I sink onto the couch, staring blankly at the wall. Scarlett busies herself in the kitchen, the clattering of cups a welcome distraction.
Lucrezia sits beside me, removing her blonde wig and glasses. Her expression is serious, all playfulness gone.
"Zoe," she says quietly, "you need to tell Damiano."
I snap my head toward her, heat rising in my cheeks. "Absolutely not."
"He has a right to know," she insists. "This is his child too."
"His right?" I laugh bitterly. "He locked me in a basement cell! He wouldn't even listen to me!"
"Because he was hurt and angry. You lied to him for months."
"Because Byron lied to me for years!" My voice rises sharply.
Lucrezia reaches for my hand, but I pull away, standing abruptly.
"I won't use this baby to manipulate him," I say, wrapping my arms protectively around my stomach. "I won't be like Byron, using people as pawns."
"That's not what I meant?—"
"Isn't it? Tell Damiano so he'll feel sorry for me? So he'll listen? I don't want his pity, Lucrezia." My voice cracks with emotion. "I don't want him to tolerate mebecause I'm carrying his child. I want him to believe me because it's the truth."
"This isn't about pity, Zoe," Lucrezia says firmly. "This is about family. Damiano values nothing more than family."
"A family built on lies isn't a family at all," I say, blinking back tears. "I would know."
I slam my fist into the man's already broken jaw, blood splattering across the concrete floor of the warehouse. His head lolls to the side, consciousness barely hanging by a thread.
"Where is Byron hiding?" My voice echoes off the metal walls. "One more time before I start breaking fingers."
The man—James or John or whatever the fuck his name is—sobs through shattered teeth. "I swear to God, I don't know. He doesn't tell us anything."
Rage burns through my veins as I grab a pair of pliers from the metal tray beside me. His eyes widen in terror, tears mixing with blood on his swollen face.
"Please," he whimpers. "I'm just security.We get our orders through Diego. I've never even been to his private residence."
I press the cold metal against his pinky finger, watching him squirm against the zip ties binding him to the chair.
"Damiano." Alessio's voice cuts through my fury. "A word."
I step away, following Alessio to the far corner of the warehouse. The metallic scent of blood clings to my clothes, my knuckles raw and torn.
"He doesn't know anything," Alessio says quietly. "We've had him for six hours. Either he's the best trained man in Byron's operation, or he's telling the truth."
"Someone has to know where that bastard is hiding," I snarl. "We've taken out three of his security details and still nothing."
"Killing every one of Byron's men won't bring them back," Alessio says, his eyes scanning my face. "We need a different approach."
I turn away, slamming my palm against the cold metal wall. "What the fuck do you want me to do, Alessio? Every hour they're missing is another hour Byron could be closing in on them."
"I can find and kill any enemy I have," I say, voice dropping to a whisper. "But I'm incapable of finding the only two women I love in this fucking world?"
Alessio's expression softens slightly. "We'll find them. But not like this." He gestures toward the bloodied man. "This isn't working."
I press my forehead against the cool metal, trying to control my breathing, trying to think clearly through the panic and rage clouding my judgment.
"Five fucking days," I say. "Five days they've been gone, and we're no closer than when we started."
