Chapter 13
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
Isprawl on Lucrezia's plush velvet couch, stealing glances at her as she scrolls through Netflix options. After last night's intense car ride with Damiano, I need this distraction.
"Oh my god, you haven't seen Bridgerton?" Lucrezia's eyes widen. "That's it, we're starting right now."
"Is this the one with all the fancy dresses and scandal?"
"And the hot Duke." Lucrezia wiggles her eyebrows, curling up with a fluffy blanket. "Trust me, you'll love it."
The show starts playing and I sink deeper into the cushions. Lucrezia's room feels like an escape - all soft colors and artistic touches, so different from the stark masculine energy that fills the rest of the compound.
"Want some?" She offers me a bag of dark chocolate covered almonds.
I grab a handful, letting the chocolate melt on my tongue. "These are amazing."
"I hide them from Damiano. He always steals my snacks when he visits."
My stomach tightens at the mention of his name. "Does he come here often?"
"Almost every day." Lucrezia's eyes stay fixed on the screen. "He checks on me, makes sure I'm okay. Sometimes we just sit and talk."
The image of Damiano sitting in this cozy room, eating chocolate and chatting with his sister, doesn't match the man I thought I knew. I push the thought away, focusing on the drama unfolding on screen.
"Lady Whistledown is such a gossip," Lucrezia sighs. "Reminds me of some of those society wives at charity events. Always watching, always judging."
I pick another chocolate from Lucrezia's stash, savoring the rich flavor. On screen, the Bridgerton characters attend yet another lavish ball, all swirling dresses and twinkling lights.
Lucrezia sighs dramatically and pauses the show. "Don't you just wish we could go out and do something fun like that? Not some stuffy charity gala where everyone's watching their words, but somewhere we could actually enjoy ourselves."
"You sound like you have cabin fever," I say, noticing the restlessness in her movements as she fidgets with the remote.
"I'm dying here." She flops back against the cushions. "I've been stuck in this house forever. Do you know how long it's been since I've gone dancing? To a real club with music and people and energy?"
I sit up straighter. "There has to be somewhere we could go."
"Oh, there is." Her eyes light up. "Omertà. It's this amazing club my family owns downtown. Great music, incredible vibe..." Her excitement fades. "But Damiano would never let me go."
I watch her face fall, and something inside me shifts. The disappointment in her eyes reminds me of myself at thirteen, trapped in Byron's world of rules and restrictions.
"What if we ask him?" I suggest, surprising myself.
Lucrezia laughs, but it's hollow. "You don't know my brother. He'll shut it down immediately."
"Let me try." I stand up, smoothing my clothes. "I might have an angle that could work."
Lucrezia sits up straight. "Really? You'd do that?"
"Of course. We deserve some fun," I say and storm out of her room.
I march straight to Damiano's office, not bothering to knock. The heavy wooden door swings open with a satisfying bang as I stride in.
Damiano looks up from his desk, pen frozen mid-signature, those dark eyes narrowing at my intrusion. "By all means, make yourself at home."
"Lucrezia and I are going out tonight," I announce, crossing my arms over my chest.
"Is that so?" His voice is dangerously soft as he sets down his pen.
"Yes. We're going to Omertà. That club downtown."
His mouth quirks into something between a smirk and a sneer. "Are you asking permission or making an announcement?"
"I'm letting you know as a courtesy," I say, lifting my chin. "Lucrezia's been cooped up in this house forever. She deserves a night out."
Damiano leans back in his leather chair, the movement slow and predatory. "And you've decided to champion my sister's social life after knowing her for what—a week?"
"She needs this. We both do."
He actually laughs then, a deep rumble that sends an unwanted shiver down my spine. "There is absolutely no way I'm letting my sister and my wife walk into Omertà without protection."
"We'll take security—"
"You don't understand what kind of place it is." His voice hardens. "Every criminal in New York goes there. Every enemy I have would love to get their hands on either of you."
I step closer to his desk. "So what are we supposed to do? Stay locked in this fortress forever?"
"Not forever." His eyes rake over me with infuriating smugness. "Just until I say otherwise."
"That's ridiculous," I snap. "I'm not asking to wander alone through a bad neighborhood at midnight. It's a high-end club with security everywhere."
"You can go," he says suddenly, surprising me.
"Really?"
"If I join you."
My stomach drops. "That defeats the whole purpose."
"That's the deal, lupacchiotta." He stands, walking around the desk until he's right in front of me. "You want to go? Fine. But I'm coming with you."
We're standing so close I can smell his cologne—hell, it suits him. I take a small step back.
"Fine," I concede. "We'll go tonight. All three of us."
His eyebrow lifts. "That was easy."
"Don't get used to it." I turn to leave, then pause at the door. "Eleven o'clock."
"Fine." He says.
I turn and leave out of there.
I stride back to Lucrezia's room, barely able to contain my smirk. When I push open her door, she's sitting cross-legged on her bed, scrolling through her phone with anxious energy.
"Well?" she asks, looking up with wide eyes. "Did the execution already happen or are you just here to say goodbye before facing the firing squad?"
I flop down beside her. "We're going."
"What?" She bolts upright. "No way! What did you do? Blackmail him?"
"Not exactly." I roll onto my side to face her. "There's just one condition."
Her eyes narrow suspiciously. "Which is?"
"Your brother is coming with us."
Lucrezia stares at me for a beat before bursting into laughter. She falls back against her pillows, clutching her stomach. "Oh my god, he's going to be so mad!"
"Why?" I prop myself up on my elbow, confused by her reaction.
"Because we're going to dance all night long!" She sits up, eyes sparkling with mischief. "Damiano hates dancing. And he hates watching me dance with guys even more."
I can't help but laugh at the thought of stoic, serious Damiano surrounded by drunk dancers and pounding music. "So he'll just stand in a corner all night scowling?"
"Exactly! With his arms crossed, giving death glares to anyone who looks our way." She mimics his stern expression, making her face comically serious until we both dissolve into more laughter.
"We need to figure out what we're wearing," Lucrezia says, suddenly jumping off the bed and heading to her massive walk-in closet. "This requires serious planning."
I follow her into the closet, which is bigger than my entire bedroom at Byron's house. Racks of designer clothes stretch in every direction, organized by color.
"You can borrow anything you want," she says, already pulling out dresses and holding them against herself in front of a full-length mirror.
"Are you sure? I might have—"
"I'm positive." She turns and grabs my hands. "This is our first girls' night out! We need to look absolutely killer."
The genuine excitement in her eyes makes my chest tighten. I'm supposed to be using her to get to Damiano, but her friendship feels real in a way nothing has in years.
"What about this?" She holds up a sparkly silver mini dress. "You'd look amazing in this with your blonde hair."
I watch Zoe leave my office, the door closing behind her with a decisive click.
Fuck.
This woman knows exactly how to push my buttons without even trying. One minute she's storming into my office making demands, the next she's conceding with suspicious ease. Something about her throws me off balance in a way I haven't experienced since...
No.
I won't go there.
I drop back into my chair, the leather creaking under my weight.
Omertà. Of all the fucking places in New York, she wants to go to the one club where every criminal element in the city converges.
Where the Volkovs frequently do business.
Where the Colombians launder their cash.
Where at least three people have been killed in the back rooms this year alone.
And I just agreed to take her and Lucrezia there.
I grab my phone, scrolling until I find Enzo's number. We'll need extra security, positioned throughout the club. Men watching every entrance and exit. Eyes on Zoe and Lucrezia at all times.
My thumb hovers over the call button, but I don't press it. Instead, I set the phone down and press my palms against my eyes.
What the hell am I doing? When did I start jumping at her commands?
The incident at Byron's house replays in my mind. The way I defended her, challenged him. The vulnerability I showed in the car afterward. Fucking amateur move.
I'm letting her get under my skin. Reacting instead of calculating. It's not just unprofessional—it's dangerous.
A dark laugh escapes me. The mighty Don Feretti, thrown off his game by a blonde with fire in her eyes. My enemies would have a field day if they knew.
I stand and walk to the window, staring out at the manicured grounds of the estate. I've spent years building walls, keeping my emotions locked down tight where they can't interfere with business. Where they can't be used against me.
Yet here I am, failing to control my rage one minute and showing weakness the next. All because of a woman I've known for barely two weeks. A woman I should be treating as a strategic alliance, nothing more.
The truth hits me hard: I'm going to regret tonight. Not just allowing them to go to Omertà, but going with them. Two headstrong women determined to have fun at a club where I'll need to watch every shadow, analyze every face, anticipate every threat.
My pain in the ass lately—both of them.
I stand and walk to my desk, reaching for my phone again. This time, I don't hesitate to make the call.
"Daniel." His name is all I need to say.
"Sir." His response is immediate, efficient. Always ready.
"We're going to Omertà tonight. I need you with us."
"Us?"
"My wife and sister." The words feel strange on my tongue. My wife. A title without substance.
"Understood. What time?"
"Nine-thirty. We'll take the Bentley."
I disconnect the call, my mind already calculating potential threats.
Daniel Hayes isn't just my head of security—he's a fucking force of nature.
Six-foot-four of pure muscle and military precision.
The man spent years in Army Rangers before I convinced him to join my operation.
Took me months of persistent offers before he finally agreed.
Worth every fucking penny.
Daniel sees threats before they materialize. Moves like a shadow despite his size. And he's completely loyal—a quality worth more than gold in my world.
A knock at the door interrupts my thoughts.
"Enter."
Ginerva appears, carrying a small silver tray with a glass of water and two white pills.
"You asked for something for your headache, Don Feretti."
I nod, taking the pills from the tray. "Thank you, Ginerva."
Her eyes study my face for a moment, concern evident in her expression. But she doesn't pry, doesn't ask questions. She's been with our family since I was a boy—saw me grow up, saw my parents die, saw me take control when I was barely a man myself. She knows when to speak and when to remain silent.
After my parents were murdered, many of the staff left, afraid of the violence that had entered our home. Not Ginerva. She stayed, becoming the steady presence we needed when everything else was falling apart.
I swallow the pills, washing them down with the water.
"Will you be needing anything else, sir?" she asks.
"No. That will be all."
She turns to leave, then pauses at the door. "The young mistress seems to be settling in well." Her voice is carefully neutral, but I catch the subtle question underneath.
"She is," I reply, giving her nothing more.
Ginerva nods once, then leaves, closing the door quietly behind her.