"So Damiano's overprotective about everything, then?" I ask as we enter the kitchen. The sleek marble countertops gleam under the pendant lights, and the space feels warm despite its size.
Lucrezia snorts, heading straight for the massive refrigerator. "That's putting it mildly. You have no idea."
I hop onto one of the barstools at the island while she pulls out milk, ice cream, and chocolate syrup. "Tell me more. I want to understand what I'm dealing withhere. Maybe it'll help me figure out how to navigate around him."
She laughs, a light, tinkling sound that fills the kitchen. "Good luck with that. Even I haven't mastered it after all these years."
Lucrezia dumps several scoops of vanilla ice cream into the blender. "He doesn't just keep me out of business stuff. He gets involved in my personal life too—and I mean really involved."
"Like what?"
"Like the Nick incident." She sighs dramatically as she pours in milk. "Did I tell you about that?"
I shake my head.
"Nick was this guy I met at a charity gala last year. Super sweet, studying architecture at NYU." Her eyes get a faraway look. "We talked all night about Renaissance buildings and traveling through the world. He asked for my number, and for once, I actually gave it to someone."
"Let me guess—Damiano found out?"
"Oh yes." She hits the blender button, and the whirring fills the room for a moment. When she stops it, she continues, "Nick called me the next day to set up a coffee date. I was so excited—I even told Damiano I was going out with a friend."
She pours the thick milkshakes into tall glasses. "Two days later, Nick calls me in tears. Apparently, Damiano and Enzo paid him a visit at his apartment." She hands me a glass. "They threatened to break every bone in his fingers—which, you know, is kind of important for an architecture student—if he ever contacted me again."
My eyes widen. "That's extreme."
"That's Damiano." She sticks a straw into her milkshake with more force than necessary. "When I confronted him about it, he just said, 'I checked him out.He wasn't good enough for you.' Like that's his decision to make!"
I take a sip of my milkshake, trying to hide my disgust. Not at the drink—which is delicious—but at Damiano's behavior. "That's terrible, Lucrezia."
"The worst part? Nick was genuinely nice. Not like the usual entitled rich boys I meet." Her voice drops. "I still have his number, but I've never called. I don't want to get him hurt because of me."
I'm curled up in bed later that night, pillows propped behind me and a small reading lamp casting a warm glow over the pages of "The Art of War." After my conversation with Lucrezia, I've been thinking about strategy more than ever. Sun Tzu might have some insights that Byron's training missed.
"'All warfare is based on deception,'" I read aloud, tracing my finger along the line.
"Interesting bedtime reading choice."
I look up with a start. Damiano stands in my doorway, one shoulder leaning against the frame. His dark hair falls slightly over his forehead, and his white dress shirt is unbuttoned at the collar, sleeves rolled up to reveal muscular forearms covered in intricate tattoos.
"Do you make a habit of lurking in doorways, watching women read?" I ask, not bothering to close my book.
His eyes scan me from head to toe, taking in my silk nightgown and bare legs. Heat crawls up my neck despite my determination to remain unfazed.
"Only when they're reading ancient military strategy in my house." He steps into the room without invitation. "Sun Tzu. Planning a war,lupacchiotta?"
"Maybe." I set the book on my nightstand. "Knowledge is power, isn't that what they say?"
"They say a lot of things." His mouth curves into a smirk. "Most of it bullshit."
I arch an eyebrow. "And what wisdom does the great Damiano Feretti have to offer instead?"
He moves closer.
"Experience trumps theory every time." His voice drops lower. "I could teach you things Sun Tzu never dreamed of."
"Experience, huh?" I shift on the bed, letting my nightgown ride up slightly. Two can play this game. "And what kind of experience would the mighty Don Feretti want to teach his fake wife?"
"You're playing with fire, Zoe." He moves closer, his presence filling my bedroom like a gathering storm.
