Page 89 of Pietro
A metal door screeches open. Cold air slaps my face. Broken asphalt under my shoes. Then Pietro’s hand is on my lower back, a firm pressure guiding me. A black SUV idles in the dark.
He opens the passenger door. I climb in, my movements mechanical. The door closes with a muffled thud that sounds final.
Pietro slides behind the wheel. The engine purrs to life, and we pull away from the warehouse.
We drive in silence for ten minutes before Pietro speaks.
"Giulia should have told me."
The streetlights catch his profile in flashes.
"She arranged this. You. The job." The words are tight, strained. "She’s been with us for so many years, and she didn't tell me."
I don't respond. What can I say? That Giulia was protecting me? That she was honoring my mother's memory? That everyone lies to everyone in this world we inhabit?
"I understand why she did it." Pietro's admission comes out rough. "You needed help. She knew Finn. It makes sense."
He's trying to convince himself. I recognize the tone—I've used it myself when attempting to rationalize betrayals.
"But she should have told me. After you started working for me, after—" He cuts himself off.
After what? After he kissed me? After I ended up in his bed?
The estate's gates loom ahead, ornate iron wrapped in shadows. The guard waves us through without stopping. Pietro's jaw tightens as we drive up the long, winding driveway. The fountain in the circular drive is lit from below, water cascading in engineered perfection.
He parks near the main entrance. Neither of us moves.
"She acted out of kindness." My voice sounds hollow. "Everyone in this story acted out of love or kindness or protection, and look where it led."
Pietro turns to look at me fully for the first time since leaving the warehouse. His eyes search my face.
"You didn't know. About any of it."
It's not quite a question, but I answer anyway. "No."
He nods once, then exits the car. I follow, my legs steadier now but still unreliable. The front door opens before we reach it.
Giulia stands in the doorway, backlit by the foyer's warm light. Her hands twist together, and her face carries the weight of someone who knows the storm has finally arrived. She's wearing her usual simple dress and cardigan, but somehow she looks older than she did this morning. Or was that yesterday? Time has become meaningless.
"Pietro, Nora?—"
"I'm going to my room."
Pietro's voice cuts through whatever Giulia planned to say. He moves past her without making eye contact.
Giulia's face crumples slightly before she catches herself. "Pietro, please?—"
He stops but doesn't turn around. "Not tonight, Giulia. I can't—not tonight."
His shoes click sharply on the floor as he disappears up the sweeping staircase. A door closes somewhere above us, the sound reverberating through the vast space.
Giulia and I stand in the foyer, the chandelier casting prismatic light across the walls. She looks at me with eyes that hold too much understanding.
"You know." Not a question.
"Finn called me after he spoke with you all." Her voice is soft, maternal. "Come, cara. You need food and rest."
"I'm not hungry."
