Page 7 of Pietro
She stands, rounds the chair, and takes it.
Her skin meets mine. A jolt, sharp, unwelcome cracks through the numbness in my veins. Her hand is small, but her grip is firm.
Her pupils bleed into the green. A breath hitches in her throat.
I drop her hand. My skin tingles where she touched it.
"Tomorrow then." She smooths down her skirt, composing herself. "Eight a.m."
"Don't be late."
She heads for the door, pauses at the threshold. "Mr. Sartori? You might want to have someone clean up the glass. It's a liability issue."
Then she's gone, leaving me standing behind my desk with my hand still tingling from her touch.
I sink into my chair, pour another whiskey with hands that aren't quite steady. What the fuck just happened? I've interviewed dozens of secretaries. Fucked half of them. None of them ever made me feel... whatever that was.
This is a mistake. She's trouble. I can feel it
But trouble's never stopped me before. If anything, I court it. Chase it. Maybe that's why I'm going to let her come backtomorrow, despite every instinct screaming that Nora Kelly is more than she seems.
The door opens. Liam returns, cautiousness in every line of his body.
"Well?" He takes in the empty chair, the signed contract on my desk. "She didn't run?"
"She negotiated for twenty percent more salary."
Liam's eyebrows rise. "And you gave it to her?"
I drain the whiskey, feel it burn down to join the fire she lit in my chest. "She starts tomorrow."
"Think she'll last?"
I stare at the door where she vanished, still seeing the defiant tilt of her chin, the way she handled that bloody manifest like it was nothing. Feel the ghost of her hand in mine.
"I don't know." The admission costs me more than it should. "But she seems different from the others."
Different. Dangerous. Beautiful in a way that has nothing to do with conventional beauty and everything to do with that spark in her eyes when she challenged me.
Liam heads for the door, pauses. "For what it's worth, I think she might work out. At least that’s what I hope. And she didn’t really look at you like most of the others do."
"How do the others look at me?"
"Like you're a paycheck or a monster." He meets my gaze. "She looked at you like she wasn't afraid of you."
Not afraid of me. The words sit heavy in my chest next to Pablo's ghost. I haven't wanted someone unafraid of me since that warehouse thirteen years ago. People who aren't afraid can disappoint you. Betray you. Die on you.
But maybe that's exactly what I need. Someone who won't fold under the weight of what we do. Someone who can stand in this office surrounded by blood and broken glass and negotiate for more money instead of running for the door.
NORA
I step into the elevator, my professional mask firmly in place until the doors slide shut. The moment I'm alone, my knees buckle. I grab the brass railing, sucking in deep breaths as my heart hammers against my ribs.
What the hell am I doing?
I knew what I was walking into when Uncle Finn gave me this address. "It's not ideal, Nora-girl," he'd said, "but they won't look for you there. And you need somewhere to disappear."
What he didn't mention was that Pietro Sartori is terrifying in a way that has nothing to do with the blood on his paperwork or his bruised knuckles.
