I swirl the amber liquid in my glass. "Keep her close. Let her think she's part of the family while we monitor every move she makes."
"And when Easton inevitably tries to use her against us?"
"Then we'll know exactly what he's planning." I finish my drink and set the glass down. "Before he even makes his move."
Enzo checks his watch. "They'll be here soon."
I straighten my tie and button my jacket. "Remember—tonight we're gentlemen. Charming, respectful. Save the threats for when we know what game Easton's really playing."
Enzo's eyes narrow. "And the girl?"
"Leave her to me."
The hostess appears at the door. "Mr. Feretti, your other guests have arrived."
I stand, adjusting my cuffs.
"Showtime."
Byron Easton strolls in like he owns the fucking place. But it's the woman beside him who catches my eye.
Zoe Easton.
Christ.
She's wrapped in a blue dress that hugs every curve like a jealous lover. Her blonde hair cascades over her shoulders, and those green eyes—fuck me—sweep the room before landing on me.
My cock twitches with interest.
Fuck.
She moves with careful grace, like a dancer who knows she's being watched. Her legs are long, toned, and I can't help imagining them wrapped around my waist, my hands gripping her ass as I bend her over my desk.
I clear my throat, buttoning my jacket.
Focus.
This isn't about getting my dick wet. This is business.
"Mr. Easton," I extend my hand. "Thank you for joining us."
"Mr. Feretti." His handshake is firm, calculated. "I believe you've not formally met my daughter, Zoe."
She offers her hand, and I take it. Her skin is soft, but her grip is stronger than I expected.
"Mr. Feretti," she says, her voice cool and controlled.
I bring her hand to my lips, brushing a kiss across her knuckles. "Ms. Easton. A pleasure to finally meet you."
Something flashes in her eyes—fear? It's gone before I can identify it.
I could have her. I could have any woman I want for a night of meaningless fucking. That's all I've allowedmyself since Bianca died. Quick, anonymous encounters that satisfy the physical need without the emotional entanglement.
But this woman isn't here for my pleasure.
She's a chess piece.
"Please, sit." I gesture to the chairs. "I've taken the liberty of ordering a bottle of Barolo. I hope that meets with your approval."
