Page 127 of Pietro
He laughs, and for a heartbeat, I hear the man I thought I loved. The one who'd bring me coffee in bed and read the Sunday paper with me, his feet tangled with mine under the covers. The man who'd listen to my ideas about expanding the legitimate side of my father's business.
All an act. Every touch, every kiss, every whispered promise. Just moves in a long game to ruin my father's operation.
I lift my chin. Meet his eyes. Say nothing.
He circles my chair, fingers trailing along the back. The touch makes bile rise in my throat. Three years I let this man touch me. Three years of lies.
"You know what I need, Nora." He stops in front of me, crouches to eye level. His breath carries whiskey and cigarettes. "Sartori shipping schedules. Security protocols. Which cops are on their payroll."
"I was a secretary."
"You were never just that." His hand cups my jaw, thumb pressing into the bruise already forming. "Too smart for your own good. Always watching, always listening."
I jerk my face away. "I answered phones. Made coffee."
"For two months?" He stands, paces to the wall and back. "Two months working for the man whose family is an enemy to yours?"
"I know nothing at all, Declan."
"The shipments. When do they come in? Which docks?"
"Tuesday and Thursday. Sometimes Saturday if it's urgent."
His hand cracks across my cheek. Stars explode behind my eyes, and the world tilts. For a second, all I hear is a high-pitched ringing.
"Don't insult me with obvious lies."
I spit red onto the concrete between us. "Ask better questions then."
Another blow. This one rocks the chair. My vision blurs, doubles, slowly refocuses. Declan flexes his fingers, knuckles already reddening.
"Their security system. Override codes."
"I don't know?—"
"The safe room locations."
"I never?—"
"Which of their soldiers would flip for the right price?"
"How would I?—"
He grabs my throat. Not squeezing yet, just holding. A promise. "You lived in that compound. You attended their family dinners. You fucked their Don." His grip tightens slightly. "And you want me to believe you know nothing?"
Black spots dance at the edge of my vision. I force myself to stay calm, breathe shallow through my nose.
"I was never..." The words rasp against his palm. "Never one of them."
He releases me. I gasp, pulling air into burning lungs.
"No?" Declan drags over a metal folding chair, sits facing me. "Then what were you? Besides a whore spreading her legs for the enemy?"
There it is. The real game begins.
"At least Pietro could make me come."
The silence stretches, taut as piano wire. Declan's face goes very still.
