Page 72 of Pietro
I nod to him casually, as if nothing is wrong, as if I'm not fleeing for my life.
His phone rings.
My stomach drops. That's my death sentence.
I quicken my steps toward the revolving door, trying to appear unhurried while covering as much ground as possible. Behind me, I hear the guard's voice.
"Yes, sir. She's right in front of me."
I abandon all pretense and break into a run, pushing through the revolving door with enough force to make it spin wildly. Behind me, the guard curses.
The morning air hits my face as I burst onto the sidewalk. Chicago is alive with commuters, a stream of people I can lose myself in. I dart into the crowd, weaving between business suits and coffee cups.
"Miss Kelly!" the guard shouts. "Stop!"
I don't look back. I run faster, my bare feet slapping against the cold pavement. I didn't even grab shoes—Pietro's pants drag under my heels as I sprint.
I reach a crossroads, frantically looking both ways. Left leads downtown, more crowds to disappear into. Right leads toward the lake, fewer people but more open space to run.
"Miss Kelly!" The guard is closer now. "I won't hurt you! I just need to bring you back!"
His words might be sincere, but Pietro's weren't. Pietro wants me dead.
I hesitate at the intersection, precious seconds ticking by as I try to decide which way offers the best chance of survival.
You need to fucking run Nora.
PIETRO
I slam my palm against the elevator wall, the pain barely registering through the rage coursing through my veins.
Nora O'Sullivan.
Connor O'Sullivan's daughter.
The name repeats in my head like a death sentence—hers, not mine. I've been played like a fucking amateur. I let her into my business, my home, my bed.
And all this time, she's been the enemy.
"Fucking idiot," I snarl at my reflection in the elevator doors.
What kind of Don am I? What kind of leader misses something this obvious? She's from Boston. She recognized Connor. She froze when she saw him. All the signs were there, screaming at me, and I ignored them because I was too busy thinking with my cock instead of my brain.
I suspected yes, but I just let it pass like it was nothing.
Or because you wanted her to be real. To want you. Pathetic.
Riccardo would never have made this mistake. Pablo would have seen through her in seconds. But me? I invited the enemy right into our operation.
Showed her our shipments, our schedules, our security. Let her map our weaknesses while I was busy fantasizing about fucking her on my desk.
And I did fuck her. All night.
While she laughed at how easily she played me.
A stabbing pain lances through my chest. I ignore it. I don't have time for pain. I don't have time for the hollow feeling spreading through me.
I need to think clearly. Strategically. Not like a wounded animal lashing out. She knows our operations. She knows our security protocols. She's been feeding information to Connor O'Sullivan for weeks.
