Page 48 of Pietro
"You work for me," he says, his voice tight with restraint. "Your loyalty?—"
"Is to my job," I cut him off. "Not to you personally. I do my work exceptionally well. What I do during my lunch hour is none of your business."
"Everything about you is my business." His eyes drop to my lips for a fraction of a second. "You're not allowed to see him."
A laugh bubbles up from my chest, sharp and disbelieving. I place both hands on his chest and push him back, creating space between us.
"Watch me," I say, my voice steady and clear.
Pietro's eyes widen slightly, surprise flickering across his features. He's not used to being challenged.
"What did you just say?" he asks, his voice dangerously soft.
"I said watch.me." I step around him, heading for the door. "You don't own me, Pietro. You never will."
PIETRO
I stand frozen as the door slams behind her.
Did she just...?
Watch me.
The words replay in my mind, each syllable stoking the fire building in my chest. No one speaks to me like that. No one challenges me. Not my captains, not my siblings, not even Riccardo when he was alive.
Yet this woman just walked out after telling me to my face that I don't own her.
My fist connects with the wall before I even realize I've moved. Pain shoots through my knuckles, but it's nothing compared to the rage coursing through my veins.
She wants to play games? Fine. I can play better than anyone.
I pull my phone from my pocket, my fingers moving with controlled precision despite the fury making my hands shake.
Need name and details on the accountant Nora had lunch with today. Everything.
Liam's response comes quickly:Mark Daniels. 32. Five years with the company. Clean record, no connections to other families. Lives in Wicker Park. Single.
Single. The word makes my jaw clench.
More.
Three dots appear as Liam types. I pace the length of my office, the same path Nora's heels had traced minutes before.
What specifically are you looking for, sir?
Everything. Where he lives. What he drives. His fucking shoe size if you have to.
A longer pause this time. Then:Is this about security concerns or something more personal?
I can practically see Liam's knowing expression through the text. The smug bastard.
Just do your fucking job.
Another pause before his reply appears:Address is 1422 North Damen Avenue. Drives an Audi A4. No criminal record. Credit score 780. Graduated Northwestern. No suspicious contacts or activities. Seems painfully boring, sir.
I read the message twice, picturing this Mark. Boring. Safe. Normal. Everything I'm not.
And sir, if I may... perhaps your energy would be better spent addressing why Miss Kelly is seeking company elsewhere rather than investigating her lunch companion?
