This is the man who murdered my father.
This is the man I'm supposed to marry.
This is the man I've been trained to destroy.
I'd slipped back inside after he caught me at the pool, changed quickly, and positioned myself where I could observe without being seen. Byron insisted I know every detail about Feretti, including how he carries himself when he thinks no one's watching.
Right now, Feretti moves with contained power, like a caged animal that chooses not to strike—yet. His consigliere follows a step behind, scanning the surroundings with practiced vigilance. They've clearly had a tense meeting. The rigid set of Feretti's shoulders tells me Byron has already made his proposition.
Just before sliding into his Aston Martin, Feretti pauses. He turns, looking back at the house, as though sensing my presence. His eyes sweep across the windows until?—
They lock directly on mine.
My breath catches. I'm certain I'm hidden, yet somehow he's found me. A slow, knowing smirk spreads across Feretti's face.
I step back immediately, letting the curtain fall. My heart hammers against my ribs, and I press my palm against my chest, willing it to steady. The sound of the car engine growls to life outside, then fades down the driveway.
I wait exactly ten minutes before making the call. My best friend—Scarlett—keeps ridiculous hours at the hospital, and I've memorized her rotation schedule better than my own appointments.
The phone rings twice before she picks up.
"Zoe! I was just thinking about you. Hold on—" There's a shuffling sound, the background noise of a busy hospital fading. "Okay, I'm in the break room now. What's up?"
Just hearing Scarlett's voice loosens the knot in my chest. We met during my brief stint at Columbia before Byron pulled me out, claiming I needed specialized tutoring that better suited my "future role." Scarlett was the only friendship Byron couldn't completely sever, though he tried. Even now, his security detailkeeps tabs on our meetups, which is why we see each other so rarely in person.
"Scar, I..." The words stick in my throat. How do I even begin?
"Uh-oh. That's your 'Byron's being especially Byron' voice," Scarlett says. "What happened?"
I sink onto the window seat, pressing my forehead against the cool glass. "Remember how I told you Byron's been especially focused on business lately?"
"The mysterious meetings you're not allowed to know about? Yeah."
"Well, turns out I'm central to his plans." I take a deep breath. "He wants me to get married."
"WHAT?" Scarlett nearly shouts. "To who?"
I close my eyes, the name bitter on my tongue. "Damiano Feretti."
The silence that follows stretches so long I check to make sure we haven't been disconnected.
"The man who killed your father?" Scarlett finally whispers.
"The very same." I've never kept that part of my history from Scarlett, though I've shielded her from the darker elements of Byron's world. She knows my father was murdered, knows who did it, but not the complex web of vengeance Byron has been weaving all these years.
"Zoe, you can't be serious. Tell Byron to go to hell."
I laugh without humor. "If only it were that simple."
"It is that simple. You're twenty-five, not some medieval princess. He can't actually force you to marry anyone."
But he can, in all the ways that matter. Byron Easton doesn't need physical chains to keep someone bound to him.
"It's complicated, Scar."
"Uncomplicate it for me." Her voice softens. "This is me you're talking to, remember? The one person in your life Byron doesn't control."
That's exactly why I've kept her at arm's length from all this. Scarlett is my one untainted connection to normalcy, the only relationship in my life not poisoned by Byron's influence or mafia politics. I've protected her from this world for years.
