Page 98 of Pietro
"The gun," he says, the words rough. "Putting my gun to your head. Accusing you..." He swallows hard. "I'm sorry."
"You thought I was a snake in your house. I can't blame you for wanting to cut its head off."
"Don't say that."
"It's true." I push myself to sit, the sheet pooling around my waist. "You had every right to be furious."
"Were you going to tell me?" The question hangs between us, weighted with more than curiosity. "You said you were going to confess something that morning. Was it about who you really are?"
My throat tightens. "Yes."
He watches me, waiting.
"I was making coffee, planning the words in my head. How to explain that Nora Kelly doesn't exist, that I'm Connor O'Sullivan's daughter—or thought I was." A bitter laugh escapes. "Then Nico appeared when I was making coffee and everything exploded before I could say anything."
Pietro sits up fully, the mattress dipping under his weight.
"We should go downstairs." He runs a hand through his dark hair, making it stand at odd angles. "The family will want to see you're okay."
"I'm not sure I can face them."
"They won't judge you."
"Giulia—"
"That's between Giulia and me." The coldness that enters his voice makes me flinch. "But hiding in this room won't help anything. You need food. Coffee. Some sense of normal."
Normal. As if anything about this situation could be called normal. But he's right. Isolation will only make the voices in my head louder, the questions about who I am more insistent.
"I'm not sure they'll want me in their house," I say, wrapping my arms around myself. "Especially Nico. He looked ready to put a bullet in my head yesterday."
Pietro's expression hardens. "Nico will keep his opinions to himself."
"That's not the point." I shake my head. "Your family has every reason to distrust me."
"You're not responsible for Connor's actions."
"But I'm connected to them. I worked for you under false pretenses. I had access to everything." My voice rises with each word. "How can your family possibly want me here?"
"This family might be all muscles and guns," he says, his voice low and certain, "but we don't behave unfairly or cruelly to people who have nothing to do with our problems."
I look up at him, searching his face. "You can't know that's how they'll see it."
"I know my family."
"We still don't know who's leaking information about your shipments," I point out. "The hits were too perfect. Someone's feeding information to the Irish."
Pietro's eyes narrow. "Is it you?"
The question should hurt, but there's no accusation in his tone.
"No." I meet his gaze steadily. "I never betrayed you, Pietro. Not once."
His lips curve into the barest hint of a smile. "See? Then it's not your goddamn problem."
I blink at him, surprised by the simplicity of his logic. "It can't be that easy."
"It is." His thumbs trace small circles on my shoulders.
