6. Chapter Six
Chapter Six
S ophia
I tuck the file securely under my arm as I stride down the hallway, each click of my heels echoing a little louder than necessary.
A rogue image—his hands, his mouth, that moment—flickers at the edge of my mind, but I shove it aside before it can take shape.
“Stay focused, Sophie.” It’s become my mantra during the past twenty-four hours of deep-diving into the project and reworking my strategy from the ground up.
“Morning, Martha. Morning, Reggie,” I say with a brisk smile as I reach the reception area outside the office. “Is Mr. Moretti in?”
Martha glances up and shakes her head. “He’s not in yet.”
A ripple of disappointment stirs in my chest before I stamp it down. Not important. Not relevant.
My smile sharpens. “Would you mind if I waited in his office? I’ve got something confidential to deliver, and my window’s tight this morning.”
She waves me on. “Sure. He’ll be here in a few.”
“Thanks,” I say, keeping my tone light, even though my pulse starts to tick faster. I push the door open and step into the office, fully intending to use the few minutes alone to poke around—just a little.
The plan dies as the door closes behind me, and I look straight ahead.
Raffaele is perched casually on the edge of Dom’s desk, thumbing through a folder with a lopsided grin. He doesn’t look up right away, too absorbed in whatever he’s reading.
“Oh,” I say, surprised. “Didn’t expect to find you in here.”
He lifts his gaze slowly, his smile widening like he’s been waiting for this moment. “And I didn’t expect you, but I’m starting to see a pattern.”
I blink, caught off guard. “I was told Mr. Moretti wasn’t in yet.”
“He’s not.” Raff taps the folder against the desk, then points at the chair across from him. “But I am. Lucky you.”
I narrow my eyes, already sensing that whatever he’s about to say will crawl under my skin. He might’ve been warm when we first met, but he’s Dom’s best friend—the only person he trusts, apparently. He’d know about his past.
The way I see it, Raffaele D’Amico is just as horrible as his friend.
He leans back, relaxed. “So, Sophie… here to deliver something confidential?” He mimics my words to Martha with mocking precision. “Or just snooping while the boss is out?”
“There are security cameras,” I say, picking the lie from thin air. Luckily, a glance around confirms my claim. “Why would I pull a move like that, knowing I’d get caught anyway?”
He shrugs. “Maybe you have a way of hacking the feed?”
I roll my eyes at his statement. “Seriously?”
“Hey.” He stands. “You’re the brilliant lawyer who found a way around a problem Dom and I had been working on for months. You tell me you couldn’t have bypassed one security camera if you really wanted to get something from his office?”
I’m not sure if it’s praise or a trap, but it makes me glow inside. On the outside, my expression is set at an impasse. “Being smart would mean knowing you can’t steal from Domenico Moretti,” I say. “Or snoop either.”
Raff studies me for a minute, and I see the moment when he determines I’ve passed his test.
“I wish I’d fought him harder,” he says, changing the subject. “As much as I love him, Dom has no idea how useful you can be.”
“And you do?”
I whirl around to find Dom standing by the door, one hand casually tucked into his pocket. He looks composed, too composed maybe, but his eyes are fixed on me.
He’s not looking at Raff. He’s looking at me .
And there’s something in his stare that makes me want to search for cover. It’s not anger, no. It’s the moment before he kissed me at the penthouse suite. The instant I knew there was no turning back.
It’s helplessness. He makes me feel like I’m exposed and my only way out is to run and hide.
The silence stretches, tight as a wire, before anyone dares to speak again.
“Well,” Raff is the first to speak. “We’ve been waiting for you.”
He slowly drags his gaze away from me, as if hesitant to let me go. The air I didn’t know I was holding whooshes out as he faces Raff. “I sent you a message that I’d be late.”
Raff nods. “Yup. But I thought I’d wait. And Sophie had the same thought.”
My neck snaps in his direction as my eyes widen. I did?!
“Anyways,” Raff rubs his hands together. “I should get going. I thought I could push back a meeting, but it seems like I might have to show up after all.”
What meeting? It seems like an exit strategy, but I’m confused about why he’d be in a hurry to leave now.
Dom is unbothered. “Sure,” he says as he rounds his desk. I watch him settle behind it, folding his sleeves inches from his wrist. Slowly. Deliberately. Like a man on a mission.
And perhaps innocently too, but there’s nothing innocent about the images my brain effortlessly conjures as he flexes his wrists and curls his fingers.
All I can think about is… hands.
Hands cupping my face, slipping down my body… over my chest, with a trail that left my stomach in a puddle and my mind fogged.
“You wanted to see me?” I snap out of my reverie at his curt, impatient tone. His eyes gloss over me this time—a clear contrast from the slow burn that pinned me while he stood by the door. The tension seems nonexistent now… almost as if it never happened.
As if that night never happened.
“Yes,” I nod. “I came by to drop a document, and Martha said I could drop it on your desk.”
He gestures to the desk in question, and I drop it. “I’ll review it and get back to you.”
Right. I’m being dismissed again. I’d have thought I dreamt the whole thing if I didn’t know better or stand in front of a mirror with a clear reflection of my bed hair and the fading bruise on my neck.
And yet he seems unaffected by it.
I would rather die than talk about it, but Dom’s nonchalance infuriates me.
“Is there something else you need help with?”
Yes.
“No.” I walk out without another word, fighting the urge not to slam it. I suppose I should be thankful, I mutter as I walk down the hallway. Thanks to him, I’ve become better at controlling my urges.
The number of times I’ve thought and imagined throttling him would drive any normal person crazy.
“It’s hard work, isn’t it?”
I gasp as I jump out of my skin, spinning to confront the unexpected intrusion. It’s Raff, standing a couple of feet away with a lazy smile at the corner of his mouth. “I didn’t mean to scare you,” he says. I don’t believe him.
“It’s fine,” I mutter, more interested in leaving than having a conversation. “I should,” I jerk my thumb over my shoulder, “get going.”
“Sure,” he says, but follows me as I walk into the elevator. My brows crease as I glance at him, and he raises a hand. “I’m not following you, I promise. I’m heading to the lobby. I have to meet with some big-shot investors and try to play ball before tonight’s meeting.”
‘Big shot?’ My ears perk up at that, but I feign disinterest with a half nod, keeping my eyes peeled on the buttons. The doors swing open on my floor, and I step out.
“See you later,” Raff calls out.
A meeting , I muse as I walk to my office. If he has to play nice, it means it’s a big deal.
I smile. Good.
Time for me to settle the score.
***
Two phone calls later, I find out where the meeting is being held—at a high-end rooftop bar in a hotel owned by the Moretti Group.
After making up an excuse to avoid hanging out with Amara, I leave my apartment at nine and take a cab to the hotel in a small black dress, my hair brushed neatly, and a simple diamond necklace I haven’t worn in years.
What is it with billionaires and late-night meetings?
I walk into the building like I belong there, head high, pace casual. The staff barely glance at me as I step into the elevator and press the button for the rooftop.
The doors slide open onto a sleek, dimly lit hallway with floor-to-ceiling windows on one side and a velvet rope cutting off access to the rooftop bar at the far right end. A uniformed guard stands just beyond it.
I don’t stop.
I make it three steps past the elevator before he speaks. “Ma’am.”
I pause, turn slowly, blinking like I’m startled. “Yes?”
“Do you have an invite?”
I had not anticipated the question, so my silence gives me away. He holds a hand out, stopping me. “I’m afraid I can’t let you go any further.”
My head tilts as I glance at the rope. “Why not? I’m meeting with Mr. Moretti. I’m sure he must’ve informed you. I’m—” I pause, a force of habit whenever I have to pull my secret weapon “—Sophie Bellini.”
He frowns, and I can tell he has no idea who I am or what my last name means. Thanks to the Morettis.
Irritation lodges in my chest, but I push it away and plaster a smile. “Go and ask him if you’re not convinced.”
“Go,” I insist, picking off an invisible lint from my sleeve. “I’ll wait. It might cost you your job, but I’ll be polite enough to wait.”
I watch his expression flicker between doubt and uncertainty, but he ultimately chooses the latter. “Wait here,” he grunts before walking off.
Sweet. As soon as he’s out of sight, I make my move, walking in the opposite direction instead of tiptoeing after him.
If I know anything about men like Domenico Moretti, it’s that they never do the obvious thing.
I pass two doors before I hear it. A faint murmur of voices. Muffled but unmistakably tense. I slow down, heels now silent on the thick carpet. I stop short of the next door and press my back against the wall, straining to make out the words.
The noise coming from the other end, the occupied area of the bar, probably, “I don’t care what Ricci promised—”
I lean in closer. The next second, a hand wraps around my wrist.
“What the—?”
I barely get the words out before I’m yanked back, hard. The door behind me flies open, and I’m pulled into a darkened room that I didn’t see before. I stumble over the threshold, catching my balance only when my back hits something cold—glass, maybe. My heart hammers against my ribs.
The door slams shut.
A lock clicks.
And then I hear his voice. It sounds low, amused, and far too close.
“You really need to work on your stealth, sweetheart.”