"Fine," I concede. "We'll go tonight. All three of us."
His eyebrow lifts. "That was easy."
"Don't get used to it." I turn to leave, then pause at the door. "Eleven o'clock."
"Fine." He says.
I turn and leave out of there.
I stride back to Lucrezia's room, barely able to contain my smirk. When I push open her door, she's sitting cross-legged on her bed, scrolling through her phone with anxious energy.
"Well?" she asks, looking up with wide eyes. "Did the execution already happen or are you just here to say goodbye before facing the firing squad?"
I flop down beside her. "We're going."
"What?" She bolts upright. "No way! What did you do? Blackmail him?"
"Not exactly." I roll onto my side to face her. "There's just one condition."
Her eyes narrow suspiciously. "Which is?"
"Your brother is coming with us."
Lucrezia stares at me for a beat before bursting into laughter. She falls back against her pillows, clutching her stomach. "Oh my god, he's going to be so mad!"
"Why?" I prop myself up on my elbow, confused by her reaction.
"Because we're going to dance all night long!" She sits up, eyes sparkling with mischief. "Damiano hates dancing. And he hates watching me dance with guys even more."
I can't help but laugh at the thought of stoic, serious Damiano surrounded by drunk dancers and pounding music. "So he'll just stand in a corner all night scowling?"
"Exactly! With his arms crossed, giving death glares to anyone who looks our way." She mimics his sternexpression, making her face comically serious until we both dissolve into more laughter.
"We need to figure out what we're wearing," Lucrezia says, suddenly jumping off the bed and heading to her massive walk-in closet. "This requires serious planning."
I follow her into the closet, which is bigger than my entire bedroom at Byron's house. Racks of designer clothes stretch in every direction, organized by color.
"You can borrow anything you want," she says, already pulling out dresses and holding them against herself in front of a full-length mirror.
"Are you sure? I might have?—"
"I'm positive." She turns and grabs my hands. "This is our first girls' night out! We need to look absolutely killer."
The genuine excitement in her eyes makes my chest tighten. I'm supposed to be using her to get to Damiano, but her friendship feels real in a way nothing has in years.
"What about this?" She holds up a sparkly silver mini dress. "You'd look amazing in this withyour blonde hair."
I watch Zoe leave my office, the door closing behind her with a decisive click.
Fuck.
This woman knows exactly how to push my buttons without even trying. One minute she's storming into my office making demands, the next she's conceding with suspicious ease. Something about her throws me off balance in a way I haven't experienced since...
No.
I won't go there.
I drop back into my chair, the leather creaking under my weight. Omertà. Of all the fucking places in New York, she wants to go to the one club where every criminal element in the city converges. Where the Volkovs frequently do business. Where the Colombians launder their cash. Where at least three people have been killed in the back rooms this year alone.
