3. Chapter Three #2
A lump rises in my throat, and my nostrils flare as my breathing shallows, but I force myself to keep moving to put enough distance between us. I settle at the back of the plane and promptly close my eyes, shutting everything out.
It doesn’t quiet my thoughts, though.
Or the words I’ve heard every single day since I turned eleven.
The Morettis killed your parents. Your father trusted them, and they betrayed him. They took everything that should’ve been yours and left you to suffer.
My uncle never allowed me to forget. Each time I asked for something, he reminded me that he couldn’t afford it because the Morettis stole the Bellinis’ wealth and their lives.
It was my duty to avenge them and reclaim what belonged to me.
“Are you prepared?” Dom’s voice pulls me out of my reverie.
I peek at him from half-open eyes. “Would you prefer I got on without being prepared?”
I get no response—not that I was waiting for one anyway—before he retreats to a seat at the front of the plane. I close my eyes again, intending to push him out of sight, but he occupies my mind instead.
This time, it’s the smell of chocolate. Dark chocolate wafts through the air, sinking into my thoughts and clouding my head.
I inhale without meaning to, and the effect is a trickle of warmth that flows through my skin, gathering a pool in my stomach.
Get your head together, Sophie , I hiss under my breath as I shut my eyes even tighter, while mentally forcing the scent from conjuring up a vivid image of Dom seated a couple of feet away from me, his shoulders spread across the chair as he leans back and his shirt tight around his arms when he folds them.
Fine. I roll my eyes—still closed. He’s handsome. And so what? It’s not a trait that earns him a pass . If anything, it’s unfair.
A man like him should look like the physical embodiment of his family’s history. Something more horrifying than an accurate representation of the Grinch.
“Miss? Miss?”
A softer voice slips into my mind, and my eyes fly open to see a hostess standing in front of me with a cart by her side. She gives me a look somewhere between confused and curious, like she’s trying to figure me out.
“Would you like a cup of hot chocolate?” she asks, gesturing to the mug.
“‘Hot chocolate’?” I echo.
She nods. “Yes. It’s dark chocolate, but I could add some milk if you want.”
Dark chocolate?
My brows draw together in confusion—just for a second—before the realization hits me like a slap. Him. I thought it was Dom’s cologne I’d caught a whiff of earlier. That warm, smoky scent that always lingers a little too long.
But it wasn’t him. It was the damn hot chocolate.
That’s why she gave me that look when I opened my eyes—half-expecting him, half-lost in the scent.
Heat rushes up my neck, burning its way into my cheeks as embarrassment settles heavy in my chest.
I clear my throat, trying to swallow it down. “No, thank you.”
“Water?” she offers gently.
I’d rather drown in it than sit here wallowing in my own mortification. But before I can answer, something shifts.
As if summoned by my shame, Dom glances over his shoulder. His eyes catch mine, steady and unreadable, but something flickers there. Almost as if he can tell that I was… thinking about him.
When his gaze drifts lower, lingering on my mouth, I tuck my bottom lip between my teeth to ground myself. It only drops even lower, grazing the inches between my collarbone and the round neck of my peplum blouse.
There’s nothing to see, but it feels like he can see through me.
The heat around my neck intensifies. However, it has nothing to do with embarrassment and everything to do with the way his gaze pins and digs into me simultaneously.
I swallow thickly, ignoring the light flutter in my stomach.
It has to be a stomach bug, nothing more.
“Will you have water, ma’am?”
I turn to the stewardess, nodding sharply. “Yes, please. Or…” I add before she can push the cart away, “You could leave the hot chocolate too.” I collect it from her, wrap my fingers around it, and bring the mug to my lips.
From the safety of the rim, I watch as she stops when she gets to Dom, with bits of their conversation floating to me.
It’s my fault. I didn’t do enough research on Domenico Moretti. I thought I had everything I needed, but I’d only observed him from afar, hanging at the corner of parties and events, careful not to be spotted by anyone who’d recognize me.
I hadn’t met him in person until the morning I walked into his office. Until yesterday.
That’s why I’m flustered. “It’s a slight mishap, nothing more,” I mutter under my breath as I take a sip of the hot chocolate.
Next time, I’ll be ready.
Hours later, I accept a firm handshake from the Director of Rideover Construction after a round of drinks at a private, exclusive bar.
“You know, Miss Greco,” he says, flashing a satisfied smile, “I didn’t think it was possible to sell the company that started it all without at least some bad blood. You’ve truly outdone yourself.”
My smile is poised, polished. “Thank you.”
“If—” he adds, casting a mischievous look toward Dom, “you ever find yourself craving a change of pace, I hope you’ll consider joining us.”
“You’re too kind,” I reply smoothly, though I catch the brief flicker of Dom’s gaze. Once the last hand is shaken and the room empties, I settle into my seat with a quiet sigh.
“That went well,” he says from beside me.
I glance over. “Yes, it did. Are you going to ask how I pulled it off, or have I officially passed your little test?”
His fingertips tap the table. “What makes you think this was a test?”
“You said so.”
Dom blinks slowly. “Did I?”
Did—I shut my eyes for a second to gather myself. “You said it earlier. You weren’t sold on Blackwater Talent, so you needed to know if I’d done something you wouldn’t do.”
His shoulder lifts in a noncommittal shrug. “I did say so, but I did say I was going to keep you close. I didn’t talk about a test, Miss Greco. Why would I give you something to handle if I thought you would fail?”
He’s baiting me again. “Because you had a plan B,” I retort. “You’re the kind of man who makes room for contingencies. If I’d failed to close this deal, you’d have done it another way.”
“And you believe that?”
I don’t know. My response was a last resort to regain control. “Yes,” I say firmly.
A shadow passes over his face, and his jaw twitches as something dangerous flickers behind his eyes. The black in them deepens, pulling me closer like a temptation too hard to ignore.
It’s impossible to look away, even though I know I should.
And when I try, I end up at the curl of his shirt, where his tie has come loose and the top buttons sit undone. My mouth waters—from talking for too long or rejecting the number of drinks offered, I’m not sure—and my pulse thrums as the air sizzles.
“How long have you spent looking over your shoulder, Miss Greco?” he asks quietly. There’s chatter around us, but I hear his voice clearly, as if he whispered the words in my ear.
He leans in. “You strike as a woman who’s been on guard for far too long; you don’t know what it’s like to let go anymore.”
He’s not the first to say it, but the way he says it, smooth and sin-wrapped, brushes against me like velvet against bare skin. It tempts. It teases. It dares me to surrender, to stop bracing and start breathing him in.
“I could say the same about you,” I murmur, holding his gaze. “You’re a billionaire at thirty-one, with a… let’s call it an unusual family. Somehow, I doubt you even trust yourself.” I catch myself in time.
His lips twitch into something that isn’t quite a smile. “Touché.”
But he doesn’t pull back. He stays close, so close I can feel the heat between us. My breath stutters, chest rising a little too fast, too high—like my body’s already decided it trusts him more than I do.
My lashes flutter, my lids too heavy to stay open, and my resolve weakens.
Remember the plan, Sophie. I turn with every last shred of will, grabbing the glass of wine I hadn’t touched. “You drink?”
“I do now,” I mutter as I take a sip.
Dom chuckles, and the sound reverberates through the air. “And here I thought you were trying to hide your guarded secrets well.”
“I’m not sure I know what you’re talking about,” I reply.
Through the rim of the glass, I watch him watch me. “I see. You’re exactly what I’d pegged you as, Sophie Greco.”
I carefully set the glass of wine down, turning to face him. My heart is still pounding, and the heat in my stomach spreads even lower, gathering between my thighs.
But I’m done being toyed with.
“And what would that be, Mr. Moretti?”