I wait until Enzo gives me the nod, then answer on speaker. "Feretti."
"Damiano, it's me."
Relief crashes through me like a tidal wave. "Lucrezia! Where the fuck are you? Are you hurt? "
"We're safe," she cuts in. "Both of us."
"Tell me where you are. I'll send cars immediately."
"That's not happening, fratello." Her voice is firm. "Not until you agree to listen."
"Listen?" The relief morphs instantly back to rage. "You stole my prisoner and disappeared with her! Do you have any fucking idea?—"
"She's not a prisoner, she's your wife," Lucrezia snaps. "And she has something to tell you about what really happened that night."
I slam my fist against the desk. "She's a fucking liar! She's Michael Travis's daughter. Her father?—"
Lucrezia's voice cuts through my fury. "You need to hear her out, Damiano."
"Bring her back now, Lucrezia," I growl. "This isn't a fucking game."
"No, it's not. It's the truth. And until you're ready to hear it, we're staying where we are."
"Lucrezia—"
The line goes dead.
"FUCK!" I roar, slamming the phone down.
"Did we get a trace?" I demand, turning to Enzo who's just returned.
He shakes his head. "Burner phone. Signal bounced all over the city."
I pace the office like a caged animal, rage and fear warring inside me. My hand throbs where I punched the bookcase earlier, but the pain barely registers.
"She could be anywhere," I mutter, running my fingers through my hair. "Anywhere in this fucking city."
Enzo watches me from the doorway, his face grim. "We'll find them, Damiano."
"Will we?" I turn on him, voice sharp. "We don't even know who to look for. I don't know a fucking thing about her life before she came here."
All this time, I've been so focused on what Zoe might learn about me, about my business, about my family—I never considered what I didn't know about her.
"I don't know her friends. I don't know where she went to school. I don't know her favorite places in the city." Each admission feels like swallowing broken glass. "I let her into my bed, into my life, and I don't know a goddamn thing about her."
Alessio appears in the doorway beside Enzo. "We're going through her call logs now. Most were to Byron, but there were regular calls to someone named Scarlett."
"Scarlett?" I stop pacing. "Who the fuck is Scarlett?"
"Working on it," Alessio says. "No last name in the contacts."
"Jesus Christ." I drop into my chair, disgust rising in my throat. All those nights holding her, all those moments I thought we were connecting—while she was reporting back to Easton, plotting my destruction.
"I was so fucking blind," I say, my voice barely recognizable to my own ears. "I let her get close because I wanted to believe she was different."
Enzo steps into the room. "You couldn't have known?—"
"I should have known!" I slam my hand on the desk. "You were right to investigate her. You were right about everything, and I was too busy thinking with my dick to see what was right in front of me."
