15. Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Fifteen
S ophie
How did I lose track of time?
I checked the clock hanging on the wall every half hour or so while I rifled through Dom’s drawer and every nook of his study.
I had my eyes on the door and an alarm on my phone, so I’d know when to call it a night.
Like I said, the housekeeper’s presence was the reason I couldn’t move around freely all day. Somehow, she was everywhere I went: in the hallway with a fresh load of clothes, standing in the kitchen with a cup of tea that smelled weird but did wonders for my splitting headache.
But I needed to access his private space, so the second she walked out the front door, I was in his office.
“Do you?” he repeats with a twinge of mockery in his voice. Like he’s been carrying the secret for so long, while keeping a record of how many lies I’ve told. “Should I tell you what it is?” Dom murmurs.
His foot moves an inch, and I retreat instinctively, backing myself against the curve of polished wood. He’s lying. He has to be unless he’s telling the truth and knows that I’m Sophie Bellini, not Greco.
In that case, I’ve been burrowing deep into his trap this entire time.
I’m not ready to believe that.
“No,” I shake my head. “I don’t want to hear it because I’m not lying to you. I was bored and found myself here after exploring every other room and nook I could enter.”
“And,” I throw with a careless shrug, “I don’t care if you think I’m lying. It’s your fault, anyway. You shouldn’t have kept me in here like a prisoner. That’s what you get for inviting a stranger into your home.”
Dom cocks his head, saying nothing. But it’s the silence that unnerves me. Not knowing what he thinks and walking blindly through his darkness makes me falter.
A corner of his mouth twitches—more in mock amusement than a smile. He folds his arms behind him. “I see why you became a lawyer. You’re pretty good at making up stories, Miss Greco.”
He didn’t buy my act. Not a single lie.
Then he shrugs, pursing his lips too. “I’ll take your word for it, though. Because everything in this room is confidential and Patrice knows better than to enter without my permission.”
“Which means,” he arches a brow, “if there’s a leak, I’ll know who it’s from. So if you were planning anything, I’ll suggest you drop it.” He gestures openly with his fingers as his voice softens. “Let’s conclude that you wandered in and stumbled on the document by accident.”
A shiver racks through my body as he turns, and I grip the edge of the desk to keep from falling. He stops, hearing my gasp, and I straighten immediately.
“Oh, I forgot to tell you,” he says quietly. We’ll be flying to Italy tomorrow. I have something to do there, and I’ll need you… as usual.”
Italy??
My mind is spinning even before the door closes. I whirl around, dragging a chair quickly to save myself. Italy?
I haven’t been to the country in ten years. My parents died when I was ten, and I moved to the States with my uncle and his wife when I turned fifteen.
Why Italy? Why now? My fingers scrape against wood, digging into the smooth grain of the desk as if the pressure could slow the panic rising in my chest.
I can’t ignore the pattern at this point. One Construction company is affiliated with my uncle’s company. The party where mutual friends of both families were in attendance. And now, this?
“It’s a country, Sophie,” I say when a moment of clarity hits through the panic fog. Not a city. Besides, he’s Italian. There’s nothing suspicious about going to the country where he’s from.
It’s me, I realize. I’m falling apart because it’s too close to home. We might end up being miles away, but we’ll still be closer to the place where I lost everything.
Grief prickles at the back of my throat, sharp and metallic, like the aftertaste of old memories. We might end up miles from the house where everything I knew collapsed—but even then, I’ll know.
And I’m not sure I can survive it all over again.
***
My eyes are closed for most of the flight there, mainly to catch up on sleep I didn’t get the night before, and to shut Dom out.
The plane lands on the private airstrip, and I slip into the backseat of the car waiting to pick us up, shutting my eyes promptly as it hits the road.
The smell, however, sweeps nostalgia like a flood into my stomach. I grind my teeth and blink back tears as echoes of voices and glimpses of the past torture my thoughts and fill my mind.
My mom, standing in the vegetable garden behind the house, pruning herbs. My father, on the kitchen porch, making her laugh.
Unshed tears sting the corners of my eyes, but I don’t blink. I refuse to let them fall—not yet. My chest rises in shallow bursts as I swipe one away, then another, each breath quieter than the last. I’m not crying. I won’t cry. Not in front of him.
Terrified he might catch a glimpse of the storm behind my eyes, I turn toward the window, trying to ground myself in the blur of vineyards and hills.
But the world outside won’t be still. Everything swims, distorted through a veil of grief and panic I can’t hold back.
I don’t realize we’ve stopped moving until the car gently rolls to a halt.
I blink slowly—once, then again. The sight that greets me knocks the air from my lungs.
No . It screams in my head.
But the familiar sloping hills aren’t a figment of the past or a hallucination, and neither is the gentle, honey-colored stone building nestled between rows of vines.
The wrought-iron gate is still intact, bearing a different color but with my family’s crest. The Bellini crest.
I know this place. I can see every stone, every stretch of soil, even when I close my eyes. It’s their vineyard.
My hand trembles as I wipe at my face again, and I turn sharply toward Dom, horror ripping through the numbness like a blade.
“Why…?” My voice falters, then rises, raw and sharp. “Why did you bring me here?”
His brows pull together as he turns from the passenger’s seat. “What are you talking about? I said I had business here, didn’t I? Is there something else I should know?”
Yes. That this feels like a nightmare. Bile rises to my throat, stopping the words, and I yank the door open, almost tumbling as I rush out. I barely make it twenty feet before I’m on the ground, hands and knees, throwing up.
“Miss Greco?” “Miss Greco?”
I hear footsteps behind me, but the last thing I want to do is face Dom. He’s the reason for everything. His murdering, backstabbing family.
He shouldn’t be here. “Don’t,” I say hoarsely as I stand, holding my hand out. “Don’t come any closer. I don’t know what tricks you think you’ve pulled, but I’m not buying it.”
“Just—” My shoulders tremble, and I cover my mouth to muffle a strangled sob. “Just leave me alone, please.”
He nods and takes a step back, while I try to fight the dizziness in my head and the pain grinding through my chest.
I hear the sound of a car leaving, and it’s only when I can’t hear it anymore that I fall to my knees again, letting grief and the tears tear me apart.
***
Somehow, I lost track of time. Again.
After Dom leaves, I walk through the vineyard, barely feeling my feet on the ground or the leaves I run my fingers against. Nothing feels real—except the memories that cloud my vision with gray.
By the time I come to, the sun is already setting, its colors like beautiful splashes across the clouds.
My feet hurt like hell, but I keep going until I reach the old stone bench tucked between two gnarled vines. I sink slowly, the cold seeping through my clothes, penetrating the haze in a way nothing else has today.
I lean forward, elbows on my knees, hands clasped. For a long moment, I stare at the dirt between my shoes.
The silence is thick and pressing, like the air is holding its breath with me.
My phone, my bag—I left everything in the car when I ran out.
Will he come back for me?
Probably not. After all, I acted like a child throwing a tantrum. He must’ve wondered why—that is, if he didn’t plan the whole thing.
“Am I playing blindly into his hands?” I mutter as I run my hands over the muddy splashes. I thought I’d finally figured it out… the dots were too close to be coincidental, but I don’t know what to think.
If Dom brought me here to see my reaction, why did he leave when I asked him to?
He could’ve stayed. Gloated even. Or maybe pretended to leave and returned under the guise of having work to do.
But it’s not Dom that bothers me the most. It’s my uncle.
He said he had to sell the vineyard when he took me to the States. Said it was the only way to keep me safe—that it was one more thing for the Morettis to take.
I believed him because this was the only place I’d ever truly called home. And I thought he gave it up for me.
But the crest on the gate, still carved in iron and proud with my family’s name, says otherwise.
He lied. It’s not the first time he’s lied to me, but this one—it fucking hurts.
Frustration curls through my chest like fire, mingling with sadness, choking me. I reach into my pocket, but my fingers close around the air, reminding me again that I left everything in the car.
Including every means of getting out of here.
I’m stranded.
I can’t just walk into the winery and ask for help. If I run into someone who recognizes me, I’ll risk blowing my cover. I can’t ask my uncle to cover for me either, because heaven knows he’s the last person I want to talk to right now.
I’m sure he knows where I am. But I don’t care. I’m not ready to hear his excuses.
I push off the bench with a groan, brushing dirt from my palms, and start toward the side path that leads back to the gravel lot. My steps are slower now, feet dragging, the air colder than I remember.
Then I stop when I see someone coming down the path.
At first, it’s just the crunch of shoes on gravel, and then a dark silhouette moves with purpose.
My breath catches as fear slices through me, but the dark quickly disappears as the person steps into the light.
The warm glow from the overhead lamp spills across his face. It’s Dom.
His expression is masked in the dim light, one eye half-shadowed by the soft gold pouring from the old vineyard lantern. At first, it highlights his jaw, pouring over the harsh edges and shading the thin lines of his mouth.
I squint as I exhale. Is he scowling? Did I do something wrong? But as he gets closer, the light seems to shift.
His mouth curves, not flattens, and his brows are lifted slightly. It looks like… worry.
And the cold breeze clinging to my skin all evening softens as he nears, replaced by a strange, reluctant warmth.
“I wasn’t sure how much time you needed alone,” he says, stopping a few feet from where I stand. “But I figured you’d need a ride to the hotel.”
“You came back for me?” Doubt crawls through my voice.
Dom shrugs. “Why would I leave you behind?”
“I—” I shake my head, too flustered to speak. “I don’t know. I remember telling you to leave, so I thought you’d…” I trail off when he moves, closing the space between us in mere strides.
“Was I supposed to stay away the entire trip?” he murmurs softly.
Why does it sound like he’s talking about something else? We’re standing in the middle of a gravel path, surrounded by rows of trees and buildings, but everything’s narrowed down to just him and me.
“No,” I say quietly, too confused to untangle the emotions racing through me. “We’re here for work, after all. I should do my job.”
Dom nods, slow and thoughtful, but his eyes don’t leave my face.
And there’s none of the indifference or coldness I’ve come to expect from him, only something softer. It slips through my thoughts, gathering in my chest with a pressure too familiar and strange at the same time.
“Let’s go,” he says, his voice steady. He turns, and I hesitate, only briefly, before following suit.
Dom holds the door open for me when we get to the car. It’s a minor gesture, but if it had come from someone else, it wouldn’t make my pulse race.
Instead, I find my thoughts spiral into places they have no business going… back to the night when he kissed me.
The first time.
I inhale deeply, counting the seconds as I slide into the passenger seat without a word.
He gets around to the driver’s side, sliding in with a quiet exhale as his fingers curl around the steering wheel, steady and familiar in a way that only unsettles me more.
I keep my gaze fixed on the road ahead, but the subtle tap of his thumb against the leather and the quiet click of the shift beg my attention.
When we hit the curve in the road that tilts my body slightly toward him, I dig my fingers into the chair, pressing my thighs together.
Why?
It could’ve been for anybody else. I would’ve taken being attracted to a random man from a one-night stand with a terrible sense of humor who lives halfway across the world.
Not Domenico.
It goes against everything I know and everything I should feel, and there’s no logical reason behind it, either.
Other than the shrinking space between us and the silence that settles like a weight in the center console.
Maybe it’s because I’m too close to him. It means admitting that I’m weak, but I’m willing to take anything at this point, as long as it’ll cure me of this madness.
“That’s it,” I mutter under my breath. Space. I need to withdraw and reassess. I can’t do that when he’s watching my every move and dictating everything I do.
“Sophie.”
He says my name so softly it almost blends with the sound of the wind through the half-open window, so gentle I nearly convince myself I imagined it. Until I feel his gaze, heavy and unflinching, land on me.
I turn toward him instinctively, but he’s already looking away, eyes back on the road like nothing happened.
“You were fine until we pulled up at the winery.” He glances at me then—just a flick of his eyes, but it catches. “Is there something I should know?”
The question hangs between us. It’s not an order, and it doesn’t feel like an interrogation, either. If he weren’t sitting next to me, I’d assume it was someone who cared about my answer.
“Nothing,” I say tersely as I curl my fingers in my lap. “It reminded me of something else, that’s all. I’m sorry you had to see that.”
“Okay,” he nods.
The conversation ends there, but as I turn to the window like I did hours ago, I can’t help but wish that he were someone else.
But he’s not.
Even so, it doesn’t dull the ache in my chest that threatens to self-sabotage everything I’ve worked for.