12. Chapter Twelve
Chapter Twelve
D om
An hour passes before I realize that Sophie never returned to the building. Two hours later, she’s still nowhere to be found.
If she hasn’t jumped ship yet, then she’s probably hiding from me—not that I blame her.
I came so close to exposing her act.
“Do you know how many people have asked me tonight if your company’s about to fold?” Raff’s voice cuts in, sharp and far too amused. I turn to find him with his tie hanging loose, shirt unbuttoned halfway down his chest, and a whiskey glass he doesn’t need.
“Going under? Filing bankruptcy?” he continues, throwing the words out like confetti. “Is that your new PR strategy? Mystique and financial ruin?”
I drag a hand down my face, jaw ticking. “I didn’t ask for commentary, Raff.”
“Well,” he shrugs, “I wouldn’t report the commentary if I didn’t have to repeat it to every person—”
I cut him a look. “You mean every woman you’ve tried to charm?”
His grin kicks up instantly, incorrigible. I glance at the faint smear of lipstick on his neck. “Judging by that mark, I’d say I wasn’t the subject for long.”
He laughs, unbothered. “No, no. You were just the opener.” He gives me a lazy punch to the arm. “Lighten up, man. It’s a party.”
Raff’s expression sobers slightly when I don’t give him the smile he wants. “Seriously. Where’s Sophie? I thought I saw you two earlier.”
Two hours ago. But who’s counting? “She had something to attend to,” I say, my voice clipped.
He raises a brow, unimpressed. “You didn’t chase her away, did you?” He whistles under his breath. “She must’ve found better company, then. Can’t say I blame her.”
“You should be using your charm on the women instead of wasting it on me,” I say with sarcasm and a lot of bite, wishing I had a drink about now so I could distract myself from the coiled tension in my chest.
So I can stop thinking about green dresses and loose curls.
“Oh,” Raff says with some excitement. “There she is. I told you she found better company.” I don’t respond, dismissing it as a prank.
“And…” he lets out a low whistle, “he’s handsome too. Not that you’re bad on the eyes,” he adds quickly, throwing me a sheepish grin. “But that guy looks like he came straight off a fashion spread.”
My gaze shifts with a mind of its own, following the direction of his pointed finger with slow, deliberate precision until it lands on Sophie.
Walking back into the building like she didn’t vanish for hours.
But what makes my jaw tighten isn’t the dress or her slow, composed stride. It’s the man at her side. He’s tall, clean-cut, and charming in that polished, vanilla way.
Her arm is tucked neatly in the crook of his elbow, and she’s smiling.
Not the sharp-edged smile she gives me when she’s pissed off or the too-sweet smile that means she’s lying through her teeth. This one is softer and genuine.
A quiet pressure builds behind my ribs. It’s not rage, although it feels like I’m too close to the edge. Too freaking close.
Raff keeps talking beside me, but I don’t hear a word. My world narrows to the sight of Sophie leaning in, saying something to the man that makes him laugh.
“Dom? Dom? …Domenico Moretti?” Raffaele stares at me with a quizzical expression. “Are you okay?” he asks.
My shoulders barely lift. “Other than the comments you find pleasure in repeating? Yeah, I am. Why?”
Raff jerks his chin toward Sophie. She’s at a different table now—some boutique investment firm, I think. The man with her pulls out a chair, and she sits without hesitation, placing her hand lightly on his arm as she murmurs something in his ear.
My fist curls at my side.
If she thinks cozying up to someone else is going to save her from—
“Is there something going on between you two?” Raff asks, cutting clean through the static in my head.
“What?” I snap.
He lifts both hands, palms open, as if that’ll soften the hit. “Hey, I’m just saying. The way you were looking at her wasn’t nothing.”
He tilts his head and gives me that knowing, irritating smirk of his. “I’ve seen it before,” he adds, shrugging one shoulder. “That’s the look of a man who likes a woman and is very clearly jealous.”
I stare at him.
Raff doesn’t flinch. “You’ve got the whole storm-brewing-between-the-eyes thing going. If it helps, you’re not exactly subtle.”
I exhale slowly through my nose. “She’s an employee.”
Raff rolls his eyes. “And I’m a priest.”
“She works for me,” I repeat, voice hardening.
“Mhm,” he hums, sipping from his drink. “So does half the building. But you don’t watch the rest of them like they’re your chess pieces.”
I don’t answer. Mostly because he’s not wrong. And that infuriates me more than anything else.
He leans in a little, lowering his voice. “So, what’s the play here? I’m not one for interpersonal relationships, but I haven’t seen you this way before, so if you have something for her, then you have my blessing.”
“And you’ll have my blessing and a recommendation letter,” I say flatly, “when you’re looking for a new job tomorrow.”
Raff backs off with both palms raised in mock surrender, but the smug curve of his mouth doesn’t entirely disappear. “Fine, fine. Touchy.” He’s already scanning the room again. “I’m going to get myself another one of those cocktails. I don’t know what they put in them, but it’s incredible.”
He wanders off, slipping into easy conversation with someone else without a problem.
I turn back toward the table where I last saw Sophie, but she’s not there. The chair sits empty.
The man she was with is still in conversation, but Sophie is nowhere in sight.
Did she find someone else? A flicker of something cuts through my chest, pushing jealousy straight into the territory of possessiveness.
I brought her here to watch her unravel. To measure just how far I needed to push until her plan crumbled in on itself.
But now I’m the one standing on the edge of the room, my drink untouched, watching her smile fade into memory, left with nothing but a tightness in my chest I refuse to name.
My phone buzzes.
I ignore the drink being offered and reach into my jacket. A message from Sophie. “ I’m sorry, but I had to leave early. I caught a stomach bug and I couldn’t stay.”
“A clever lie,” I mutter under my breath.
She was fine when she walked in. She looked fine when she smiled and when she slipped her arm into another man’s, like she belonged there.
But I’m not going to chase her. Not tonight.
I’ll let her feel safe again and believe she has the upper hand because the longer she works for me, the more comfortable she gets.
And when she thinks she’s dug her way in—I’ll be there. Ready to drag her right back out.
I accept the drink when it comes by a second time, but my taste for polite conversation has dwindled, so I step outside to get some fresh air. I’m halfway through when I hear brisk footsteps coming and Raffaele’s terse voice.
“Dom.”
I can already tell something’s wrong before I turn. His shoulders are rigid, and he shakes his head slowly. “There’s been an accident.”
The air around me thins out. My pulse slows to a crawling halt. “Who?” I already know.
He sucks in a deep breath. “Sophie.”
***
I’m out of the car before it stops in front of the hospital, swinging through the door with paced strides. Sophie.
Raffaele didn’t say how the accident happened—or rather, I didn’t wait to listen. He said she was alive, and that was good enough for me.
His steps overtake mine as I reach the nurses’ station, and he points ahead. “She’s in the emergency department,” he says.
I don’t thank him or speak. I can’t. Not when my tongue is stuck to the roof of my mouth and my heart is threatening to explode.
I know she’s okay, but I keep picturing her as she walked into the building—alive, vibrant, despite how tightly wired I felt at seeing her. And then another image—the car wreck.
The emergency wing hums with low voices and the occasional beeping of machines.
I don’t remember navigating the maze of hallways—only the thin curtain pulled halfway shut, the faint shadow of movement behind it, and the burn in my chest when I hear her voice.
“Mr. Moretti?”
The curtain gives way as I push it, and the sight hits me like a punch. She’s sitting on a narrow hospital bed, knees tucked beneath a thin gown, a bruise blooming across her collarbone. A white bandage curves over her left temple, catching a strand of messy hair.
Her lips part when she sees me. “I knew it was you.”
“How did it happen?” It’s a rhetorical question, but it’s the only thing I can muster other than the storm swirling inside me.
She exhales, tired but steady. “I don’t know. When I tried to avoid a truck, my car spun, and I clipped the rail. Nothing dramatic.”
The cut on her head says otherwise.
A nurse steps in with a clipboard, oblivious to the tension threading the tiny space. She gives me a brief look. “From all indications, Miss Greco looks fine. Just some bruising and a cut. We should be releasing her tonight, unless something else comes up.”
I nod, but I don’t look away from Sophie. The nurse disappears.
She speaks again, softer now. “They wanted to make sure I wasn’t concussed. I’m not. Just… tired.”
More than that. The spark in her eyes when I found her the second time has faded into something that flickers in and out like a dying bulb. The light wasn’t with me, her smile was for someone else, but seeing it leave makes my throat too clogged to swallow.
Fear.
That’s what it is. She’s trying hard to mask it, but I catch the way she tugs the short sleeve of the hospital gown and blinks quickly, holding back tears.
My fingers curl on each side, swamped with the need to offer her comfort. I want to cross over and wrap my arms gently around her… to ease the fear, even just for tonight.
“You could’ve told me you were leaving,” I say hoarsely. “I would’ve had my driver take you home.”