being practical, Pietro. You can glare at me all you want, but someone needs to think about these things."
Pietro doesn't respond. Just keeps his fingers pressed to his nose, breathing slowly.
Lorenzo is still grinning. "I think Mamma scared her, Pietro. Look at her face."
"Shut up," I mutter.
That makes him laugh again.
I laugh too though.
PIETRO
I find Nora in the bedroom, sitting on the edge of the bed with her phone in her hand.
She looks up when I close the door behind me. "Your mother is terrifying."
"I know." I cross the room and sit beside her. "I'm sorry about that."
"Don't apologize for her." Nora sets the phone down. "She's just being a mother."
"She shouldn't have ambushed you like that."
"It wasn't an ambush." She turns to face me, tucking one leg under her. "It was just... unexpected."
I run a hand through my hair. "I wanted to talk to you about that. About what she said."
"About marriage?"
"Sì." I meet her eyes. "You don't need to be scared. I'm not expecting—"
"I'm not scared."
I stop. "You're not?"
"No." She tilts her head, studying me. "Should I be?"
"No. I just thought—after what Mamma said—"
"Your mother asked a question." Nora's voice is calm. "A pretty direct one, but still just a question. I'm not running for the door, Pietro."
Something in my chest loosens. "You're not."
"No." She reaches out and touches my jaw. "I just haven't thought about it. Marriage. Us. That far ahead. Have you?
The question catches me off guard. I open my mouth, then close it.
Nora's lips curve. "That's what I thought."
"I didn't say I haven't thought about it."
"You didn't say you have either." She's watching me now with that sharp intelligence I love. "So which is it?"
I catch her wrist, keeping her hand against my face. "I think about keeping you. Every day. Keeping you safe. Keeping you with me."
"That's not the same as marriage."
"Isn't it?"
"No." Her thumb brushes my cheekbone. "Marriage is a choice. A commitment. Not just possession."
"I know the difference."
"Do you?" She's teasing now, I can hear it in her voice. "Because you have a habit of claiming things without asking first."
"I asked you to stay."
She leans closer. "You're scared, Pietro."
"I'm not scared."
"You are." Her eyes dance. "You're more scared than I am."
"Cazzo, Nora—"
"Admit it." She's grinning now. "The big bad Don is terrified of the idea of marriage."
"I'm not terrified."
"Then why are you in here apologizing for your mother bringing it up?"
"Because I didn't want you to feel pressured."
"Or because you felt pressured?"
I stare at her. She stares back, completely unrepentant.
Then I laugh. I can't help it. "You're enjoying this."
"Maybe a little." She shifts closer, her knee pressing against my thigh. "It's nice to see you flustered for once."
"I'm not flustered."
"You're definitely flustered." Her hand slides down to my chest. "Your heart is racing."
"That's not from being flustered."
"No?" Her voice drops. "What's it from then?"
I catch her waist and pull her onto my lap. She comes willingly, straddling me with that satisfied smile still on her face.
"You," I say against her mouth. "It's always from you."
She kisses me, soft and slow. When she pulls back, her expression has shifted. Still playful, but something deeper underneath.
"I'm not scared of marriage, Pietro. Not with you." Her fingers thread through my hair. "But I'm also not in a rush. We have time."
I study her face. The freckles across her nose. The green eyes that see right through me. The mouth that challenges me at every turn.
"You're sure you're not scared?"
"Positive." She grins again. "But you definitely are."
"I'm not—"
She kisses me before I can finish the protest.