Page 92 of Pietro
The answer comes immediately: the day Pablo died. The day I learned that caring about someone is just giving the universe a weapon to use against you.
But Nora makes me believe I could be better.
Nora makes mefeel.
That's the truth I've been dancing around all night. She makes me feel things I thought I'd successfully killed. Not just desire, though God knows there's plenty of that.
But softer things. Protective instincts that go beyond territory and possession. The urge to see her smile. The need to know she's safe.
The desire to hold her while she breaks apart and promise that somehow, impossibly, it will be okay.
I'm moving before I decide to. My feet cross the carpet, the thick pile swallowing every sound. Down the dark hall, past Lorenzo's door, a thin line of light visible underneath.
Probably reading, trying to find peace in books the way I try to find it in violence. Nico's room is dark—he'll be at his computer, analyzing patterns, looking for threats.
Vittoria's door is cracked open, the soft glow of multiple monitors visible. She never really sleeps anymore, not since Riccardo died.
Every single one of my siblings, locked in their own world.
The blue guest room sits at the end of the hall, separated from family quarters. Isolated.
Alone.
Like her.
I stop outside the door, my hand raised to knock. What am I doing? What comfort can I offer when I'm part of the reason she's broken? I held a gun on her hours ago. Accused her of betrayal. Threatened her with my voice and my hands and my presence.
But she's also alone in there with grief that has no name. Loss of identity, loss of family, loss of self. I know that particular emptiness. I've lived in it for years.
My knuckles rap against the wood, soft enough not to wake the house. No response. I knock again, slightly harder.
"Nora?"
Still nothing. But there's light seeping under the door.
The handle turns under my hand.
She's sitting in the oversized armchair by the window, knees drawn up to her chest, still wearing the same clothes from the warehouse.
Her hair falls around her face like a curtain, but I can see her reflection in the glass.
"Nora."
She doesn't move. Doesn't acknowledge my presence. Just continues staring out at the darkness like it might swallow her whole if she watches long enough.
I cross the room. Each step soft so I don't spook her. The floorboards are silent under my weight. I stop beside her chair.
"You should sleep."
"Can't." Her voice is hollow, scraped raw. “All I can see when I close my eyes is her. My mother.”
I lower myself to sit on the ottoman in front of her chair. This close, I can see the tear tracks on her cheeks, the way her hands shake where they grip her knees.
"The love was real." The words come out rougher than intended. "Whatever else was lies, the love was real. Has to be."
She finally looks at me. "How do you know?"
"Because she stayed. She could have run, taken you somewhere Connor couldn't find you. But she stayed and played the part to keep you safe. That's sacrifice."
