Page 126 of Pietro
"Men like Declan don't see it that way." Nico's logical voice cuts through my rage. "They see possession. She was his, she left, now he has her again."
Red floods my vision. The thought of Declan touching her, trying to make her his again?—
Another glass shatters. Then another. I'm destroying the bar cart, one crystal piece at a time, and my family watches in silence.
"Pietro." Giulia's voice cuts through the destruction. "Breaking things won't bring her back."
"I'll burn the whole city down if I have to." The words come out quiet, certain. "Every block, every building, until she's back where she belongs."
"And she'd hate you for it," Giulia says. "Nora sacrificed herself to save lives, not to start a war."
"Then we do this smartly." I straighten, glass crunching under my feet. "We find her. We get her back. And then I end Declan’s miserable existence with my own two hands."
Lorenzo nods. "Now you're thinking like a Don."
"I'm thinking like a man who's going to get his woman back." I move to the window, staring out at the compound grounds where just yesterday Nora walked beside me. "Whatever it takes. However long it takes. She comes home."
The determination settles into my bones like cement. Nora thinks she saved me by sacrificing herself. She's wrong.
She gave me something to fight for. Something to live for.
And I'll drown this city in blood to bring her home.
CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE
NORA
The basement reeks of mold and damp concrete. Underneath it, there's a sharper, metallic tang, like old blood or the coppery sweat of pure terror.
It’s a smell that has soaked into the walls. My wrists burn where the rope cuts into raw flesh. Each time I test the ropes, the hemp grinds against the skin of my wrists.
The pain isn’t sharp; it’s a thick, grinding burn that travels all the way to my shoulders. The chair they've tied me to creaks with age, wood soft with rot in places. One good twist might break it, but my shoulders scream when I test the bonds.
A single bulb dangles from exposed wiring above, throwing sick yellow light that makes everything look diseased. Water drips somewhere in the darkness beyond the light's reach. The sound marks time like a broken clock—irregular, maddening.
My tongue finds the split in my lower lip. Copper floods my mouth. Declan's ring caught me there when he dragged me from the van. The memory of his hands makes my skin crawl, but I push it down. Can't afford to feel that right now.
Footsteps on the stairs. Heavy. He wants me to hear him coming.
The door scrapes open. Declan fills the frame, backlit like some twisted savior. His suit jacket's gone, white shirt sleeves rolled to his elbows. Ready to work.
He still looks the same. Tall and lean with sharp cheekbones that first caught my eye across a crowded room at my father's annual Christmas party. Dark hair swept back from his forehead, his blue eyes that seem to change color with his moods. Right now, they're cold as winter ice.
I remember how my stomach flipped when my father first introduced us. Declan. Rising star in the organization. Smart. Ruthless when needed. Loyal.
Loyal.
Declan had smiled at me that night. He'd kissed my hand instead of shaking it, his lips lingering just a second too long against my skin. The electricity that shot through me had nothing to do with the champagne I'd been drinking.
"I've heard so much about Connor's brilliant daughter," he'd said.
Three years. Three years of believing I'd found someone who loved me.
What a fucking joke.
"Comfortable?" Declan asks now, circling behind me. His fingers brush my shoulder, and I jerk away from his touch.
"Like I'm at the Four Seasons," I spit, hating how my voice shakes. "Room service is shit though."
