Page 110 of Pietro
It's beautiful and heartbreaking, watching Lorenzo navigate between his brothers' anger and his own need for harmony.
Pietro pulls out his phone, and the temperature in the room shifts.
"Liam. I need you at Tony's by six." His voice drops an octave, all business and barely contained violence. "Take four men. Quiet extraction. He is informed."
I shouldn't find this attractive. The way he commands, how his shoulders straighten and his jaw sets. But my body doesn't care about shoulds. It remembers those same hands that sign death warrants gripping my hips last night. That voice giving orders now is the same one that growled my name when he?—
"Eight more at the warehouse. Full tactical." Pietro paces, each step deliberate.
His forearms flex as he grips the phone. The sleeves of his white shirt are rolled up, exposing corded muscle and that tattoo that peeks out. I know what's under that shirt. Know how those muscles feel under my fingernails when he's driving into me.
Lorenzo clears his throat, but I barely hear it. I'm too busy watching Pietro's fingers drum against his thigh. Those fingers that know exactly where to touch, how to make me beg. Christ, what is wrong with me? A child's life is at stake and I'm sitting here getting wet watching Pietro plan an extraction.
"One more thing. Put more eyes on Connor O'Sullivan."
My stomach flips at my father's name. But even that can't kill the heat building low in my belly. Because Pietro glances at me when he says it, checking my reaction, and catches me staring at his arms.
Our eyes meet. His darken, recognizing the look on my face. He knows exactly what I'm thinking. A muscle in his jaw ticks, and I watch him fight for control. We're in his brother's office, planning a rescue mission, and I'm looking at him like I want to climb him like a tree.
My cheeks burn. I drop my gaze to my cappuccino, but it's too late. He's seen the hunger I couldn't hide.
"Get it done." Pietro ends the call, his voice rougher now.
"The timeline." Pietro says as he tears his gaze away from me, and I can breathe again. "Declan calls Tony tonight. Claims he has urgent intel about Connor's daughter working for us."
"Which is true," Nico points out.
"Was true." Pietro's correction is sharp.
The room goes quiet. I stare at my coffee, feeling all three brothers watching me.
"Doesn't matter what's true," I say, finding my voice. "Only what Declan believes."
Pietro nods. "Exactly. He'll take the bait because he's desperate. Connor's pulling back, the Murphy alliance is shaking. He needs leverage."
"And he thinks I'm it."
CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE
NORA
The Chicago streets blur past the tinted windows of Pietro's Maserati as we speed away from Arancini. My thighs are still pressed together, trying to ease the ache that's been building.
I'm wound so tight I might explode.
"You're squirming," he observes, his voice low and knowing.
"I'm not?—"
His hand suddenly leaves the gear shift and lands on my thigh, sliding under my skirt. "Don't lie to me,baby. I can smell how wet you are from here."
His fingers trail higher, barely grazing the edge of my panties before returning to the wheel. The tease makes me whimper.
Oh fuck.
The Maserati dives into an underground parking garage, tires squealing as he navigates down to the lowest level. It's completely deserted, dimly lit, perfect.
He kills the engine and turns to me, his eyes black with hunger. "Back seat. Now."
