Page 147 of Pietro
There's something vulnerable in the question. Something that tells me this matters more than he's saying.
"Of course," I say. "Whatever you need."
His hand slides to my cheek, thumb brushing my skin. "Thank you."
"You don't have to thank me for being there."
"Yes," he says quietly. "I do."
CHAPTER FORTY
PIETRO
My mother sits at the head of the dining table like she owns the place. Which, technically, she does. The Sartori estate belongs to all of us, but Aria Sartori has a way of making any room feel like her domain.
She arrived this morning with my aunt Francesca and Valentino. No warning. Just showed up at the gates with enough luggage for a month-long stay.
"So, Nora." My mother's voice cuts through the quiet clinking of silverware. "Pietro tells me you've been working as his secretary."
Nora sets down her fork carefully. Her splinted fingers make the movement awkward, but she doesn't let it show. "Yes, ma'am."
"Please. Call me Aria." My mother smiles, but I know that smile. It's the one she uses when she's gathering information. "And how are you finding Chicago? It must be quite different from Boston."
"It is." Nora's voice is steady. Calm. "But I'm adjusting."
"I'm sure you are." My mother takes a delicate sip of wine. "Your father is Connor O'Sullivan, yes? I remember meeting him years ago. Before all this unpleasantness."
I tense, but Nora doesn't flinch.
"Connor raised me," she says evenly. "But my biological father is Finn O'Sullivan. I only learned that recently."
My mother's eyebrows lift. "How... complicated."
"Family often is." Nora meets her gaze without wavering. "I'm sure you understand that better than most."
Cazzo.I hide my smile behind my wine glass. Nora just challenged my mother. Politely, but unmistakably.
Aria's lips curve. Not the testing smile from before. Something closer to approval. "Indeed I do."
Across the table, Lorenzo catches my eye. He's trying not to laugh.
"The ravioli is excellent, Giulia," my aunt Francesca says. "You must give me the recipe."
Giulia nods from where she's refilling water glasses. "Of course, signora."
Valentino leans toward Lorenzo, his voice low but carrying. "The Sicily operations are running smoothly. No issues with the shipments this month."
"Good." Lorenzo cuts into his chicken. "And the political connections?"
"Solid. The mayor's office is cooperative. As is the port authority." Valentino's formal tone never wavers. "We've had no trouble since the restructuring."
I should be paying attention to this. Should be engaged in the business discussion. But I'm watching Nora instead, the way she handles my mother's scrutiny with quiet grace.
She's wearing a simple black dress. Nothing fancy. But she looks beautiful in the candlelight, her hair pulled back, those green eyes steady and clear.
A month since Declan. A month since I nearly lost her.
The nightmares still wake her sometimes. I hold her through them, wait for her breathing to steady. Her fingers are healing. The ribs too. But some wounds take longer.
