Page 52 of Pietro
"Mr. Sartori," he says, extending his hand. "Good evening, sir."
I shake his hand with more force than necessary, enjoying the slight wince that crosses his face.
"Mark," I say, my voice deliberately casual. "Didn't expect to see you here."
His eyes dart nervously between me and Nora. "Just having dinner with Nora?—"
"Enjoy your meal," I cut him off, dismissing him as I turn to our table.
Amanda slides into her seat, a knowing smile playing on her lips. She's one of Vittoria's close friends, and when I called her this afternoon with my request, she agreed immediately. I told her I needed a date for appearance's sake. She didn't ask questions, but the gleam in her eyes told me she understood more than I'd explained.
"So that's her," Amanda whispers, leaning close. "The one who has you acting like a jealous teenager?"
I shoot her a warning look. "I'm not jealous."
"Please." She laughs, the sound deliberately musical. "Your eyes haven't left her since we walked in."
I force myself to look at Amanda instead, but my ears strain to catch Nora's conversation. Mark is talking about some theatre, and I can hear the smile in Nora's voice as she responds. The sound makes my jaw clench.
Amanda places her hand on mine as she leans forward. "You know, we could really give her something to be jealous about."
I withdraw my hand to pick up the wine list. "That's not what this is about."
"Of course not," she says, not bothering to hide her amusement. She tosses her blonde hair over her shoulder, making sure to laugh at everything I say, touching my arm repeatedly.
I manage to keep my composure, but it takes every ounce of self-control. Mark keeps leaning toward Nora, his eyes constantly dropping to her lips, her neck, lower. If I let go of my restraint for even a second, I'd grab him by his perfectly pressed collar and smash his face into the table.
"You're going to break that glass if you grip it any tighter," Amanda murmurs.
I relax my hand, not realizing how white my knuckles had become.
Nora hasn't looked at me once since I sat down, keeping her back partially turned. But I can see the way she holds herself too rigidly to be truly comfortable.
Good.
Let her feel what I'm feeling.
"Tell me more about your work," Amanda says loudly, trailing her fingers down my arm. "Vittoria says you're absolutely brilliant at what you do."
I play along, describing some sanitized version of my business while watching Nora's back stiffen further at Amanda's flirtatious tone.
Mark says something that makes Nora laugh, and the sound cuts through me like a blade.
I watch Nora excuse herself from the table. My body moves before my brain catches up, ignoring Amanda's questioning look.
"I'll be right back," I mutter.
The hallway to the restrooms is dimly lit, tucked away from the main dining area. I pause for only a second before pushing open the women's bathroom door. Fuck propriety.
Nora stands at the sink, leaning forward to apply fresh lipstick. Her eyes meet mine in the mirror, but she doesn't startle. Doesn't even turn around.
"Men's bathroom is the other door," she says coolly, her fingers steady as she caps her lipstick.
I cross the space, my hand finding her throat. Not squeezing, just holding—feeling her pulse jump beneath my palm as I turn her to face me. Her back presses against the counter as I turn her and lean in, my face inches from hers.
"You're leaving. Now." My voice comes out low, dangerous. "Tell Mark you need to go."
Her green eyes flash with defiance, not a hint of fear despite my hand at her throat. "No."
