I set my glass down carefully, terrified it might shatter in my grip. My nails dig crescents into my palm under the table. I've trained for years for this—to hear that name and not let my face show the storm of rage I feel.
"I hear he's quite the eligible bachelor," Mrs. Brown says with a light laugh. "Dangerous but devastatingly handsome, according to Manhattan gossip."
Bile rises in my throat. Handsome? The monster who executed my father in cold blood?
The Browns finally leave after Byron walks them to the door, their effusive goodbyes echoing in our marble foyer. I begin collecting wine glasses, my hands still shaking slightly whenever Feretti's name replays in my head.
Byron returns, loosening his tie as he surveys the dining room.
"Leave that for Rosa," he says, watching me stack dessert plates. "We need to talk."
My stomach tightens. Byron's "we need to talk" conversations are never casual. I set down the crystal and follow him down the hall to his office.
His office is all dark wood and leather, walls lined with first editions behind glass. A sanctuary of power where Byron has taught me everything from stock market dynamics to how to fire a gun without flinching. I take my usual seat across from his imposing desk as he closes the door.
"You did well tonight," he says, pouring two fingers of scotch into a crystal tumbler. "But I noticed your reaction when Damiano's name came up."
I straighten my spine. "It was momentary. The Browns didn't notice."
"They didn't," he agrees, settling into his leather chair with the confidence of a man who's always in control. "But I did. And that concerns me, given what I'm about to tell you."
He slides a thick manila folder across the polished surface of the desk. My name is written across the tab in his precise handwriting.
"Zoe, it's time we discussed the next phase of your preparation."
"Preparation for what?" I ask, though something cold settles in my chest. I've always known my education—languages, firearms, social graces—was building toward something. I just never knew what.
Byron's eyes meet mine, steel-gray and calculating.
"For you to finally meet Damiano Feretti."
"Meet him?" I repeat, my voice surprisingly steady despite the thunder of my heartbeat.
Byron takes a slow sip of his scotch, watching me over the rim. "Not just meet him, Zoe." He sets the glass down with deliberate precision. "Marry him."
The words hit me like a physical blow. "Marry... Damiano Feretti?" The name tastes like poison on my tongue.
"It's the perfect plan," Byron continues, as if he's discussing a business merger instead of my life. "I've been cultivating this opportunity for years. The Feretti family needs to strengthen their political connections and gain legitimacy with certain circles. My connections, my circles."
I stare at him, searching for any sign this is some cruel test. "He murdered my father."
"And that's precisely why this works." Byron leans forward, eyes suddenly alive with intensity. "He'll never suspect you, not when you're presented as my ward. The perfect Trojan horse."
My fingers dig into the arms of my chair. "You want me to marry my father's killer? To sleep in his bed?" My voice cracks on the last word as the full implications crash down.
"I want you to destroy him from the inside," Byron says, his voice dropping to a near whisper. "Everything I've taught you—observation, manipulation, firearms—it was all for this moment. This revenge."
I push back from the desk, my legs feeling numb beneath me. "This is insane."
"This is justice," Byron counters, opening the folder. "Damiano Feretti took everything from you. Now you'll take everything from him."
My chest tightens as the room seems to shrink around me. Twelve years of nightmares, of training and preparing for a purpose I never fully understood—it all converges into this moment.
"How would you even arrange such a thing?" I ask, fighting to keep my breathing steady.
Byron's smile is thin and cold. "That's already in motion. Damiano won't be able to resist what I'm offering."
"And what is that?" My voice sounds distant to my own ears.
