11. Chapter Eleven
Chapter Eleven
D om
The party is in full swing when I walk into the building, from chandeliers hanging from the ceiling and glasses clinking mid-conversation. My gaze wanders from corner to corner as I greet people absentmindedly.
Sophie.
She refused the pickup service I offered, sending an email at the last minute that she’d get herself here instead.
I wonder if it was an excuse to bail.
After all, this party is another setup. It’s not as subtle as the last project because I confirmed ahead of time that certain people—who knew both families, Moretti and Bellini—would be in attendance to some degree, including the CEO of One Construction.
The question is… would any of them recognize Sophie? And if they did, would she vehemently deny or find a way around her lies?
A hand touches my shoulder, and I find myself staring at the rim of a half-filled glass. “You look tense, Domenico,” Raff murmurs, appearing from thin air. “People might start to think you were forced to attend.”
“Good,” I say. “It’ll save me the trouble of having to be cordial.”
He chuckles, and I accept the glass, sipping bubbly champagne. “You and I both know that’s not how it works. It doesn’t matter if you wear a sign on your forehead, you’ll still have to indulge a couple of people.”
My mouth flattens into a scowl, and more champagne warms my throat, working overtime. I loathe social gatherings. The pointless conversations, the fake laughs… it’s precisely why I rejected the invite when Raff first brought it up.
Until I realized it was an opportunity to blow Sophie’s cover wide open. Or maybe not blow it, but I’m willing to settle for seeing how she intends to navigate scrutiny.
“Where’s Miss Greco?” Raff asks as he snags another drink from a server. “I thought she was supposed to be your plus-one.”
I turn to him as my eyes narrow, the question of how he found out poised on my lips. “I know everything, Dom,” he answers—before I speak—with a cheeky smile. “Where’s she? I assumed you’d be a gentleman for one and pick up the lady.”
I scoff lightly. “She’s my employee, Raffaele. Not my date. And besides, you’re here. You could be my plus one.”
Raff pulls away as he shakes his head. “Nope. Thank you, but nope. I’d rather sit in a corner than hang out with you.”
My head tilts as my mouth opens slightly in a dramatic display of hurt. “I wasn’t aware you thought of me that way, but thank you for being so honest.”
He places a hand on my shoulder, unrepentantly. “I’m sure there are many people willing to lie to you. You should feel lucky. I tell you the truth every time. Well,” he adds after a beat, “and Miss Greco. I have a feeling she’s not the kind to suck up to you.”
A flash of a raised chin and furious eyes flickers in my mind, quickly replaced by a calmer version—her gaze narrowed, her lips curved just slightly in that infuriating, smug way she wears when she knows she’s gotten under my skin.
Sophie Greco.
She’s not a suck-up. But a liar?
I let out a short breath that tastes like disbelief. “You have no idea.”
Raff misinterprets the sound, of course. He grins, like he’s been validated. “Told you I’m a good judge of character. But I won’t part easily with the next one. Although,” he pauses, running his thumb along his jaw, “I’ve got a feeling we’re not getting another Sophie anytime soon.”
No. We won’t.
Because there’s only one woman who could lie so cleanly, so completely.
Only one who would drop her last name and step willingly into the lion’s den—into my company—knowing exactly who I was, and what my family had lost because of hers.
Raff disappears into a sea of tailored suits and expensive perfume, and I drain the rest of my drink, heading toward the table reserved for Moretti Group.
But then something stops me. Or maybe someone. It carries through the air, a whiff of something that tugs and demands attention.
I turn, caught by a flicker of movement near the entrance, despite the number of people gathered close to the door.
And I see her.
Sophie walks in without a word, without fanfare, but still manages to shift the energy in the room. Maybe not the room, but I find myself unable to look anywhere but at her.
She’s wearing a deep emerald dress—not green, not quite black—but the kind of shade that looks darker depending on how the light hits it.
It hugs her frame like it was sewn next to her skin, the fabric liquid and smooth, catching in the soft golden glow of the chandeliers overhead.
Her hair falls in soft waves, pushed behind one ear, revealing a delicate earring that catches a pulse of light like a match striking in the dark.
And her lips are bare. No red, like the evening she walked into the restaurant. Just the natural flush of pink, like the tip of her ear when I kissed her skin that night.
The same shade I remember blooming at the tip of her ear when I leaned in and kissed her skin that night.
I thought red felt like danger, fire ignited by gasoline.
Like the way my gaze couldn’t help but follow the subtle movement of her hand as she toyed with the edge of her glass, or the slow curve of her body when she leaned forward at the table, her neckline dipping just low enough to haunt me later.
But bare? It’s worse. It’s what she looked like when she had her guard down. When the lies slipped away, the only thing left between us was how much we wanted each other.
It reminds me of losing control.
She looks around, her gaze panning the tables before it settles on me. I see something unsure in them—vulnerable and unguarded—like she didn’t expect to find me looking at her.
Then she fixes it and strides across, holding her dress away from her heels with two fingers.
Before she gets to the table, I catch a whiff of caramel candy notes with vanilla and brown sugar, teasing my senses like the night at the bar.
Every night, every morning, every last moment spent near Sophie feels like it’s etched so deeply that my brain isn’t allowed to forget it.
Like a damned man dreaming of salvation while knowing it might be what kills him.
Finally, she gets to me. Her lashes are darker, with a shade of black drawn over them. She looks up at me, and in a voice that sounds nothing professional, she murmurs breathily and low,
“I’m sorry I’m late. My best friend had an emergency and I had to help her. I didn’t miss anything, did I?”
“No,” I shake my head, possessed by the sudden urge to reach for my tie and tug it loose. “You didn’t. I would’ve expected you to show up on time anyway, but we can make allowances for such situations.”
She sighs softly, a smile creeping across her mouth and fading away. “Thank you.”
Then she turns and reaches for two drinks from the passing waiter. I watch her fingers wrap delicately around the stems, and my gaze drops, lingering as she sinks into the chair with slow, deliberate poise.
It’s almost sinful.
My mind races, my thoughts go south. Would she still be this composed if I kissed her? I’ve seen how her eyes roll back and watched her legs wrap around mine to take me closer.
But that one night. One, hurried night.
I wouldn’t mind another. To watch her cling to me while I strip her-
“I’ll make the introductions.” I stop my thoughts by speaking aloud. I stand up, ignoring the drink. Without waiting to see if she would follow, I walk away from the table, scanning for the best person to begin my plan.
I find them almost immediately—an old friend of my father’s with ties to the oil and gas industry, standing by his wife.
“Mr. Malik,” I say with a measured smile. “Good evening.”
Domenico,” he beams, clasping my hand in both of his. “Who would’ve thought?”
He gestures to the room. “I was telling someone the other day that you don’t show up to things like this. Not like the rest of us.”
“I heard that rumor’s been making the rounds.” I nod politely to his wife, then turn back to him. “You haven’t aged a day, sir.”
He chuckles, seeing straight through the deflection. “Still as slippery as ever when you need to be. You’re nothing like your father, you know that?”
My smile stays in place, but it’s tighter now, controlled.
“He loved this kind of thing,” Malik continues, undeterred. “Your mother, too, of course. But it was he who grew to enjoy its noise. He didn’t just tolerate it—he relished it.”
My jaw shifts.
And just like that, the room dims for a second. Not literally, but in that way where memory crawls up from your gut and fogs everything else.
I can hear them laughing. My father’s voice deep, my mother’s hand curled around his arm, the warmth of their presence thick enough to anchor me.
And then, nothing. Just silence and then the finality of death.
I’m not like my father. I can’t be.
He had time to grow into the role. I inherited Moretti Group while I still struggled with grief, and I had to keep my head above water when I was drowning inside.
I clear my throat and pivot.
“Mr. Malik,” I say, stepping slightly to the side. “I’d like you to meet someone. This is Miss Greco. She’s with the Moretti Group.” Annoyance simmers as she steps into view, but I find myself holding it for her parents, not her.
They were the ones who took everything that truly mattered from me. And if Sophie hadn’t crossed paths with me, my rage might’ve stayed that way.
Now, I intend to have her repay the debt.
Mr. Malik studies her closely, his handshake firm, but his smile begins to dim with thought. He tilts his head. “Miss Greco…”
Sophie smiles politely, prepared for small talk. “It’s a pleasure, sir.”
But he doesn’t let go of her hand right away. His eyes narrow just slightly, his brow furrowing. “You look familiar.”
The corners of Sophie’s mouth twitch, but she covers them well.
“Have we met before?” he asks, eyes sharper now. “Perhaps at a previous event? Your features… I don’t forget faces easily. Perhaps some years back?”
I wasn’t sure if he’d recognize her since I don’t remember crossing paths with Sophie when I was younger. But it’s obvious that she looks so much like her father.
A man she’s tried hard to bury any connection to.
Sophie lets out a soft, well-practiced laugh. “I’ve been told I have one of those faces. Maybe I remind you of someone?”
I don’t say anything.
Because for someone who’s supposed to blend in, she suddenly looks like a spotlight has found her. And I want to see exactly how she gets out of this.
“Huh,” Mr. Malik nods slowly. “I guess so.” Then his smile returns.
“I guess my memory is getting muddled up, then. That’s what happens when you grow old,” he says as he turns to me. “Although your father never had that problem. He was focused— it didn’t matter how difficult it looked; he always managed to get to the bottom of things.”
He lays a hand on my shoulder as his smile turns nostalgic. “I’m sure he’s proud of you. Of what you’ve become.”
A sharp feeling, like emotions tumbling all over the place, lodges in my chest. “Thank you, I murmur.”
“What about your uncle? I haven’t seen the old bastard in a while. Where’s he—?”
“Ah,” I swiftly cut him off. “Would you excuse us? I need to meet with some people. I’ll see you before I leave.”
“Alright,” he calls out as I turn away, already retreating. “You look like a nice young lady, Miss Greco. I wouldn’t mind if there were something more going on.”
Something more? Accountability, maybe. Settling old scores, sure. But I don’t intend to cross any other lines with Sophie Greco.
“There,” I make a head gesture to a group of three men standing a couple of feet ahead of us, all the same age as Mr. Malik. That’s Mr. Costa,” I say casually, dropping it like a nonessential piece of information. He’s one of the biggest players in the entertainment and media business.”
“Oh,” she murmurs from beside me, prompting a glance. Her earring catches the light as I turn, and she tucks her hair behind her ear, showing off her neck, delicate skin leading to her pulse.
I recall how it raced when I touched her. It felt live against my hand, skittering as my mouth traced her collarbone.
My focus drops to her collarbone and sinks into the neckline of her dress, tracing the shimmers I didn’t notice until now.
I lose myself only for a few seconds, but it’s long enough to have me crash into someone else.
“I’m sorry,” the man mutters when he lifts his head to mine, before hurrying off, while I play off my mistake with an offended frown.
“Beside him,” I say casually, slowing my stride just enough to let the words sink in, “is Marino Pesci. He’s friends with the Bellini family. He’s also friends with the CEO of One Construction.”
I glance sideways—just enough to catch her profile.
“They’ve become reclusive now—” I let the sentence hang, a deliberate pause slicing through the air, waiting to see if she’ll flinch. She doesn’t. Not even a breath out of place.
Her head bobs like she finds it interesting.
“Mr. Pesci’s known the family for decades,” I continue smoothly. “He might be able to help us.”
That gets her. Sophie’s eyes jerk to me, wide and unguarded. Her mouth parts slightly before she stammers, “Help with what?”
Her voice cracks. The smooth composure she wears like a second skin slips just for a second.
Bingo.
I keep my expression neutral. “Of course,” I say, as if her question didn’t matter, “you’ll be taking the lead on the project.”
I pick up pace again, weaving through the crowd of Armani suits and practiced laughter, but I sense it before I even turn around that she’s not moving.
I glance back and arch a brow. “Miss Greco?” Her skin is pale beneath the lighting, and beads of sweat gleam beneath her hairline.
“I need to…” Her voice is thin, breathless. “I need to use the restroom. I’ll be back in a few.”
She doesn’t wait for my response.
But her exit is exactly what I expect from her—measured, head held high, her heels clicking sharp and controlled against the floor like she hasn’t just been gutted from the inside.
She doesn’t run.
I didn’t expect her to, not with the planning that brought her into my company. But she will, and I’ll be right there to stop her.