Page 74 of Pietro
"Yes."
"Stay inside where people can see you. Don't go anywhere alone."
"Okay."
"I'll fix this, little fox. I promise."
I hang up and hand the phone back to the woman, wiping tears from my face.
"Thank you," I whisper.
"Do you need anything else?" she asks. "Water? Food? I have a spare pair of flip-flops in my car if you want them."
Her kindness can break me right now. This stranger is offering more help than my own father did when I called him terrified for my life. Connor O'Sullivan, who raised me to believe family was everything, abandoned me the moment I needed him most.
"No, thank you. You've done more than enough." I manage a weak smile. "Someone's coming to get me."
She nods, but I can see the worry in her eyes. "I'll be right here if you need anything. Anything at all."
I sink into a plastic chair by the window, watching the street for whoever Finn is sending, wondering how my life has fallen apart so completely—again.
PIETRO
I pace the lobby like a caged animal. I ordered the front desk to lock down the building, but she'd already slipped out.
"Which way did she go?" I demand, looming over the receptionist.
The woman shrinks back. "North on State Street, sir. Moretti went after her."
I check my watch. Ten minutes have passed. She can't have gotten far, not barefoot in my clothes. Every second feels like an eternity as I wait for Moretti to drag her back.
My phone rings. I snatch it up.
"Tell me you have her," I growl.
"Mr. Sartori, I'm sorry." Moretti's voice comes through, breathless. "I lost her in the morning crowd. She ducked into an alley off Michigan and?—"
"You fucking lost her?" My voice drops to a deadly whisper. The receptionist flinches. "A barefoot woman, and you lost her?"
"Sir, I?—"
"Where are you now?"
"Corner of Michigan and Randolph."
I end the call and immediately dial Liam.
"I need cars. Now. Every available man. Nora's running." My knuckles turn white around the phone. "She's barefoot, wearing my clothes. Last seen near Michigan and Randolph."
"On it," Liam responds without hesitation.
I stride toward the exit, fury propelling me forward.
Outside, I scan the streets, looking for any sign of her. The morning crowd swallows everything, businesspeople rushing to work, tourists already wandering the Magnificent Mile.
My driver pulls up, and I slide into the back seat.
"Michigan and Randolph," I order. "Drive slow. I'm looking for someone."
