"The Ferettis don't exactly leave their secrets lying around," I say, picking at a loose thread on the comforter. "I'm still earning their trust."
"And how exactly are you doing that?" His voice drops lower. "On your back?"
Heat flashes through my body—anger, not shame. "That's none of your business."
"Everything about you is my business, Zoe." The silky danger in his voice makes my skin crawl. "I made you who you are. Or have you forgotten that too?"
"I haven't forgotten anything," I say, thinking of Damiano's confession about Bianca's murder. The timing that doesn't match what Byron told me about my father's death. "In fact, I've been learning quite a lot."
"About the Ferettis' operations, I hope."
I grip the phone tighter. "Actually, Byron, I wanted to ask you something."
A beat of silence. "What is it?"
"Tell me again how my father died." I keep my voice steady, careful not to reveal my doubts. "I need to remember exactly what happened that night."
Byron sighs heavily. "We've been through this before, Zoe. Many times."
"I know, but I want to hear it again." I push harder.
"Why now?" His voice sharpens with suspicion. "Has something happened?"
"No," I lie smoothly. "Being around Damiano just brings it all back. I need to remember why I'm doing this."
Another silence, longer this time. I hold my breath, afraid I've pushed too far.
"Fine," he finally says. "Your father made a mistake with a drug shipment to the Italians. The product wasn't pure enough, and they lost money. Feretti, in his paranoia, decided your father was trying to cheat him."
I close my eyes, trying to piece together the timeline. "And this happened on Thanksgiving night? Twelve years ago?"
"Yes," Byron confirms. "Damiano Feretti personally executed your father in his Manhattan apartment that night. I told you this when I found you. I showed you the police reports."
"I remember," I say softly, though the memory feels distant now, filtered through years of Byron's careful training.
"Your father made one critical error in judgment, and Feretti killed him for it. That's the kind of man you're sharing a bed with, Zoe. Don't you forget it."
The accusation stings, especially now that I'm questioning everything. "I won't forget."
"Good," Byron says, his tone shifting to something harder. "Now stop asking questions about the past and start focusing on your mission. These pointless trips down memory lane won't get us what we need."
My fingers tighten around the phone. "I was just?—"
"You were just wasting time," he cuts me off. "Have you learned anything useful in these weeks? Anythingabout their operations, their suppliers, their distribution networks?"
I swallow hard, staring at the ceiling of my bedroom in the Feretti mansion. The room Lucrezia decorated for me with such care. The home where I've been treated like family despite being an intruder.
"I'm working on it," I say finally. "These things take time. They don't exactly discuss business in front of me."
Byron makes a dismissive sound. "You've had ample time to gain Feretti's trust. I expected results by now."
"I said I'm working on it," I repeat, a sharp edge creeping into my voice.
"Good girl.We'll talk soon."
The line goes dead before I can respond. I lower the phone slowly, staring at the blank screen.
I immediately dial Scarlett's number, needing to hear a voice that doesn't twist reality. She picks up on the second ring.
