Alessio moves closer, his voice lowered. "Damiano, we need to consider all our options."
"I'm listening," I growl, though my mind is already racing through scenarios, each one bloodier than the last.
"Zoe might be the key to drawing him out." Alessio says, his thumb tracing his bottom lip thoughtfully.
My head snaps up, fury coursing through me. "She's not a fucking bargaining chip."
"She's been playing you for months," Alessio counters, unflinching in the face of my rage. "Using her against Byron is exactly what we need right now."
"And do what? Threaten her? Torture her?" The words taste like poison. "She's Bianca's killer's daughter, but she's still—" I cut myself off, unable to finish the thought.
Alessio waits, watching me with those calculating eyes of his. "Still what, Damiano? Still the woman you fell for? The one who was planning to destroy everything we've built?"
I turn away, pacing the concrete floor. The bound men watch our exchange with wary eyes.
"She must know where he's hiding," Alessio continues. "Byron wouldn't leave her completely in the dark. She's his insurance policy."
"And what if she doesn't know?" I challenge, though doubt creeps in. "What if Byron kept her on a need-to-know basis? What then?"
Alessio shrugs. "Then we find another way. But we have to try. For Bianca."
That name hits me like a physical blow. Bianca. My pregnant fiancée. The woman whose murderer's daughter I've been fucking. The irony would be laughable if it wasn't so goddamn tragic.
"Fuck," I mutter, rubbing my face with my hands. The anger's still there, but something else creepsin—cold, calculating strategy. The part of me that's survived in this world for so long.
"Fine." I say.
"But no one touches her, but me."
CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO
The sound of the basement door unlocking jolts me from my restless sleep. My heart hammers as I push myself up from the thin mattress, bracing for Damiano's rage or Alessio's cold judgment.
Instead, Lucrezia's worried face appears in the doorway.
"Lucrezia?" I whisper, hardly believing she's here.
She slips inside quickly, closing the door behind her.
"Shh," she warns, pressing a finger to her lips as she hurries toward me. "We don't have much time."
Her fingers clutch a key—the second key to my cell that must have been in Damiano's office. She's wearing black leggings and a hoodie, her hair hastily pulled back.
"How did you?—"
"I told Samuel I heard something in the garage," she whispers, kneeling beside my cot. "He's guarding the hallway, but he'll check eventually."
I stare at her in disbelief. "You're helping me? After knowing who my father was?"
Lucrezia takes my hands in hers, her grip surprisingly strong. "That's why I'm here. I need to know, Zoe. I need to hear it from you." Her voice cracks slightly. "Did you know? About your father and Bianca?"
"No," I shake my head vehemently, gripping her hands tight. "I swear to you, I didn't know. Byron told me Damiano killed my father in Manhattan that night—the same night Bianca died. He raised me to believe your brother murdered my father over a drug shipment."
Lucrezia searches my face, looking for any sign of deception.
"Byron took me in when I was thirteen," I continue, the words pouring out now. "He showed me police reports, witness statements—all saying Damiano was responsible. For twelve years, I believed him." My voice breaks. "I came here for revenge, yes, but Lucrezia, I didn't know about Bianca. I didn't know my father was involved."
"And now?" she asks softly. "Now that you know what your father did to our family?"
