Chapter 19
CHAPTER NINETEEN
Iwake to sunlight streaming through my bedroom windows, empty space beside me where Zoe had been.
Something shifts in my chest—unfamiliar, unwelcome. I push it down and head for the shower.
By nine, I'm in my office reviewing shipment reports when Alessio knocks and enters without waiting for my response. His eyes sweep over me, taking in what must be the closest thing to contentment I've shown in years.
"You look different this morning," he says, settling into the chair across from my desk.
"And you look like you have news," I deflect. "The Sartori meeting?"
Alessio nods, a slight smile playing at his lips. "It's arranged. Riccardo is interested in our proposal for a joint casino venture. Could be very profitable for both families."
"When and where?"
"That's the thing," Alessio says, leaning forward. "He wants to host at his estate in Chicago. Friday."
I drum my fingers on the desk. "What's your read on this?"
"The Sartoris have always played fair. It's why we approached them in the first place." He pushes a folder across my desk. "Preliminary financials. The projections look good—better than good."
I flip through the papers, scanning the numbers. "And he specifically requested..."
"That you bring Zoe," Alessio confirms. "Riccardo's wife, Ava, apparently wants to meet her. The Sartoris are traditional—family means everything to them."
I lean back in my chair, considering the implications. Taking Zoe means introducing her as my wife to one of our most important potential allies. The Sartoris will expect a united front, a real marriage.
"The timing works," I decide. "We need this alliance, and the casino would give us legitimacy with certain circles that have been... resistant."
Alessio nods, standing. "I'll handle the preparations. We'll need to leave Friday morning."
I nod as Alessio is about to leave. "I'll find Zoe and tell her about the trip. We'll need to prepare her for what to expect from the Sartoris."
After Alessio leaves, I get out of my office to go find Zoe.
I find her and Lucrezia in the living room, huddled together on the sofa laughing over something on Lucrezia's phone.
Zoe notices me first, her smile fading slightly as our eyes lock.
"Damiano!" Lucrezia exclaims, oblivious to the tension. "You have to see this TikTok of—"
"Later, sorella," I interrupt, keeping my eyes on Zoe. "I need to speak with Zoe. Alone."
Lucrezia's eyes dart between us, a knowing smirk forming. "Sure thing. I'll just..." She stands, patting Zoe's knee. "Text me when you're done with whatever this is."
As Lucrezia sashays past me, she whispers, "Be nice," just loud enough for me to hear.
When the door closes behind her, silence fills the room. Zoe sits straighter, lifting her chin in that defiant way that simultaneously irritates and arouses me.
"We need to talk," I say, moving to sit across from her.
I settle into the chair across from Zoe, studying her face.
"We're taking a trip to Chicago," I say, watching her reaction carefully. "Business."
Zoe's eyebrow arches. "Chicago?"
"We have a meeting with the Sartori family." I run my thumb along my bottom lip, considering how much to tell her. "Riccardo Sartori runs the Chicago territory. Our families have maintained a respectful distance for years, but we've been discussing a potential partnership."
"Who is Sartori exactly?" Zoe asks, leaning forward slightly. "And when are we supposed to go there?"
"He's one of the most powerful men in the Midwest." I watch her process this information. "The Sartori family controls everything from Detroit to Milwaukee. Old Italian blood, traditional values. Riccardo inherited the business from his father about eleven years ago."
"And we're going... when exactly?"
"Friday morning." I stand and move to the window, looking out at the gardens where we pay a small fortune to keep everything perfectly manicured. "It's a working dinner, and Riccardo specifically requested that I bring you."
Zoe's eyes narrow. "Why would he care if I'm there?"
"Because you're my wife." The word still feels strange on my tongue. "The Sartoris place enormous value on family bonds. They'll want to see us together, to measure our... compatibility."
"You mean you need me to play the loving wife again," she says flatly.
I turn back toward her. "Yes. But more convincingly than ever. The Sartoris aren't just business associates. If this partnership works, they become family in a sense."
Zoe gives me a calculated look, one I've come to recognize: measuring her words before speaking.
"We managed just fine at the gala," she says, crossing one leg over the other. "The cameras certainly seemed convinced. I think we can handle the Sartoris." Her lips curve slightly. "Besides, we're a bit closer now, aren't we?"
The reference to last night hangs between us. I study her, trying to read past that carefully constructed facade.
"That's up to you," I say, keeping my voice neutral. "I was under the impression last night was just a game for you."
Something flashes in her eyes—anger, perhaps, or pride.
"I don't play games with my body, Damiano." Her voice turns sharp, the words precise as knife points. "Whatever else you might think of me, I'm not someone who uses sex as a manipulation tactic."
I take a step back, surprised by the edge in her voice. Something shifts in her expression—hurt, maybe, behind that wall of defiance.
"That's not what I meant," I say, my voice softening. "Last night wasn't..." I run a hand through my hair, frustrated by my inability to find the right words. "I don't think you're playing games with me. Not like that."
Her eyes meet mine, searching for the truth.
Fuck it.
I cross the room in three strides, pull her to her feet, and cup her face in my hands. Before she can protest, I press my lips to her forehead, then her cheek, then the corner of her mouth.
"Damiano—" she starts to say, but I silence her with another kiss on her other cheek, her temple, the tip of her nose.
She stiffens at first, then something unexpected happens—she laughs. A real laugh that lights up her eyes and softens everything about her.
"What are you doing?" she asks, still laughing as I continue placing kisses all over her face.
"Convincing you," I murmur against her skin, "that I don't think you're playing games with me."
Her hands come up to my chest, not pushing me away but resting there. "You're ridiculous," she says, but there's no heat behind it.
I pull back enough to look at her, keeping my hands on her face. "Is it working?"
She rolls her eyes, but the smile doesn't leave her lips. "Maybe."
I lower my hands to her shoulders, suddenly aware of how natural this feels—this playfulness I haven't felt since Bianca.
"I'll do my best to behave at the dinner," she says, straightening my shirt collar with an absent gesture that seems too intimate, too real. "I know how to play the perfect wife when it matters."
"I know you do," I say, reluctantly stepping back. "Pack for the entire weekend when you'll find time. Something elegant for dinner Friday night."
I watch Damiano straighten his shoulders, his eyes darting to the antique clock on the mantel. The way he moves—always calculated, always precise—reminds me of a predator conserving energy for the hunt.
"I need to leave," he says, his voice returning to that businesslike tone. "I have a meeting with Enzo about the Chicago security arrangements."
I nod, settling back into the sofa. "Of course."
He hesitates, one hand on the doorknob. Without turning back, he adds, "You can wait for me in our room tonight."
My head snaps up. "Our room?" The words escape before I can stop them. "I wasn't aware we were redefining the sleeping arrangements."
Damiano turns slowly, his dark eyes studying me with an intensity that makes my skin warm.
"I want you there every night, Zoe." His voice drops lower, rougher around the edges. "Not just when we lose control in the kitchen."
"Is that an order, Don Feretti?" I ask, trying to keep my voice light despite the heaviness settling in my chest.
"No." He shakes his head, a flash of something almost vulnerable crossing his face. "It's what I want. There's a difference."
The admission hangs between us, unexpectedly honest in a relationship built on lies. I swallow hard, unsure how to navigate this new territory where Damiano asks rather than demands.
He leaves without another word, the door clicking shut behind him. I release a breath I didn't realize I'd been holding, pressing my hand against my racing heart.
I slip into my bedroom and lock the door behind me, my heart pounding against my ribs like a trapped bird.
My fingers tremble as I scroll to Scarlett's number. Two rings later, her cheerful voice filters through.
"Hey stranger! I was beginning to think you'd forgotten about me."
"Scar, I—" My voice cracks, and I sink onto the bed. "I need to talk."
The playfulness vanishes from her tone immediately. "What happened? Are you okay?"
"I slept with him." The words tumble out in a breathless rush. "With Damiano. Last night."
"What the fuck?" Scarlett's shriek is so loud I have to pull the phone away from my ear.
I wait through several seconds of stunned silence on the other end of the line. My heart hammers in my chest, the weight of my confession hanging heavy between us.
"So..." Scarlett finally says, her voice cautiously measured. "Was it at least worth it?"
"What?" I sputter, caught off guard by her question.
"You know what I mean," she continues, her tone shifting to something lighter. "How good was it? On a scale of one to 'holy shit I saw God'?"
A laugh bursts out of me, unexpected and almost hysterical. "Scarlett! That is so not helping right now!"
"What? It's a legitimate question!" she defends herself, and I can practically see her innocent shrug through the phone. "If you're going to sleep with the enemy, he'd better be delivering mind-blowing orgasms at minimum."
I press my palm against my forehead, laughing despite myself. "I cannot believe you right now. I call you in crisis mode and you want performance details?"
"Look, I'm just trying to establish some baselines here," she says pragmatically. "Like, was it worth potentially compromising your entire revenge mission?"
My laughter fades, reality crashing back. "That's exactly what I'm worried about, Scar. This wasn't supposed to happen. Not like this."
"Not like what?" she asks, her voice gentling.
I sink deeper into the bed, running my fingers through my hair. "I thought I was just getting closer to him for the mission, you know? Playing my part." I close my eyes, remembering his touch, how he looked at me. "But now everything's messed up."
"How so?" Scarlett asks gently.
"My training for revenge never included this scenario," I say, voice dropping to a whisper. "Byron never mentioned what to do when a monster treats you like you're the most important thing in the world."
"What do you mean?"
I stare at the ceiling, struggling to put words to the turmoil inside me. "When he touches me, it's like... he sees me. Not Byron's creation, not some weapon—just me. And I don't know how to handle that."
The silence stretches between us before Scarlett clears her throat. "Maybe he's just manipulating you too."
"Maybe." But the memory of Damiano's nightmare, his vulnerability when he asked me to stay, doesn't feel like manipulation. "It's just... complicated."
"So back to my original question," Scarlett says, shifting to a lighter tone. "How was it?"
A smile tugs at my lips despite myself. "It was... more than good." I can't help the playfulness that creeps into my voice, remembering the intensity, the way my body responded to his. "Like, way more than good."
"Oh my god, I need details—"
"Gotta go," I cut her off quickly, not ready to examine those memories too closely. "Someone's coming."
"Don't you dare hang up on me—"
I end the call before she can finish, tossing my phone onto the bed. There's no one coming—I just need space to think.
I press my palms against my eyes, trying to sort through the tangle of emotions. Hate and desire. Revenge and connection. The mission and... whatever happened last night.
Byron's voice echoes in my head: "Remember what he took from you."