Page 139 of Pietro
I press my face into the curve of his neck, breathing him in. Safety. Home.
My splinted fingers ache, a dull, throbbing reminder that the nightmare was a memory. But that was two weeks ago. Declan is dead.
"What time is it?" I pull back enough to see the exhaustion etched around his own eyes. He hasn't been sleeping either.
"Almost nine." His thumb brushes over a fading bruise on my cheekbone, a ghost of a touch. "Giulia's making breakfast. Hungry?"
My stomach growls, a raw, embarrassing sound that makes him smile. That rare, unguarded expression that still steals my breath.
"Come on." He shifts, helping me sit up. "Let me do your hair."
It’s our new routine. My useless fingers can't manage buttons or zippers, let alone a hair tie.
His hands, are surprisingly steady as they work through my hair. The movements are clumsy, unlearned, but the pressure is a careful weight against my scalp. He's trying so hard not to hurt me.
"Too tight?"
"It's perfect."
He secures the braid, then helps me into one of his sweaters. The cashmere drowns me, sleeves falling past my splints, butit smells of him. It’s like wearing his protection. I need big sweaters because it still hurts on my ribs.
The walk to the kitchen is a slow shuffle, each step a negotiation with protesting muscles. Pietro hovers, his hand a warm brand on my lower back, ready to catch a stumble that never comes.
Giulia looks up from the stove, her smile instant and warm. "Cara mia, how did you sleep?"
"Better." The lie slips from my tongue before I can catch it. No need to add to her worry.
She clicks her tongue, her sharp eyes telling me she doesn't believe a word, but turns back to her pancakes. "Sit. Coffee's fresh."
Pietro guides me to the breakfast nook, settling me against the cushions before pouring our coffee.
The kitchen door swings open, and Vittoria enters with Ava at her side. My spine straightens automatically, that familiar awkwardness settling over me like a scratchy blanket.
Ava. The woman who lost everything while I... what? Found love with Pietro in the middle of chaos? The guilt tastes bitter on my tongue.
"Morning," Vittoria chirps, guiding Ava to the table. "We smelled pancakes from the hallway."
"Plenty for everyone." Giulia's already setting out more plates, her movements efficient and warm.
Ava's eyes find mine, and I force myself not to look away.
"Nora." She actually smiles. Small, tentative, but real. "How are your fingers?"
"Getting better." I lift my splinted fingers slightly. "The doctor says another two weeks."
Pietro's hand finds my thigh under the table, a silent reminder that I'm not alone in this discomfort. He and Ava have their own complicated history. She was Riccardo's everything,and Pietro still carries the weight of not being the brother Riccardo needed.
Vittoria pours coffee for them both, her attention never straying far from Ava. The care between them is obvious—the way Vittoria anticipates what Ava needs, how Ava leans slightly toward her like a plant seeking sun.
"You look better," Pietro says to Ava, his voice carefully neutral.
"I'm trying." Ava wraps her hands around her mug. "Some days are harder than others, but..." She glances at Vittoria. "Having people who understand helps."
The words sting. I don't understand. Not really. My mother died when I was young but I still search her like somehow she will appear in front of me.
Giulia sets a stack of pancakes between us, the sweet smell filling the kitchen. "Eat. All of you. You're too thin."
"She says that to everyone," Vittoria teases, but she's already loading Ava's plate.
