3. Chapter Three
Chapter Three
S ophie
My steps are brisk as I walk down the hallway, nodding absentmindedly at the secretaries at their cubicle, before heading towards Dom’s door.
He sent for me.
I received the memo as soon as I got to the office, and the first thing I felt was fear. He found out. I’d left a trail somehow, and he found the truth.
Then I realized that if Domenico Moretti were truly on to me, I wouldn’t have walked into the building this morning.
A man like this, with a strict reputation that precedes him, wouldn’t have let me anywhere close to him. Instead, I’d have been slapped with a lawsuit or a restraining order.
Smoothening my skirt with a hand, I raise the other to knock.
“Come in.”
I hesitate—only a second—before pushing the door open and stepping in. The air, like before, turns chilly as the door closes behind me. He doesn’t acknowledge my presence, though.
His back is slightly hunched, and his gaze is fixed on a document in front of him. Strands of loose brown hair fall over his face, shielding his eyes from view. Even then, I can feel it.
Dark. Like he knows something about you, but he’s willing to let you trip all over yourself with the truth. He picks up a tennis ball and squeezes it absentmindedly, but my eyes follow the movement of his fingers as they curl, loosen, curl… the veins and muscles in them creating their pattern.
So many layers to him.
It just makes you want to peel them back, carefully, and see what lies at the—
I shake my head vigorously to clear my thoughts. I don’t care what is at the bottom of his soul. I know everything that’s important.
He’s Domenico Moretti, and I’m here to bring him down.
So, I clear my throat to get his attention. “You sent for me, sir?”
He lifts his head slowly, threading his fingers through his hair at the same time. For some reason, my mind responds with a flash image of a swimwear billboard ad I saw this morning on my way here.
Get it together, Sophie. I grit my teeth.
“Yes,” he nods. “Have your seat.”
His gaze follows me as I cross the office space, tracking my movements until I sit. “You were right about Blackwater Talent,” he says without preamble. “They were on the verge of bankruptcy, or at least on the verge of not being able to hide their financial problems anymore.”
“You did your research then,” I say tightly, a little miffed that he doubted me that much.
Dom nods. “Yes, I did. However, I asked you here for a different reason. Rather than working with More Media or the company’s legal department, you’ll be working closely with me.”
My brows shoot up before I can mask my reaction. “You? May I ask why?”
He picks up the tennis ball again, and I force myself to keep from looking. The ball drops and rolls over to me. “Yes. Because you’ll be working on a couple more cases, I intend to evaluate your performance to see how genuine you are.”
I blink slowly, confused by his words. “How genuine I am?”
The chair hits the floor silently as Dom stands, walking around his desk to shadow me from behind. I spin as a jolt of warmth runs down my back from his sudden presence.
“You see,” he folds his arms, “I’m not completely convinced that you found the intel on Blackwater Talent on your own,” he says calmly, but his straight gaze and narrowed eyes say otherwise.
“I’m not against coercing someone on the inside for the truth, but I think there’s more to how you came about your information, Miss Greco. ”
More?
I feel a slice of panic as my hands grip the edge of the chair. This feels like a well-planned set-up that I walked into, thinking I’d covered every base.
He takes a step forward, and I lean back subconsciously, holding my breath without thought. My pulse skitters as he closes the small distance between us, and my mind scrambles for a way out.
“Tell me,” he murmurs, “what did you do to get your hands on the intel?”
Plant evidence. Create a fake company. Deceit. Where do I begin?
“Does it matter?” I counter with a chin tilt. “It got you what you desperately wanted, didn’t it?” His brows furrow in surprise. “You’re not so straightforward yourself, Mr. Moretti,” I say smugly, “and neither are the attorneys who work for you, or you wouldn’t pay them as much as you do.”
He pulls back. I fold my arms and arch a brow. “So I pulled a few wild strings. Maybe I bent the law a bit. As you said, their financial dealings and broken contracts would’ve come to light anyway. All I did was put you ahead of your competitors.”
My mouth curves with a tiny, triumphant smile when he doesn’t respond. I win.
Dom nods slowly. “I see. You’ve done your research.
” He walks back to his seat, and I breathe a sigh of relief.
“Which brings me back to my question—you could’ve chosen a more ambitious position, and yet you asked for a job as an attorney.
Not a senior lawyer, seeing as you were on track for a promotion at your former firm. ”
My relief vanishes as quickly as it came.
His voice drops to a low and rough timbre that grazes my skin without touching. It’s both unsettling and unnerving. “I’m sure,” he says, “you understand why I find you suspicious.”
He’s going to fire me.
I can see my uncle’s face and disappointment digging into the frown lines.
“However, I do admire your ability to get results, so I’ll keep you on board,” he adds in a much lighter tone. “Once again, welcome to Moretti Group, Miss Greco.”
The air that rushes through my lungs this time is audible, as is the relief that spreads across my face. At the same time, I watch the corners of his mouth lift a little in a teasing smile.
And it hits me.
He was doing it again, setting me up to see if I slipped.
“Fu—” I bite my tongue from cursing as my chest swells with annoyance.
“Do you have something to say, Miss Greco?”
I taste blood on my tongue. “No, sir,” I reply. “I should… I should get going, unless you have something else for me.”
He shakes his head, dismissing me without a thought. My fingers flex as I push to my feet, and the sound of my heels clicking is duller than the pounding in my ears.
I want to turn around and stride up to his desk, getting close enough to see his face turn pale when I tell him the truth. I want to look into his eyes and see the defeat after he realizes he’s been cornered.
I’d do anything to wipe the smirk off his face and show the world who he truly is —not brilliant, pragmatic, or on the cover of GQ magazine.
No. The son of a cold-blooded killer who never felt remorse for the crimes his father committed.
“Oh, Miss Greco.”
My heel digs into the ground as I halt. I turn without thinking, only to find his eyes pinned on me. My heart stutters. “You’ll be working outside the office today. I have a case for you. My secretary will have it sent to your email address, and you’ll have four hours to go through it.”
“‘Four’?” I echo.
“Yes, four. We’ll leave in the evening.” A pause. “You may go.”
My fingers tremble as I grab the door handle, and it takes everything in me to keep from slamming it shut. “‘Four’?” I repeat with a scoff as I march down, both hands thrust on my hips. “It took me weeks to set up Blackwater Talent.”
Even then, I needed my uncle’s help.
And he expects me to learn everything about a company I’ve probably never heard of, about a case I know nothing about… in four hours?
“Asshole,” I mutter as I punch the elevator button. The magazines and news clippings should’ve branded him as a “ruthless, psychopathic brute” because I doubt he’s capable of empathic or human reasoning.
The door to my office slams with a loud thud, and I sink into my chair, dragging my hand through my hair with a frustrated groan.
I wish I didn’t have to play the long game. In this day and age, I could hire someone to publish videos exposing Domenico Moretti. Nobody likes billionaires anyway.
Snatching my phone from my bag, I open my browser, and my thumbs fly across the search bar.
“What am I doing?” I sigh as I stare at the enter button.
Everything relies on you now. If you fail, then the work we’ve been doing for the past sixteen years will have been for nothing.
“Right,” I mumble.
I’m not looking for a buzz that’ll die out when Dom gets his slew of lawyers to sue the channel or app. Even if it reaches the news outlets, he’ll probably stop it from being aired.
I can’t make half-assed attempts. I get only one chance, and I’m not allowed to fail.
My screen chimes, and my chest rises with an exhale as I straighten and click on the mail. It’s the document he said I’d get.
Rideover Construction.
It’s a subsidiary unit under a billion-dollar company with rumors of financial difficulties and debt. There’ve been talks about the company selling Rideover, but nothing has been confirmed.
He wants me to make an offer too good to refuse.
“I see,” I mutter, reaching for my glasses. I slip them on and push my chair closer to the computer. Four hours? I scoff. I’ve been training for this all my life.
***
The roar of the engine drowns out every other sound as the car stops at the edge of the private tarmac. I open the passenger’s side door and step out as the driver hurries to get the back door for Dom.
A private jet. A private tarmac. Judging by its size, the plane itself looks like it cost a fortune.
A uniformed man walks down the stairs and hurries towards us, wearing a smile. He nods briefly in my direction before extending his hand towards Dom. “Mr. Moretti. I didn’t think you would be taking a trip anytime soon.”
“It was unexpected, Michael. Thanks for showing up.”
I almost snort. Unexpected? Or was it well-intended to throw the new attorney off her game, so he could brag about how right he was?
And the jet. If his family hadn’t taken everything from my family and fled to the US, he’d never be able to afford it.