Code of Honor (Spontagio Family 1)

Then I panic.

Giovanni flashes through my head.

How stupid am I to even think about kissing her here? What if he lied and he does have this place bugged? What if he’s watching us right now?

I tilt her face and kiss her forehead. She blinks, her expression surprised as I pull away. I smile awkwardly and step back, my hands dropping to my side.

“I—I have to go to bed,” she says quietly.

Her face colors and I know she’s wondering what the hell just happened. I can’t deny the relief that is racing through me. I was seconds away from doing something that I couldn’t take back, something that could’ve ruined both of us. I nod and watch her back away.

“Night, Luce,” I call out as she disappears down the hall.

Chapter 12

Lucy

Cursing, I kick the door closed with my foot.

What the hell is wrong with me?

Our regular conversations over the last few weeks had really gotten to me. Somehow, I’d moved our relationship out of the friendship zone and into—well, who knows where we stand now? If he were interested, he would’ve kissed me, right? It was the perfect opportunity and he pulled away.

Not that any of that matters. He sees me like a little sister. He could have any woman he wanted.

Then why do I never see him with other women?

Stop it.

I must be trying to rationalize why things are so weird between us by imagining something that isn’t there.

Groaning, I peel off my clothes and climb into bed. Tiredness has hit me out of nowhere, and suddenly I’m struggling to keep my eyes open.

I’ll figure everything out tomorrow.

I wake early the next morning, a side effect of starting most of my days before five. I climb out of bed and slip on my robe, tying it loosely around my waist before I venture out into the living room. I smile as I spot Pietro passed out, asleep on the sofa. He obviously hadn’t made it to his bed last night.

I’m not quiet as I set about preparing breakfast, and it’s not long before he’s sitting up and rubbing his eyes, probably wondering where the hell he is. His expression brightens when he notices me in the kitchen.

“You’re up early.” He yawns, stretching his long arms above his head. He gets to his feet and walks over to me, slumping down on one of the stools that line the counter.

“Nine a.m. is not early.” I chuckle. “Try getting up at five every morning and then complain to me that this is early.”

“I’m lucky if I’m asleep by four most nights,” he says, and laughs. He runs his hand through his thick, dark curls. I bite my lip, trying not to stare. The top two buttons of his shirt have come undone, revealing just a tease of what lies beneath. The sexy, just-out-of-bed look suits him. I force my eyes away and focus on the coffee grounds I’m about to spill all over the counter.

“Four.” I groan. Even the thought makes me feel tired. “How can you function on so little sleep?”

“You get used to it.” He chuckles. “I don’t think I’ve slept a decent night in over eight years.”

I connect the dots. Eight years. About the time he lost his parents. I don’t want to pry, but I’m curious.

“Tell me to butt out,” I begin slowly, “but does it have anything to do with what happened?”

He nods. “Yeah. I still get pretty bad nightmares.”

My heart jumps as I feel his pain. I remember just after he arrived being woken up by his screams in the middle of the night. I was terrified for him. I couldn’t imagine going through what he’s been through.

“That sucks,” I mumble, shaking my head. “Have you seen anyone about it?”