The intensity in his gaze makes my breath catch.
"You have no idea who I am or what I'm capable of," Damiano says. "And trust me, Zoe, I am nothing like Byron Easton. There's a difference between protection and control. Easton shapes you into what he wants. I'm trying to keep my family alive in a world that would eat them alive without thinking twice."
I laugh bitterly. "That's a convenient explanation."
I stare at Damiano, waiting for his sharp response, his usual quick retort that would put me in my place. But it doesn't come.
Instead, his expression shifts in a way I've never seen before. The hard lines of his face seem to soften slightly, his eyes losing their predatory intensity. For a fleeting moment, I glimpse something entirely unexpected—vulnerability.
He looks away, his gaze fixing on some distant point through the windshield. The silence stretches between us, heavy and uncomfortable.
"Damiano?" I find myself saying his name, unsure why I'm even trying to reconnect.
He doesn't look at me. His jaw works slightly, as if he's chewing on words he can't quite bring himself to say. The streetlights cast shadows across his face, highlighting the tension in his features.
Is that... disappointment? Not anger, not calculation,not the cold indifference I've come to expect—but genuine disappointment.
For the first time since our arranged marriage began, I'm seeing a crack in his carefully maintained facade.
When he finally speaks, his voice is quieter than I've ever heard it.
"It doesn't matter."
Three simple words, yet they carry a weight I wasn't prepared for. The dismissal stings more than his usual sharp remarks would have. He puts the car in drive and pulls back onto the road, effectively ending our conversation.
I turn toward the window, wrapping my arms around myself. Something has shifted between us, but I can't quite identify what. That glimpse of disappointment in his eyes has thrown me off balance. It suggests depths to him I haven't considered—depths that might complicate my carefully constructed plans for revenge.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
Isprawl on Lucrezia's plush velvet couch, stealing glances at her as she scrolls through Netflix options. After last night's intense car ride with Damiano, I need this distraction.
"Oh my god, you haven't seen Bridgerton?" Lucrezia's eyes widen. "That's it, we're starting right now."
"Is this the one with all the fancy dresses and scandal?"
"And the hot Duke." Lucrezia wiggles her eyebrows, curling up with a fluffy blanket. "Trust me, you'll love it."
The show starts playing and I sink deeper into the cushions. Lucrezia's room feels like an escape -all soft colors and artistic touches, so different from the stark masculine energy that fills the rest of the compound.
"Want some?" She offers me a bag of dark chocolate covered almonds.
I grab a handful, letting the chocolate melt on my tongue. "These are amazing."
"I hide them from Damiano. He always steals my snacks when he visits."
My stomach tightens at the mention of his name. "Does he come here often?"
"Almost every day." Lucrezia's eyes stay fixed on the screen. "He checks on me, makes sure I'm okay. Sometimes we just sit and talk."
The image of Damiano sitting in this cozy room, eating chocolate and chatting with his sister, doesn't match the man I thought I knew. I push the thought away, focusing on the drama unfolding on screen.
"Lady Whistledown is such a gossip," Lucrezia sighs. "Reminds me of some of those society wives at charity events. Always watching, always judging."
I pick another chocolate from Lucrezia's stash, savoring the rich flavor. On screen, the Bridgerton characters attend yet another lavish ball, all swirling dresses and twinkling lights.
Lucrezia sighs dramatically and pauses the show. "Don't you just wish we could go out and do something fun like that? Not some stuffy charity gala where everyone's watching their words, but somewhere we could actually enjoy ourselves."
"You sound like you have cabin fever," I say, noticing the restlessness in her movements as she fidgets with the remote.
