I tap the edge of the photograph with my index finger. "Arrange a dinner," I say finally. "I want to meet her first in person. If we're going to do this, I need to establish ground rules."
Enzo raises an eyebrow. "Ground rules for an arranged marriage?"
"Precisely." I stand and move to the window, looking out over Manhattan's glittering skyline. "This isn't some fucking medieval arrangement where I'm getting an obedient housewife. If Easton wants this alliance, there are terms."
"I'll arrange it," Enzo says, collecting the folder. "Dinner with Byron and Zoe. Somewhere neutral but private."
"No," I counter. "Our territory. Marea restaurant. I want them on our ground."
Enzo nods, a small smile playing at the corners of his mouth. "Smart. I'll make the arrangements. When?"
"Tomorrow night." I return to my desk. "The sooner we get this sorted, the better."
"You really think this could work?" Enzo asks, pausing at the door.
I look down at the photo of Zoe Easton once more. There's something about her that intrigues me. Something beyond the beauty, beyond the potential alliance.
"I think it's worth exploring," I say carefully.
CHAPTER SIX
I'm curled up on my bed, eyes fixed on my laptop screen as the drama of "When They See Us" unfolds before me. The story of the falsely accused Central Park Five twists my gut—innocent people manipulated by a system designed to use them. I reach for my cup of herbal tea, now cold from sitting too long.
A sharp knock on my door breaks the tension.
"Come in," I call, pausing the show.
Byron enters, impeccably dressed as always in a tailored suit despite the late hour. His eyes scan my casual appearance—yoga pants and an oversized Columbia sweatshirt.
"Zoe," he says, his tone business-like. "I just received a call. Damiano Feretti hasrequested a dinner meeting. Tomorrow night at Marea."
Oh God, no."He actually wants to meet? After storming out?"
"It appears he thought about it." Byron's thin lips curve into what passes for his smile. "He's intrigued enough to want to discuss terms."
I close my laptop, pushing it aside. "Terms for what, exactly? Our sham marriage?"
"This isn't the time for sarcasm." Byron's voice hardens. "This dinner is crucial. Everything—everything we've worked for depends on your performance."
I swing my legs over the edge of the bed, meeting his gaze. "I know what's at stake."
"You cannot let your emotions rule you tomorrow," Byron says. "Not your anger, not your fear, not any misguided moral qualms. You've been trained for this, Zoe. Every etiquette lesson, every language class, every shooting practice—it was all for this."
I nod, my throat tight. "I understand."
"Do you?" Byron looks down at my screen. "What are you watching?"
"When They See Us. It's about?—"
"I know what it's about." He cuts me off. "Innocent boys railroaded by the system. Is that really appropriate viewing the night before you meet your father's killer?"
I bite my tongue against the retort forming there.
"Your emotions are your weakness, Zoe." Byron's voice softens, almost fatherly. "Remember your training. Be charming but reserved. Intelligent but not threatening. Show him the perfect society daughter I've raised. Can you do that?"
I stand, squaring my shoulders. "I've been preparing for twelve years. I won't let you down."
Byron studies me for a moment, then nods. "Good. We leave at seven tomorrow. Wear the navy Chanel. Conservative but elegant."
