"Everything okay?" he asks, pocketing his phone.
"Fine," I reply curtly, continuing past him toward my office.
Enzo falls into step beside me. "You don't look fine. You look like you're about to put your fist through a wall."
I clench my jaw, refusing to give him the satisfaction of confirming his observation. "Just business as usual."
"Business as usual," he repeats, not bothering to hide his skepticism. "Nothing to do with your new bride, then?"
I stop walking and turn to face him. "What are you getting at, Enzo?"
A knowing smirk crosses his face. "Just checking if you can handle your little wife. She seems to be giving you quite the... challenge."
"I can handle Zoe just fine," I snap, the words coming out sharper than intended.
Enzo's smirk fades, his expression becoming serious. "Just make sure you're careful at the gala. That place will be crawling with enemies pretending to be friends."
"I'm always careful," I reply, continuing toward my office. Enzo follows, his footsteps echoing mine on the marble floor.
"I want at least three of our men with you," he says. "Daniel and two others, positioned strategically around the room."
I nod, appreciating his concern despite my annoyance. "I planned on it. The Volkovs will be there, and Navarro's people. Everyone watching, waiting for a slip."
"Exactly." Enzo leans against the doorframe as I enter my office. "Byron will be there too, no doubt. First public appearance with his daughter since the wedding."
The mention of Byron makes my jaw clench. "All the more reason for extra security."
I turn to face my brother, studying him. Despite his casual stance, I notice the tension in his shoulders. Enzo's always been meticulous about security—a trait that's kept us alive more than once.
"You want to join us?" I ask. "Keep an eye on things personally?"
Enzo's expression shifts, and I catch a flicker of amusement in his eyes. "Actually, I promised Lucrezia I'd watch Gossip Girl with her. We're halfway through season three."
I stare at him, not sure if I've heard correctly. "You're choosing a teenage drama over security at a high-risk event?"
"It's not just any teenage drama," he defends with mock seriousness. "And Daniel's team is more than capable. Besides, someone needs to stay behind and mind the house."
"Gossip Girl," I repeat, shaking my head. "This is what the Feretti empire has come to."
"Hey, don't knock it until you try it. The scheming in that show would put half our business rivals to shame." He pushes off from the doorframe. "Just make sure Daniel has the details for tomorrow. I want their positions mapped out, communications checked, and exit routes confirmed."
"Already handled," I say, moving behind my desk.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
My stomach growls as I wander through the Feretti mansion. After that tense conversation with Damiano about the gala, food seems like the only logical comfort. The smell hits me before I even reach the kitchen—something sweet and buttery that makes my mouth water instantly.
I follow my nose down the hallway, pushing through the swinging door to find Ettore hovering over the marble counter, flour dusting his apron and a bit of his beard. The kitchen is warm and filled with the scent of baking pastry and cinnamon.
"Whatever that is, it smells incredible," I say, making Ettore look up from hiswork.
His face splits into a wide grin. "Ah, Mrs. Feretti! Come, come." He gestures me over with flour-covered hands. "You have excellent timing. These are almost ready."
I move closer, peering at the golden-brown pastries cooling on a rack. They're shaped like little twists, glistening with what looks like sugar and something else I can't quite identify.
"What are they?" I ask, breathing in the heavenly aroma.
"Sfogliatelle," Ettore announces with pride. "Mr. Damiano's favorite since he was a boy. His nonna's recipe." He wipes his hands on his apron, leaving white streaks across the fabric. "The shell is crisp, like many layers of paper, and inside—" he makes a chef's kiss with his fingers, "—sweet ricotta filling with orange zest and cinnamon."
