16. Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Sixteen
S ophie
The glass of wine in my hand is warm, and the stem slick beneath my fingers from where I’ve been holding it too long.
The kitchen is quiet—too quiet for my thoughts. I thought Dom booked a hotel, but we ended up at a villa nearby.
Outside the window, soft and golden vineyard lights flicker in the distance, but they might as well be a world away. I bring the rim of the glass to my lips, pause, then lower it again.
My thumb drifts to the edge of my index finger, and before I realize it, I’m biting the skin around my cuticle. I press too hard, tasting copper before I stop.
Beside me, my phone sits on the counter, facedown and silent.
I’ve tried calling my uncle at least a dozen times, but every attempt has gone straight to voicemail. There have been no callbacks, no messages, and nothing.
I’m past my anger now.
What I need to know is what he wants me to do. It’s evident that Dom has some agenda on the vineyard, and since my uncle didn’t sell as he said, he’s in control.
Just like One Construction.
I need to know what he intends to do with my parents’ vineyard and if he’ll use me as a pawn to secure his interests again.
I exhale shakily as my fist curls at my side, jaw clenched so hard it aches. Maybe I’m not past the anger.
“How could I be?” I mutter under my breath, pushing away from the counter. My steps echo softly as I pace the kitchen, arms crossed tightly over my chest like they’re the only thing holding me together.
Everyone I’ve ever trusted has betrayed me in one way or another.
Domenico and his father stole everything from my family—our name, our dignity, our peace.
And my uncle—God, my uncle—he looked me in the eye and told me the vineyard was gone, sold off to protect me.
But it wasn’t. He lied, took the only home I ever had, and twisted it into something else.
“A pawn,” I whisper bitterly. That’s what I’ve always been. Moved around, kept in the dark, told when to play and when to fold.
I march back to the counter and grab the wine glass, draining the rest of it in one sharp swallow. It burns going down, but it’s not enough.
I reach for the bottle and pour another, shutting my eyes as it hits the spot. I’m still sober. Too sober to make decisions, I should’ve made a long time ago.
Like giving my uncle a piece of my mind and telling Domenico the truth about how I feel. How much I loathe him and his family.
So I pour again. I’m halfway through lifting the glass when a voice cuts through the air behind me.
“Are you intentionally preparing for a hangover, or is this part of a dramatic spiral?”
My grip loosens on the glass, but I don’t drop it before I turn slowly, taking my time to face him.
“What does it matter to you?” I ask in a clipped voice.
“It’s not like you care. The little thing you pulled back at the winery was that you couldn’t leave me stranded, or you’d have to find someone else to do your dirty work. ”
Dom reached for my drink. I pull back instinctively, and it sloshes over the rim, spilling at my feet. I stare at it for a moment, then lift my head with a scoff. “Do you have to control everything?”
“You’re going to wake up with a splitting headache,” he says calmly, which only infuriates me further. “You’re not thinking clearly, Sophie. Drop the drink and go to bed.”
“Sure,” I chuckle bitterly. “Of course you’d tell me what to do. You always have to be right. If it’s not going your way, it’s not the correct way.”
He sighs, slow and heavy, but I cut him off before he can shape whatever reasonable, measured thing he’s about to say.
“You tell me what to do, give impossible deadlines, and then you expect me to just fall in line, because it’s your world and you can do no wrong.”
I take a step closer, heat prickling up the back of my neck. “Guess what, Dom? You’re an insufferable person. You don’t get to show up here and act like you know what’s best for me when you don’t even know what the hell is happening.”
“The only thing you know how to do is take from people,” I hiss, pointing at him with the hand that isn’t gripping the wine glass for dear life. “You’re like poison, because you prefer that people suffer slowly before they die. Most times,” I shrug, “they never even see you coming.”
Just like his father.
Growing up, I always wondered… how did my father not see it coming? I know he trusted the Morettis, but surely he would’ve seen the signs.
And then I met Domenico.
“You’re arrogant and cold, and yet,” I shake my head, “and yet somehow, you have this sneaky, poisonous way of getting into people’s heads. Like smoke under a door. Quiet. Unnoticed. Until it’s too late.”
Dom’s eyes flash, but I press on, breath trembling. “Worse than the devil, Domenico Moretti. If he could, he’d trade places with you.”
There’s a rush of silence as I finish, my chest heaving with frustration, adrenaline, and god knows what else. But it also feels freeing.
“Nothing?” I laugh, tossing my head back. “Finally. I’ve been waiting for the moment for far too long.”
“Don’t call yourself a saint either, Sophie,” he snaps.
His voice doesn’t rise, like mine, but it slices through the air, cutting off my laughter. “Saint?” I snort. “I never said I was. I haven’t claimed to be a know-it-all either. That’s your specialty, Domenico Moretti.”
My pulse kicks like loose stones when his lips curl into a slow, almost lazy grin. “Careful,” he murmurs, still smiling, “someone might think you’re trying to provoke me. We don’t want to jump to conclusions here.”
I do.
I’m tired of playing it safe, of watching my steps because I don’t want to say the wrong thing. I’ve spent my whole life being told that I have just one purpose—to make the Morettis pay for what they did.
I’m tired. So freaking tired.
“I don’t think there’s any jumping, Mr. Moretti,” I drawl. “Because it would imply I’m pulling things out of thin air. The evidence is out there,” I thrust a hand on my hip. “I dropped Blackwater into your lap after you’ve been struggling to get them for months. What did you do?”
I jab my finger in the air, expecting him to step back, but he doesn’t budge. “You took it and then proceeded to label me a… a,” I groan inwardly when the right word refuses to come to me.
Dom tilts his head, watching me with a lazy expression. “A what?”
“It doesn’t matter,” I hiss. “What I know is that you’re an ungrateful man who constantly thinks everybody is out to get him, and because of that, you’re always second-guessing everything.”
“I could say the same about you, Miss Greco,” he replied calmly.
My brows shoot up. “Oh? Where’s your proof?”
His proof—he takes a step towards me. Then another, until I’m backed into a corner. Then he leans in, and his voice drops to a whisper. “Here.” I feel his warm breath on my face as he speaks, and it mingles with the wine in my system like a potent drug.
His thumb brushes over lines I didn’t know had formed on my forehead. “Here.” It drops just below my eye, and I swallow instinctively. “And here,” Dom murmurs.
I pull my lips in, pursing them tightly when he dips closer, leaving mere inches between caution and danger. “It’s everywhere, Sophie. You like to think you’re clever, which,” he shrugs, “you are, but not when you’re around me. I can see through you. Easily.”
Can he see the churning in my stomach? The fluttering that has me in knots?
“You should work on your reverse psychology a little more,” I say with the last speck of defiance left in me, but my chin barely lifts more than an inch. “It’s lacking.”
“Is it?” His mouth lifts in mock amusement. “Because I can tell it’s working perfectly.”
His gaze drops to my chest, and I clench my thighs in defense—from him or myself, I’m not sure—but I prove his point when he lifts his head with a knowing, smug smile.
“See?” he says quietly. “You have secrets, too, Sophie Greco. And they force you to make plans in advance… to cover your tracks so people don’t find out who you truly are.”
I can hear my heart pounding through my ears, and my nerves are pulled taut, but I refuse to cower. “Prove it,” I say before I can rethink my words.
Before I realize the double entendre in them.
His smile deepens like he was waiting for exactly that. Without warning, his hand lifts and his fingertips graze just beneath the hem of my shirt.
It might’ve been the wind, but my skin sparks under his touch, lust blooming across my abdomen, and the soft breath that escapes my lips gives me away.
I try to stay calm, but I know I’ve lost that battle the second his eyes flick up to my face. They’re no longer smug but heavy and intense, with something coiling low in my belly.
“Your face is red,” he says. “Your lips are parted. You look needy, Sophie Greco,” he smirks. “And I haven’t even touched you yet.”
I open my mouth to fire back, but don’t get the chance.
He’s on me in a second, with a kiss that knocks the breath from my lungs. His hand fists the back of my shirt, dragging me forward as his other hand finds my waist, rough and unforgiving.
Choking on a fractured moan that he swallows before it can slip out, his tongue thrusting into my mouth, I curl into Dom, locking my arms around his neck, my hips anything but slow as they grind against his thighs.
He pushes me back into the counter, and I reach back for support, knocking over the glass of wine. He pulls back just enough to see the mess, and his mouth is on me again, dragging along my throat as he yanks my shirt up.
I arch my back, my head reeling and my lips parted with broken whimpers as his mouth trails down between my breasts, his tongue teasing my nipples until it feels like I might break.
“Dom.” His name spills out in a helpless cry.
Him. I shouldn’t want him this much , and yet—
He lifts me onto the counter, grabbing my thighs and spreading them open. I yank him close as he moves in, raking my fingers over his shoulders and down his back.