"Hey love!" Her cheerful voice is an instant balm.
I curl my legs underneath me. "I've missed you."
"Same here. So what's going on? You sound off."
I take a deep breath. "Scar, I just got back from Chicago with Damiano, and I don't know what to think anymore."
"What happened? Did he hurt you?" The concern in her voice is immediate.
"No, the opposite actually. He... he took me to his childhood home. He showed me photos of his parents, told me stories. He was vulnerable with me, Scar."
"Okay..." She stretches the word out cautiously.
"And then he told me something that maybe changes everything." My voice drops to barely above a whisper, though I know no one is listening. "Remember howByron always told me Damiano killed my father in Manhattan on Thanksgiving night twelve years ago?"
"Yeah, of course."
"Well, Damiano just confessed that on that exact same night, he was in his country house outside the city when someone broke in and killed his pregnant fiancée, Bianca."
Silence stretches between us before Scarlett speaks. "Wait, what? That's not possible. He can't be in two places at once."
"Exactly," I say, my hand gripping the phone tighter. "Either Damiano is lying about Bianca, or Byron lied about my father."
"Holy shit, Zoe." Scarlett sounds genuinely stunned. "Are you sure about the dates? Maybe one of them is mistaken?"
"No, both were very specific about it being Thanksgiving night twelve years ago. Damiano even described finding Bianca's body, killing the intruder. It was too raw to be made up."
"But why would Byron lie about something like that? What would he gain?"
I stare at the ceiling, the question I've been asking myself for days. "Control over me? A weapon against the Ferettis? I don't know, but I'm starting to think my entire life has been built on a lie."
"Jesus, Zoe." Scarlett pauses. "What are you going to do now?"
"I need to find out the truth without tipping off either of them." I say. "If Byron lied, then everything is based on nothing."
"And if Damiano's lying?"
"Then I continue as planned." But even as I say it, doubt creeps in. The man who held me in Chicago, who opened up his past to me, who looked at me with such tenderness... could he really be playing me this effectively?
"Whoa, slow down," Scarlett says, and I can almost see her holding her hands up. "You need to figure out what's actually going on before you make any big decisions. This isn't an either-or situation yet."
I flop back on my bed with a groan. "What do you mean? Either Byron lied to me or Damiano's lying now."
"Or there's something you're missing," Scarlett says carefully. "You've been living on Byron's version of events for twelve years, Zoe. The story of your father's death has been the foundation of everything you believe about yourself and your mission."
"You think I don't know that?" My voice cracks.
"Look, I'm not saying Damiano's a saint. He's still a criminal, regardless of whether he killed your father or not. But if Byron manipulated you this whole time..." She trails off, letting the implications hang between us.
I press my palm against my forehead, trying to ease the pressure building there. "Then my entire life has been a lie."
"Not your entire life," Scarlett says firmly. "Just the parts Byron constructed. The revenge mission, the hatred for Damiano. But who you are at your core? That's still you, Zoe."
I bite my lip, tears threatening. "What do I do, Scar?"
"You need proof," she says decisively. "Actual evidence, not just competing stories. Police reports from both incidents. Newspaper articles. Something concrete that places Damiano in one location or the other that night."
"Byron showed me police reports years ago," I murmur, remembering the manila folder with its grainyblack and white photos. The official-looking papers with timestamps and signatures.
