Chapter 11
CHAPTER ELEVEN
Isit perfectly still as Lucrezia circles me, paintbrush in hand, her brow furrowed in concentration. Early afternoon sunlight streams through the massive windows of her studio, bathing everything in a golden glow that makes the scattered paint splatters on the hardwood floor shimmer like jewels.
"Tilt your chin just a bit," she instructs, demonstrating with her own face. "Yes—perfect. Now hold that."
I adjust my position on the stool, careful not to disturb the drape of fabric she's arranged across my shoulders.
After a week in the Feretti household, I've found myself drawn to Lucrezia's studio more and more.
It's become our daily ritual—breakfast with the family, followed by hours in this light-filled sanctuary where Damiano rarely ventures.
"How much longer?" I ask, trying not to move my lips too much.
"Patience," Lucrezia smiles, dabbing her brush into a blob of paint. "Beauty takes time."
The walls around us are covered with her work—landscapes, still lifes, and portraits that reveal her remarkable talent. The paintings carry an emotional weight that speaks of something deeper than mere technical skill.
"You have incredible bone structure," she comments, stepping back to study me. "Those cheekbones are a gift from the gods."
I laugh despite myself. "I think you're flattering your subject."
"Never." Lucrezia's eyes sparkle with mischief. "I only paint the truth."
There's something infectious about her spirit—something genuine that makes it difficult to maintain my guard around her. Of all the Ferettis, she's the one I hadn't planned for. In my mind, they were all monsters like Damiano. But Lucrezia is different—vibrant, artistic, full of life.
"You looked sad just now," she observes, peering at me over her canvas. "What were you thinking about?"
I snap back to attention, reminded of my purpose. "Nothing important."
"Liar." She points her paintbrush at me accusingly, leaving a tiny dot of burnt sienna on her cheek as she does. "Your eyes changed. I saw it."
"You're very observant," I deflect.
"Comes with being an artist." She shrugs, returning to her work. "And with having overprotective brothers. You learn to read the room."
I seize the opening. "They're quite controlling, aren't they?"
"God, yes." Lucrezia rolls her eyes dramatically. "Damiano's the worst. Did he give you the 'ask permission before leaving' speech?"
"Within hours of arriving."
"Welcome to the club." She dips her brush in water, swirling it clean.
"It must be difficult," I say softly.
Lucrezia's hand pauses mid-stroke. "They love me. That's their excuse for everything. But sometimes..." She trails off, then shakes her head. "Sorry. I shouldn't complain to you. It's different for me—they're my blood."
"No, please," I encourage. "I want to understand this family."
She glances up, a genuine smile warming her features. "I'm really glad he married you, you know. It's nice having another woman around. Especially one who became a close friend. Someone who gets it."
Guilt hits me like a punch to the stomach. The warmth in Lucrezia's eyes, the open affection in her voice—it's too much. Her words echo in my mind.
My throat tightens as I stare at her paint-splattered hands, working so carefully to capture my likeness. She's creating art from my deception. Preserving a lie on canvas.
"Zoe? Are you okay?" Lucrezia stops painting, concern creasing her brow.
I'm here to destroy her world. To systematically dismantle everything she loves. And she's welcoming me with open arms, treating me like family.
"I just—" My voice cracks. "I need a minute."
I stand abruptly, nearly knocking over the stool. The fabric slips from my shoulders, pooling at my feet.
"What's wrong?" Lucrezia sets down her brush, moving toward me. "Did I say something?"
"No, no. You're perfect," I manage, backing away. "I just... bathroom. I'll be right back."
The walls of the studio suddenly feel too close. The beautiful paintings she's created—glimpses into her soul—are watching me, judging me. I'm an imposter in this sacred space.
"Are you sure you're okay?" Lucrezia's voice follows me as I reach the door.
"Fine. Just... women's things," I lie, another deception to add to the mountain between us.
I slip into the hallway, chest heaving. Tears burn behind my eyes as I hurry away from the studio. My footsteps echo against the floor, matching my racing heartbeat.
This wasn't supposed to happen. They were supposed to be monsters—all of them. Damiano murdered my father. His family profited from pain and destruction. They were targets, not people.
But Lucrezia is so painfully human. She's talented and kind and lonely.
And I'm going to break her heart.
The first tear falls as I turn the corner, then another. By the time I reach the staircase, I'm struggling to contain a sob that claws at my throat.
I hurry to my bedroom, shutting the door behind me. Leaning against it, I slide down until I'm sitting on the floor, knees pulled to my chest. The tears come freely now, hot and fast down my cheeks.
What am I doing? These past days with Lucrezia have been... real. Not calculated moves in a revenge plot, but genuine connection. That wasn't supposed to happen.
A soft knock startles me from my thoughts.
"Zoe? Can I come in?" Lucrezia's gentle voice filters through the door.
I hastily wipe my tears. "Just a minute," I call, my voice betraying me with a slight tremor. I push myself up and check my reflection in the nearby mirror—red-rimmed eyes stare back at me.
Taking a deep breath, I open the door. Lucrezia stands there, concern etched across her face. Her eyes widen when she sees mine.
"You've been crying," she says, stepping inside without waiting for an invitation. "Was it something I said? Did I upset you?"
"No," I shake my head quickly. "No, it wasn't you at all."
She closes the door behind her and guides me to sit on the edge of the bed. "Then what is it? Please tell me."
I look down at my hands, fingers twisting together in my lap. "It's just... when you said it was nice having another woman around, someone who gets it..." My voice trails off.
"What about it?"
"I've always been lonely at home," I admit, the truth spilling out before I can stop it. "It was just him and me in that big house, and he was always so busy. I never had a brother or sister, never really had anyone to talk to."
Lucrezia's hand covers mine, stilling my fidgeting fingers.
"It feels strange getting close to anyone else," I continue. "I don't know how to do this—how to have a friend in my house, a sister." The irony of my honesty isn't lost on me.
"Oh, Zoe." Lucrezia squeezes my hand. "I understand loneliness. I've been surrounded by men my whole life—loving men, but still. There's a difference between being protected and being understood."
I look up at her, seeing genuine compassion in her eyes. "Exactly."
"Well, you've got me now," she says with a gentle smile. "Sister-in-law officially, but sister in all the ways that matter if you want."
Another tear escapes, and I brush it away quickly. "I'd like that."
The sound of approaching footsteps pulls us apart. Damiano appears in the doorway, his imposing frame filling the space. His dark eyes move from me to Lucrezia, then back again, taking in my slightly reddened eyes.
"Everything okay here?" he asks, his tone carefully neutral but his gaze sharp and assessing.
"Everything's fine," I answer quickly, straightening my posture. I brush my hand across my face, erasing any lingering evidence of tears. "Just girl talk."
Lucrezia rises from the bed, smoothing her paint-spattered jeans. "Where are you off to, fratello? You look like a man on a mission."
Damiano's eyes linger on me for another moment before shifting to his sister. "Meeting with Enzo in my office. Business matters."
"Ooh," Lucrezia's face brightens. "Can I come? I've been cooped up in the studio all day, and I'm curious about what's happening with the—"
"No," Damiano cuts her off, his tone leaving no room for argument. "Not this time, Lucrezia."
I watch as Lucrezia's smile fades, replaced by a flash of hurt that she quickly masks with practiced ease.
"Fine," she sighs dramatically, tossing her dark hair over her shoulder. "Keep your boring business secrets. I'll just go back to creating actual beauty in this world instead."
Damiano's expression softens slightly. "We'll finish this discussion later," he tells her, then turns his attention back to me. His eyes narrow almost imperceptibly. "I'll see you at dinner, Zoe."
It's not a question but a statement—an expectation.
I nod, feeling the weight of his gaze.
As Damiano's footsteps fade down the hallway, I notice Lucrezia's shoulders slump slightly.
"He always does that," she mutters, her fingers absently tracing patterns on my bedspread. "Keeps me away from anything important."
I study her face—the brief flash of disappointment that she's unsuccessfully trying to hide. The way she bites her lower lip just like Damiano does when he's holding something back.
"You know what?" I say, making a quick decision. "Forget about the portrait for now. Let's go make milkshakes instead."
Her eyes widen in surprise. "Really?"
"Really. And while we're at it, you can tell me what exactly Damiano was keeping from you just now." I stand up and smooth my clothes. "If you want to, that is."
A smile blooms across her face, bright as sunshine after rain. "Are you serious? You actually want to know?"
"Of course. I'm curious too."
Lucrezia jumps up from the bed with newfound energy. "You're officially my favorite person in this house." She grabs my hand, pulling me toward the door. "Come on, Ettore makes the best milkshakes, but he's visiting his sister today, so we'll have to manage ourselves."