Chapter 15 #2
I look at Damiano, measuring his mood. He's guarded but not hostile this morning. Maybe I can use this opportunity.
"Actually," I say, shifting my tone to something lighter, "since I'm here, I was wondering if I could check out your library collection."
Damiano raises an eyebrow. "My library?"
"Yes." I gesture to the floor-to-ceiling bookshelves lining one wall of his office. "Lucrezia mentioned you have quite the collection."
His expression turns skeptical. "Suddenly interested in my reading preferences?"
I shrug, trying to appear casual. "Is that so strange? We're living in the same house. Might as well know something about each other beyond our mutual dislike."
"Mutual dislike?" His lips quirk upward. "Is that what you feel toward me?"
I ignore his question and move toward the bookshelves, running my fingers along the leather-bound spines. "These are beautiful editions. First-print Hemingway? I'm impressed."
Damiano watches me carefully as I browse, but doesn't stop me. "You know your books."
"My father loved literature." The words slip out before I can catch them. "He still does, but he doesn't have much time to spend on books anymore." I quickly move to another shelf, hoping he doesn't notice my momentary vulnerability.
The bug sits like a tiny weight in my pocket. I need to place it somewhere it won't be found during their monthly security sweeps—Lucrezia had mentioned them so casually when I asked about the family's security procedures, not realizing how valuable that information was to me.
I pull out a thick volume on Italian history, pretending to examine it while sliding the bug into the binding where the cover meets the spine. With practiced movements, I tuck it deep enough that it won't be visible but will still pick up conversations.
"Find something interesting?" Damiano asks, suddenly close behind me. I didn't hear him move.
I turn, book in hand, forcing myself not to look guilty. "This one looks fascinating. Do you mind if I borrow it?"
"That particular volume rarely leaves this room," he says, taking it from my hands. "Family records intertwined with history. Not exactly bedtime reading."
"Oh." I recover quickly. "Any recommendations then? Something that might help me understand this family better?"
Damiano studies me for a long moment before replacing the book on the shelf—bug still intact. Relief floods through me.
He selects another volume and hands it to me. "Try this instead. Machiavelli. Seems appropriate for your... interests."
I take the book, wondering if he's toying with me. "Thank you. I'll let you get back to work."
As I turn to leave, the weight of what I've accomplished sits heavy in my chest. The bug is planted. Now I just need to wait and listen.
I watch Zoe leave, her back rigid with defiance, chin lifted in that way that makes me want to grab her and—
The door closes behind her. I head back in the desk. I lean back in my chair and exhale slowly, tension coiled through my body.
This woman will be the death of me.
When I first agreed to this marriage arrangement, I expected a timid socialite or maybe a calculating gold-digger. What I got instead was pure fucking fire wrapped in expensive silk.
I run a hand over my face, remembering the way she leaned against my desk just now, challenging me with those green eyes. Most people can't even look me in the eye, let alone push back against me the way she does.
"Mansplain," I mutter, shaking my head. The audacity of this woman.
But that's what makes her so goddamn interesting. She's not afraid of me. Even knowing what I am, what I do, she stands her ground.
I reach for the glass of water on my desk, taking a long swallow. This wasn't part of the plan. Wanting her wasn't part of the plan. She was supposed to be a chess piece, a move in a larger game with Easton.
Now I find myself thinking about her when I should be focused on business. Wondering what she's doing, what she's thinking.
Fuck.
Lucrezia was right. There's something different about Zoe. Something that gets under my skin like no woman has since Bianca.
That thought brings me up short. Since Bianca...
I push away from my desk, suddenly needing to move.
The comparison unsettles me. What I had with Bianca was real—love built over years, not this strange tension with a woman thrust into my life through a business arrangement.
I get out of the office heading to Lucrezia's room. She can help me better than anyone.
I fist my hand and knock on Lucrezia's door, not waiting for a response before pushing it open. My sister is sprawled across her bed, sketchbook in hand, charcoal smudges on her fingers.
"Don't you ever wait for permission to enter?" she asks without looking up from her drawing.
"No," I reply flatly, leaning against her doorframe. "I need you to take Zoe shopping for the gala."
This gets her attention. Lucrezia's head snaps up, eyes bright with interest. "Shopping?"
"Yes, with your credit card. My credit card. Whatever." I wave a dismissive hand. "Make sure she chooses something appropriate for the occasion."
Lucrezia sits up, setting her sketchbook aside. "Define 'appropriate' in your caveman vocabulary. Do you mean something that covers her from neck to ankle like a nun?"
"I mean something that doesn't make every man in the room forget she's my wife," I snap, remembering the red dress from last night, how it clung to every curve. How other men had looked at her. "Something elegant. Sophisticated."
My sister laughs, the sound light and mocking. "Have you met Zoe? She's not going to listen to me if I try to dictate what she wears."
"Then find a way to convince her." I push off from the doorframe, stepping into the room. "This gala is important, Lucrezia. There will be people watching us, looking for any sign of weakness."
"God forbid anyone think the great Damiano Feretti doesn't control every aspect of his wife's existence," she mutters, rolling her eyes.
I feel my jaw tighten. "This isn't about control. It's about safety."
"Is it?" Lucrezia challenges, giving me a knowing look.
"Yes," I insist, though the heat crawling up my neck suggests otherwise.
My sister sighs dramatically. "Fine. I'll try. But I'm not making any promises. Zoe has her own mind." A mischievous smile crosses her face. "That's why you like her."
"I don't—" I start to protest, but Lucrezia cuts me off.
"Please. I see how you look at her when you think no one's watching."
I go silent, refusing to dignify that with a response.
"I'll take her shopping," Lucrezia concedes, "but I won't be your fashion police. If she wants something that makes your blood pressure spike, that's between you and your cardiologist."
I leave Lucrezia's room without a word, her laughter still ringing in my ears. Damn her for seeing through me so easily. It's always been that way—even as a child, she could read me better than anyone.
Halfway down the hall, I spot Enzo leaning against the wall, scrolling through his phone. He looks up as I approach, one eyebrow raised.
"Everything okay?" he asks, pocketing his phone.
"Fine," I reply curtly, continuing past him toward my office.
Enzo falls into step beside me. "You don't look fine. You look like you're about to put your fist through a wall."
I clench my jaw, refusing to give him the satisfaction of confirming his observation. "Just business as usual."
"Business as usual," he repeats, not bothering to hide his skepticism. "Nothing to do with your new bride, then?"
I stop walking and turn to face him. "What are you getting at, Enzo?"
A knowing smirk crosses his face. "Just checking if you can handle your little wife. She seems to be giving you quite the... challenge."
"I can handle Zoe just fine," I snap, the words coming out sharper than intended.
Enzo's smirk fades, his expression becoming serious. "Just make sure you're careful at the gala. That place will be crawling with enemies pretending to be friends."
"I'm always careful," I reply, continuing toward my office. Enzo follows, his footsteps echoing mine on the marble floor.
"I want at least three of our men with you," he says. "Daniel and two others, positioned strategically around the room."
I nod, appreciating his concern despite my annoyance. "I planned on it. The Volkovs will be there, and Navarro's people. Everyone watching, waiting for a slip."
"Exactly." Enzo leans against the doorframe as I enter my office. "Byron will be there too, no doubt. First public appearance with his daughter since the wedding."
The mention of Byron makes my jaw clench. "All the more reason for extra security."
I turn to face my brother, studying him. Despite his casual stance, I notice the tension in his shoulders. Enzo's always been meticulous about security—a trait that's kept us alive more than once.
"You want to join us?" I ask. "Keep an eye on things personally?"
Enzo's expression shifts, and I catch a flicker of amusement in his eyes. "Actually, I promised Lucrezia I'd watch Gossip Girl with her. We're halfway through season three."
I stare at him, not sure if I've heard correctly. "You're choosing a teenage drama over security at a high-risk event?"
"It's not just any teenage drama," he defends with mock seriousness. "And Daniel's team is more than capable. Besides, someone needs to stay behind and mind the house."
"Gossip Girl," I repeat, shaking my head. "This is what the Feretti empire has come to."
"Hey, don't knock it until you try it. The scheming in that show would put half our business rivals to shame." He pushes off from the doorframe. "Just make sure Daniel has the details for tomorrow. I want their positions mapped out, communications checked, and exit routes confirmed."
"Already handled," I say, moving behind my desk.