Chapter 15
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
The morning light streams through the curtains as my phone buzzes on the nightstand. Byron's name flashes across the screen, sending a jolt of tension through my body. I take a deep breath before answering.
"Hello?"
"Zoe." Byron's voice comes through crisp and expectant. "How are things progressing in the Feretti household?"
I sit up against the headboard, pulling the sheets around me. "I'm still working on it. These things take time."
"Time?" His tone sharpens. "It's been weeks now. You should have something useful for me."
"I'm trying to gain his trust," I say, keeping my voice steady despite the knot forming in my stomach. "Damiano doesn't exactly open up easily."
"As a woman, you have certain advantages at your disposal." Byron's words drip with suggestion. "Ways to make a man trust you, share his secrets."
My fingers tighten around the phone. "I'm not sleeping with him."
"Don't be dramatic, Zoe. I raised you to be practical."
"Practical doesn't mean prostituting myself," I snap.
I grip the phone tighter as Byron's words claw at my insides. His demand that I use my body as a weapon is nothing new, but it still makes me feel hollow.
"What about the dinner?" Byron asks, his voice shifting to something lighter, almost eager. "Did he mention anything about our evening together?"
I close my eyes, remembering Damiano's fury as we left Byron's house. A small smile tugs at my lips despite myself.
"You played your part well," I admit. "He was furious."
"Good." I can hear the satisfaction in Byron's voice. "Men like Feretti are easy to manipulate when their pride is wounded."
"He didn't like the way you spoke to me," I say, my words carefully chosen. "He made that clear on the drive home."
Byron chuckles. "Perfect. The more protective he feels, the more he'll let his guard down around you."
Every interaction is a game to Byron—even the ones where he pretended to care for me growing up.
"Look, I'm making progress. Lucrezia trusts me. I've been observing their business meetings. But rushing this will only make Damiano suspicious." I say, hoping he will be pleased for now.
Byron sighs, the sound heavy with disappointment. "I didn't spend years preparing you for half measures."
The familiar ache spreads through my chest. "I remember every day."
"Good. Then don't forget why you're there." His voice softens to that fatherly tone that always makes me doubt myself. "Call me when you have something worth reporting."
The line goes dead before I can respond.
I throw the phone onto the bed, my hands shaking with anger—at Byron, at Damiano, at myself for the doubt creeping into my resolve.
No matter how much I hate Damiano for what he did to my father, I can't bring myself to cross that line. The memory of last night flashes through my mind—his hands on my skin, the way my body responded against my will. The heat rises to my cheeks as I remember how close I came to giving in.
That's exactly why it's too dangerous. If I let Damiano touch me like that again, I might lose myself in the moment. I might forget why I'm here. And then what would all these years of preparation be worth?
I swing my legs over the side of the bed and pace across the room, my thoughts racing. There has to be another way to get the information Byron wants without compromising myself further.
Lucrezia trusts me. She's already shared things about Damiano's protective nature. But I need more—business details, security weaknesses, financial information. Things that would actually help Byron take down the Feretti empire.
Think, Zoe.
Damiano's office. That's where the real information would be. If I could get access to his computer, his files... but he's too careful. He wouldn't leave anything important unlocked.
Then I remember something. During dinner conversations, Damiano mentioned a charity gala coming up this weekend—some high-profile event where all the important families in New York would be present. Including the Ferettis.
If everyone's out of the house, maybe I'd have a chance to search Damiano's office without interference.
I need to act fast. Byron's patience is wearing thin, and I don't want to find out what happens if I fail him. The thought sends a chill down my spine.
But I also need to be smart about this. One wrong move and Damiano will see through me. And if that happens...
A knock at the door interrupts my planning. When I open it, Ginerva stands there, hands folded neatly at her waist.
"Signora, the Don requests your presence in his office," she says, her tone gentle despite delivering what feels like a summoning.
My stomach tightens. "Did he say what it's about?"
"No, signora. Just that he wishes to see you now." Her eyes hold a hint of sympathy.
Perfect timing. After what happened between us last night, seeing Damiano is the last thing I want. But refusing would only make things worse.
"Thank you, Ginerva. Tell him I'll be there shortly."
After she leaves, I stand frozen for a moment.
I pull on a modest navy blue dress with a high neckline, armoring myself against whatever's coming. The reflection in the mirror shows a woman trying desperately to appear composed when she's anything but.
My heart pounds as I walk the long hallway to his office. What does he want?
I pause outside his door, drawing in a deep breath. Remember why you're here, I tell myself. This man killed your father. Whatever game he's playing, you need to stay focused.
I knock twice, the sound echoing in the quiet hallway.
"Enter." His voice sends an involuntary shiver down my spine.
I push the door open to find Damiano behind his massive desk, dark eyes lifting to meet mine. The morning light streaming through the windows highlights the sharp angles of his face, the shadows under his eyes suggesting he slept as poorly as I did.
I step into the office, my shoulders back and head held high despite the tension between us. His eyes follow me as I cross the room, and there's a glint of amusement on his expression today that wasn't there before.
"Good morning," I say, keeping my voice neutral.
Damiano leans back in his leather chair, lips curling into a smirk. "Did you sleep well, Zoe?" The question sounds innocent enough, but the way he emphasizes "sleep" makes it clear he's referring to our encounter last night.
Heat rushes to my cheeks, but I refuse to let him see he's affected me.
"Wonderfully," I reply with a sweet smile. "Like a baby, actually. How about you?" I take a seat across from him without being invited, crossing my legs slowly. "You look tired. Rough night?"
His eyes narrow slightly, but the smirk remains. "I had some... unfinished business on my mind."
"Oh? That's too bad." I examine my nails casually. "I find a good book helps when I can't sleep. Maybe you should try reading instead of... prowling around the house at night."
Damiano's laugh is low and rich, sending an involuntary shiver down my spine. "Funny you should mention books. I seem to recall interrupting your reading of Sun Tzu. Perhaps you need a different kind of literature before bed."
"Do you have recommendations?" I ask, leaning forward slightly. "Something less... hands-on than what you were suggesting?"
His eyes darken at my words, but his playful mood doesn't falter. "I have many recommendations, lupacchiotta. But I doubt you're ready for any of them."
I raise an eyebrow at the nickname. "You might be surprised what I'm ready for, Damiano."
Damiano keeps staring at me, his dark eyes revealing nothing. The silence stretches between us, making me increasingly uncomfortable. I resist the urge to fidget under his intense gaze.
Finally, he leans forward, resting his forearms on his desk. "We're attending a gala this weekend."
"A gala?" I repeat, caught off guard. My mind races back to my earlier thoughts about searching his office during the event. Now that plan is shot.
"The Rossi Foundation Charity Gala," he clarifies, watching my reaction carefully. "Everyone who matters in New York will be there."
I manage to keep my expression neutral despite my disappointment. "I see. And you want me to accompany you?"
His lips twitch with amusement. "You are my wife, are you not? Of course you'll accompany me."
"You could have just sent me a calendar invite," I say dryly. "You didn't need to summon me to your office."
"I wanted to make something clear." Damiano's voice drops lower. "At this gala, we need to be convincing. You need to play the role of adoring wife perfectly. No defiance, no sharp comments. Just a woman madly in love with her husband."
I arch an eyebrow. "Are you worried I can't pull it off?"
"Can you?" he challenges.
I stand and circle his desk slowly, my fingers trailing along the polished wood. When I reach his side, I lean against the edge, close enough that he has to look up at me.
"I can be very convincing when I want to be," I say softly. "Don't worry about my performance, Damiano. I know exactly how to play a woman in love."
His eyes darken as they travel over my face. "Do you now?"
"It's easy enough." I shrug one shoulder. "Lingering touches, adoring glances, hanging on your every word." I let my fingertips brush against his shoulder. "Trust me, no one will question our relationship."
"Good." He captures my wrist, his grip firm but not painful. "Because there will be people watching us very carefully. People who would love nothing more than to find weakness in our alliance."
I pull my wrist from his grip, my patience wearing thin. "I understood it already the first time you said so, Damiano. I'm not stupid."
The condescension in his tone grates on my nerves. For weeks, he's been treating me like some naive child who can't grasp basic concepts.
"I know what's at stake here," I continue, stepping back from his desk. "I understand the importance of appearances better than most people."