Page 21 of Pietro
I test my legs. They hold, but a tremor runs through them. "Yes."
He doesn't let go, guiding me toward his private elevator. He leaves me there and grabs my purse and phone.
When we enter in he looks at me carefully.
"You moved like you've done it before." His words fill the silence as we descend. "The way you broke his hold. That's not something you learn in a weekend self-defense course."
My throat burns when I swallow. "You'd be surprised what they teach these days."
"I don't like surprises, Nora." The elevator stops at the parking garage. "Especially not when they involve my employees knowing combat techniques and recognizing Boston accents."
His hand presses against my lower back, guiding me toward a black SUV where a driver waits. The touch burns through my blouse, a reminder that despite his suspicions, his instinct is still to protect me.
"I told you?—"
"You told me what you wanted me to hear." He opens the door for me, those dark eyes seeing too much. "But everyone has secrets, don't they, Miss Kelly?"
The way he emphasizes my last name makes my blood run cold. He knows something's off. Maybe not what, exactly, but he knows I'm lying.
I slide into the leather seat, my body finally stopping its trembling. Pietro rounds the car, settling beside me with controlled grace. He pulls out his phone, typing something quick.
"Where are we going?" My voice sounds foreign, rough from Tommy's chokehold.
"Compound. It's secure." He doesn't look up from his phone. "Those bruises need ice, and you need somewhere safe until we know why they came for me."
"They said you were expecting them."
His fingers stop moving across the screen. "I wasn't."
"Then how did they get past security? The building has?—"
"Someone let them in." His jaw clenches. "Someone who wanted them to reach me."
"Pietro." My hand moves toward his before I can stop it, fingers brushing his knuckles where the skin split open. "Your hands."
He looks down like he's just noticing the damage. "It's nothing."
"It's not nothing." Without thinking, I pull tissues from my purse, pressing them against the worst of the cuts. His hand is massive under mine, capable of such violence, yet he holds perfectly still as I tend to him.
"You weren't afraid." His voice drops low, intimate in the back of the SUV. "When they grabbed you, when he had the gun to your head. You were calm."
"I was terrified."
"But you still fought."
Our eyes meet. His hand turns under mine, fingers interlacing with my blood-sticky ones.
Pietro's phone buzzes. He pulls his hand away to answer, leaving mine cold and empty.
"Talk to me." He listens, expression darkening. "How many? When?" A pause. "Double the security at all locations. Nobody gets in without my direct approval."
He ends the call, his jaw a hard line. "This was coordinated." He doesn't elaborate. He doesn't have to.
His gaze drops to my throat, to the darkening map of Tommy's fingers. "They sent their best team. For what?" he asks, more to himself than to me. "No shipments. No meetings." His dark eyes lift, pinning me in place. "Nothing worth hitting."
The unspoken question hangs between us:Then what were they after?
"You should rest," Pietro says, breaking the silence. "We'll be at the compound in twenty minutes."
