Chapter 41
CHAPTER FORTY-ONE
PIETRO
Isit behind my desk, watching the three men who've just entered my office. The Feretti brothers and their enforcer. Damiano Feretti takes the chair directly across from me, his presence commanding even in stillness.
His dark hair shows threads of silver at the temples, but it only makes him look more distinguished, more dangerous.
Enzo Feretti remains standing, positioning himself slightly behind his brother's right shoulder.
Younger but no less lethal. Where Damiano projects controlled power, Enzo radiates barely contained violence.
His eyes constantly scan the room, assessing threats, escape routes.
I recognize the behavior because I do the same thing.
Daniel Hayes stands by the door, arms crossed over his broad chest. The former military man doesn't pretend to be anything other than what he is.
A weapon. His buzz cut and rigid posture scream discipline, but the cold calculation in his eyes tells me he's killed more men than most soldiers see in combat.
He watches me like I might be his next target.
"Pietro." Damiano's voice breaks the silence, smooth as aged whiskey. "It's been too long."
"Damiano." I nod, keeping my expression neutral. "Circumstances haven't exactly been ideal."
"Riccardo was a good man." His face shows genuine regret. "And Bruno... how is he?"
"Still in the coma." The words taste bitter. "Doctors say there's brain activity, but..." I shrug, not needing to finish.
Enzo shifts his weight, impatient. Damiano shoots him a look that immediately stills him.
"And how are things going?" Damiano asks, leaning forward slightly. "The transition can be... challenging."
I consider my words carefully. The Ferettis aren't enemies, but they aren't exactly friends either. He was with Riccardo though. Alliances in our world shift like sand.
"Thankfully, we're starting to have some moments of peace," I say, my fingers drumming once on the desk before I force them still. "But you know how it is in this life. Calm waters usually mean there's a storm brewing somewhere."
Damiano's mouth quirks in understanding. "The Irish situation?"
"Handled." I don't elaborate on how Declan's body will never be found or how Connor O'Sullivan now walks with a permanent limp courtesy of his own brother. Some details aren't meant for sharing, even with tentative allies.
"And the girl?" Damiano asks, his tone casual but his eyes sharp. "I heard there was... an incident."
My jaw tightens involuntarily. I'm not trusting myself to speak about Nora with these men. The urge to protect her, to keep her name out of their mouths, burns in my chest.
"Marriage changes things," Damiano says, studying me. "Gives a man something to fight for beyond territory and respect."
"I've always had something to fight for," I reply, thinking of my family, of Lorenzo and Vittoria. Of Bruno lying in that hospital bed.
"But now you have something to live for," Damiano counters, and the knowing look in his eyes makes me wonder if he speaks from experience.
Daniel shifts slightly by the door, his eyes meeting mine for a brief moment. There's recognition there. The look of a man who also understands what it means to find something worth surviving for in this life.
"We should discuss the shipping routes," I say, changing the subject. "With the Irish situation resolved, I think it's time we revisited our arrangement."
Damiano nods, a small smile playing at his lips. He knows exactly what I'm doing, but he allows the deflection.
"Of course," he says. "Business first. We must see the casino thing too."
NORA
I step off the elevator, my heels clicking against the floor as I approach Pietro's office.
Through the glass walls, I spot three unfamiliar men with Pietro. My hand freezes on the door handle.
The man seated across from Pietro commands attention without effort. Dark hair threaded with silver at the temples, sharp features that could've been carved from marble. Everything about him screams power, control, danger.
Behind him stands another man, younger but equally lethal. Jet black hair styled in a precision undercut. Tattoos peek from beneath his collar, crawling up his neck. He shifts his weight, and I catch the coiled energy in his movements. A predator waiting to strike.
By the door, a third man stands like a sentinel. Tall, broad-shouldered. Buzz cut, steely blue eyes that assess me in a single sweep. His arms cross over his chest, and I recognize the stance of someone who's killed and won't hesitate to do it again.
I knock lightly and push the door open.
All four men turn toward me. The intensity of their combined attention makes my breath catch.
"Gentlemen," Pietro says, rising from his chair. His voice carries that edge of possession I've come to recognize. "This is Nora. Nora, meet Damiano Feretti, his brother Enzo, and Daniel Hayes."
Damiano stands, extending his hand. "Nora. A pleasure."
His grip is firm but not crushing. Up close, his eyes are intense brown, almost black, and they study me with the same calculating precision Pietro uses.
"Mr. Feretti," I reply, meeting his gaze without flinching.
Enzo nods from his position, not bothering with pleasantries. His brown eyes rake over me once, dismissive, before returning to scan the room.
Daniel simply inclines his head. "Ma'am." His voice is deep, rough.
"We were just finishing," Damiano says, buttoning his suit jacket. "Pietro, we'll be in touch about those arrangements."
"Looking forward to it," Pietro replies.
The three men file out, Daniel holding the door for the Feretti brothers before following them. The moment the door clicks shut, I turn to Pietro.
"Do they have a school in Italy or something?" I ask, unable to help myself. "Some kind of academy where they teach you all to look like that?"
Pietro's eyes narrow. "Like what?"
"Dangerous. Beautiful. Terrifying." I gesture vaguely. "The whole dark Italian mafia thing. It's like you're all cut from the same cloth."
His hand shoots out, fingers wrapping around my throat. Not tight enough to hurt, but firm enough to make my pulse jump. He pulls me close, his lips hovering just above mine.
"Are you comparing me to other men, Nora?"
I love when he gets like this.
"What happens if I say yes?" I whisper against his mouth.
His grip tightens slightly. "Kneel."
A smile curves my lips. "You know I enjoy kneeling for you. You'll need to find another punishment."
"I'll find a way not to like it," he says, voice dropping to that dangerous rumble that makes my knees weak.
I know he's lying. I know whatever he has planned, I'll enjoy it just as much as he will. Maybe more.
But I sink to my knees anyway, the carpet soft beneath me. My hands rest on my thighs as I look up at him through my lashes.
His thumb traces my bottom lip, the touch feather-light. Back and forth, learning the shape of my mouth like he hasn't already memorized every inch of me.
"What if someone gets closer to the glass doors?" I ask, my voice barely above a whisper.
The corner of his mouth lifts. Not quite a smile. Something darker.
"Then they'll see how good you gag while sucking my dick."
Heat floods between my legs.
The executive floor is empty this late, but the glass walls of his office face the reception area. Anyone stepping off the elevator would have a perfect view.
Pietro's thumb presses against my lips, demanding entry. I open for him, letting him slide inside. The pad of his thumb presses against my tongue, and I close my lips around it, sucking gently.
"That's my girl," he murmurs, his free hand moving to his belt.
The metallic clink of the buckle makes my pulse race. I watch as he unfastens his pants, never breaking eye contact.
His thumb withdraws from my mouth with a soft pop. Both his hands move to frame my face, tilting my head back further.
"You want this?" he asks.
"Yes."
"Say it properly."
"I want to suck your dick, Pietro."
His eyes flash with approval and possession. "Open."
I part my lips, and he guides himself to my mouth. The weight of him on my tongue makes me moan. I take him deeper, hollowing my cheeks.
His fingers thread through my hair, not pulling yet. Just holding. Controlling.
"Look at me," he commands.
I do. His jaw is tight, eyes blazing as he watches me work him with my mouth.
I take him deeper, relaxing my throat. His grip tightens in my hair.
"Fuck, Nora."
I watch through heavy-lidded eyes as Pietro pulls back, his hand sliding from my hair. He reaches for the buttons of his shirt, fingers working each one slowly.
The fabric parts, revealing the expanse of his chest.
A moan escapes my throat before I can stop it.
His lips curve into that dangerous smile. "You like what you see, baby?"
"You know I do."
He shrugs the shirt off completely, letting it fall to the floor. The muscles in his shoulders and arms flex with the movement.
"Hands and knees," he says.
"Face the glass doors."
"Pietro—"
"Now, Nora."
I shift position, turning until I'm on all fours. The glass doors loom before me, reflecting our images back. Anyone stepping off the elevator would see everything.
The thought turns me on.
Pietro moves behind me. His hands slide up my thighs, bunching my pencil skirt higher. The fabric strains against the movement.
A sharp ripping sound fills the office.
"Pietro!" I gasp as cool air hits my skin. "That was expensive—"
"I'll buy you ten more." His fingers hook into my leggings, and he tears them too. The material gives way easily under his strength, creating an opening just wide enough.
His hand slides between my legs, finding me already wet through the thin lace of my underwear. He groans, the sound vibrating through me.
"Always so ready for me."
He pushes the fabric aside, not bothering to remove it completely. The blunt head of him presses against my entrance, and I arch back instinctively.
His hand fists in my hair, pulling my head back. The sharp tug makes me gasp.
"Watch," he commands, nodding toward the glass doors. "Watch yourself take my dick."
He slams into me in one brutal thrust.
I scream, the sound echoing off the walls. My arms nearly buckle from the force, but his grip in my hair keeps me steady.
"Fuck, you feel perfect." He withdraws almost completely before driving back in, harder this time.
Each thrust pushes me forward. My palms press flat against the carpet, trying to brace myself against his relentless pace.
His free hand grips my hip, fingers digging into my flesh hard enough to bruise.
"Pietro—oh god—"
"That's it, baby. Let everyone hear who's fucking you."
His hand in my hair tightens, pulling harder. The burn in my scalp mixes with the pleasure building between my legs, creating a sensation that makes my vision blur.
He releases my hair, both hands gripping my hips now. The new angle lets him go deeper, hitting that spot inside me that makes stars explode behind my eyes.
"Come for me, Nora. Now."
His hand slides around to where we're joined, fingers finding my clit. The pressure combined with his relentless thrusts shatters me.
I scream his name as the orgasm crashes through me. My arms give out, chest pressing against the carpet as waves of pleasure roll through my body.
Pietro doesn't slow. He fucks me through it, chasing his own release.