Page 71 of Pietro
I pour two cups of coffee, adding a splash of cream to mine and leaving his black. Should I bring him something to eat? I open the small refrigerator, finding it surprisingly well-stocked. Pietro hasn't eaten since yesterday. Me neither, but I can't eat right now.
The coffee will get cold if I make something now. Better to ask what he wants first.
I balance the two mugs carefully as I head back toward Pietro's office. The hallway seems longer than before, each step bringing me closer to a conversation that terrifies me.
I'm nearly at his door when I hear raised voices. Pietro's deep growl, and another voice—Nico's. My steps slow as their words become clearer.
"What the hell is going on?" Pietro demands.
"Your secretary isn't who she says she is," Nico spits back.
Ice floods my veins. The coffee mugs nearly slip from my grasp.
"What are you talking about?" Pietro's voice drops dangerously.
"Nora Kelly doesn't exist," Nico says. "At least, not the one working for you."
I press myself against the wall.
No, no, no.
"Vittoria ran a background check when she first started," Pietro argues. "Everything checked out."
"We dug deeper after what happened with Connor O'Sullivan," Nico continues. "The real Nora Kelly died three years ago in a car accident in Rhode Island."
The coffee mugs tremble in my hands. I set them down on a nearby table before I drop them.
"Then who the fuck is she?" Pietro's voice has gone deadly quiet.
"Nora O'Sullivan," Nico says. "Connor O'Sullivan's daughter."
The silence that follows is deafening. I can't breathe, can't move.
"That's impossible," Pietro finally says, but his voice lacks conviction.
"It's true," Nico insists. "She's been playing you from the start. Probably feeding information back to her father about our shipments, our security. The Irish have hit us too many times, too accurately. Now we know why."
I want to burst in, to explain that I've never betrayed Pietro, that I'm running from my father, not working for him. But my legs won't move.
"Where did you get this information?" Pietro asks, his voice so cold it chills me.
"Liam found photos. Old society pages from Boston. The O'Sullivan princess at charity events with her father. It's her, Pietro. Same face, different name."
The elevator dings at the end of the hallway. My escape route. I force my legs to move, inching toward it silently.
"I'm such an idiot." Pietro growls.
The raw hatred in his voice shatters something inside me. This is exactly what I feared—what I knew would happen when he learned the truth.
I reach the elevator and punch the button with my elbow repeatedly, praying it hasn't gone far. The doors slide open, and I slip inside just as I hear Pietro's office door slam open.
"Nora!" His roar echoes down the hallway as the elevator doors close.
I press myself against the elevator wall, gasping for breath.
The elevator descends too slowly. Pietro could call down, have security waiting. I need to move fast.
When the doors open on the ground floor, I force myself to walk calmly. Running would only draw attention. The security guard at the front desk looks up, his eyes tracking my body in the oversized men's clothes. Recognition flickers across his face. He was on duty last night when Pietro and I arrived.
