Alessio's already on his feet, hand moving instinctively toward the gun beneath his jacket. The way Enzo burst in, it could only mean trouble—serious trouble.
Enzo slams a folder down on my desk, sending papers flying. "You need to see this. Now."
"Jesus Christ, Enzo," I growl, but when I meet his eyes, the words die in my throat. Whatever this is, it's bad.
His voice drops low, almost a whisper. "It's aboutZoe."
FUCK ME.
I trail behind Lucrezia as she flits from one designer boutique to another, her enthusiasm for fashion a stark contrast to the turmoil in my mind. The mall bustles with life around us, but I feel oddly detached from it all. Even the ever-present guards, hovering just out of earshot, seem like part of another world.
"Zoe, look at this dress! Wouldn't it be perfect for the charity gala next month?" Lucrezia's voice pulls me back to the present.
I force a smile, nodding in agreement. "It's beautiful, Lucrezia. You should definitely try it on."
As she disappears into the fitting room, I sink onto a plush velvet ottoman, my mind racing. I need to talk to Lucrezia, to find out what she knows about Bianca and my father. But how can I broach such a sensitive topic without raising suspicion?
The guards shift positions, their watchful eyes a constant reminder of the delicate situation I'm in. This shopping trip, our little escape from the Feretti mansion, suddenly feels like a missed opportunity. Here, away from Damiano and the others, I might have a chance to get some answers.
Lucrezia emerges, twirling in the dress. "What do you think?"
I stand, adjusting the fabric on her shoulder. "It's stunning on you," I say, then hesitate. "Lucrezia, can I ask you something?"
Her eyes meet mine in the mirror, curiosity flickering across her face. "Of course, what is it?"
I open my mouth, then close it again, the words sticking in my throat. How do I even begin?
"Actually, Damiano told me about Bianca," I say, watching Lucrezia's reflection carefully.
Her shoulders tense, and she turns to face me. "He did?"
"Yeah. He opened up about what happened to her." I sink back onto the ottoman, patting the space beside me. "I was hoping to hear your perspective on it all."
Lucrezia sits, smoothing her dress. "What exactly did he tell you?"
"That she was killed on Thanksgiving, twelve years ago. That Damiano killed the man responsible." I pause, studying her reaction. "He seemed different when he talked about it. More vulnerable than I've ever seen him."
"That was the worst day of our lives. Well, the worst after our parents death." Lucrezia's fingers twist in her lap. "Damiano was never the same after that. He shut down completely, wouldn't talk about it with anyone. Not even me or Enzo."
"So he never discussed the details with you?"
"No. I just know that Damiano killed that man. They don't tell me much you know." She shakes her head.
I reach for her hand, genuine sympathy mixing with my need for information. "I'm so sorry, Lucrezia. It must have been horrible."
"It was." She squeezes my hand. "But you know what's strange? You're the first person he's talked to about it since it happened. He must really trust you, Zoe."
Her words hit hard.
Trust.
The one thing I came here to betray.
As Lucrezia's words sink in, my mind races. The details align with what Damiano told me, but somethingstill feels off. I can't shake the feeling that there's more to this story, something crucial I'm missing.
"Zoe? Are you okay?" Lucrezia's concerned voice breaks through my thoughts.
I blink, realizing I've been staring blankly at the mirror. "Oh, I'm fine," I stammer, trying to gather myself. "Just feeling a bit strange, that's all."
