19. Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Nineteen
S ophie
“Why?”
I fold my arms as my uncle closes the door to his study, shutting out my aunt to keep her from overhearing our conversation.
It wouldn’t do much if she decided to eavesdrop, but I don’t care. I’m way past being the diligent and devoted niece they want me to be. I’m here for answers—and I’m not leaving until I get them.
“Taking him out was never part of the plan,” my voice rings clear with accusation and anger. “Why did you change things at the last minute?”
He doesn’t reply, walking over to his desk at a slow pace intended to drive me to the wall, no doubt. It doesn’t matter, though, because I’m already through the wall.
I spent a week after we returned from Italy thinking over the events that happened that night. I tried to find excuses… the part of me that saw my uncle as the family who saved me, tried to make allowances for him.
But the only thing I could see, when I closed my eyes, was Dom. The blood spreading across his shirt, his face pale as a ghost, and his head reached out as he called my name.
Although he was shot and dying, he wanted to know that I was okay.
He cared about me, even if it meant using his last breath.
“I’m not leaving,” I say firmly, “until you start talking. And don’t try to paint me as soft and distracted,” I add, recalling how the conversation went the last time, “because this is no longer about me. It’s about you and the secrets you’ve been keeping from me.”
He exhales and runs a hand through his graying hair. “What do you want me to tell you?”
“The truth,” I bite hard. “Why did you lie to me that you sold the vineyard? Why did you send hired assassins after Dom without informing me?”
My uncle leans back, his expression lacking urgency or interest. To him, I might as well be a pesky teenager, and he, some saint with infinite patience. “I don’t think you can handle the truth, Sophie.”
I frown. What does that mean?
“You,” he clicks his tongue, “have always been headstrong, like your father. While it helped him in certain ways, it also blinded him to what he should’ve seen.”
His hand brushes over a document. “I thought you were ready when I sent you to him, but I realized my mistake too late. I’d taught you to use your anger when I should’ve taken it away from you.”
What on earth is he talking about? Where’s the accountability, for crying out loud? Thrusting my hands on my hips, I scoff. “I see. You’re saying I’m too emotional. If so,” I purse my lips, “then we have our flaws. I’m unstable and you’re… a liar.”
His gaze sharpens at that, and I know I’ve hit a nerve. Good. Maybe we’ll finally get things out without beating about the bush.
“Tell me, uncle,” I step closer, throwing embers into the smoke. “Did you lie to me so you could claim what you said was mine as yours?”
I flinch when his hands slam on the desk, but I don’t move an inch. “How dare you?!” he thunders. “You have no idea how much I sacrificed for you! I had to leave everything I had, uproot my life, and go under because you had to stay hidden.”
“Why?” I retort, as my chest rises hard. “Why did I have to change my name? It’s not like Domenico changed his, and it’s his father who killed my parents!” I strike my chest as my voice rises, my frustration pouring out.
My voice cracks and bleeds like a raw, gaping wound when I speak again.
“All my life,” I say, “you’ve told me the same thing. I have to make Domenico pay for what his father did by taking the Moretti Group from him. You made it seem like he took everything— every last thing.”
My breath hitches. “Only for me to find out that you lied.”
My teeth clench as my fist curls, my anger directed at him. “Why did you lie?” I demand. “And where in the plan did it say you had to kill him, risking my life too?”
I wait for an answer, breathing heavily in the silence that follows. I can still hear the gunshots ringing through, and the bullet that penetrated the door. If I’d been behind it or in the line of fire, I would’ve died.
My uncle, the only family I have left, would be responsible for my death.
“Am I…?” My voice breaks, and I wipe at my eyes furiously, turning away so he wouldn’t see me break down. I lift my shoulders and face him again. “Am I that expendable, uncle? Was it easy for you to write off the possibility that they might’ve killed me?”
A thought so horrible it feeds terror through my veins, slips into my mind. The accident. The one where I almost died, and I thought Dom had been the main target.
Was my uncle behind that, too?
He stands suddenly, his hands fisting at his sides.” If they had hurt you—” his voice cracks, the mask slipping, “if they had killed you, Sophie, I would’ve hunted them down to their last breath.” His chest heaves. “There would’ve been no mercy. No survivors.”
I stare at him. Knowing that he still cares should bring me some relief, but it doesn’t, not after what I had to endure.
My lips part, but the words barely make it out as my heart breaks. “I’d still be dead, though, wouldn’t I?”
He sits down again, heavily. “They were sloppy,” he says. There’s no apology, no accountability. Instead, he brushes over it like it doesn’t matter. I bite my tongue from pushing it further, knowing it’s the most I’ll ever get from him.
“I let you deal with him how you see fit,” he says, flipping open the document on his desk. His eyes are hardened when he looks at me, the regret from before completely gone. “But don’t think for a moment that when he finds out who you are, he won’t put a knife to your throat.”
Dom. That’s who he means.
“ He—”
“Wouldn’t?” My uncle scoffs. “You’ve been around him for weeks. Is he the kind of man to forgive, especially when he finds out you’ve been working for him under pretenses?”
It takes a second for it to hit me that I’m being blackmailed. My jaw falls slack. I blink at him, stunned.
“You’re going to sell me out?”
The question barely makes it past the knot in my throat.
His expression doesn’t flinch. “If that’s what it takes to bring you to your senses, then yes.” His tone is flat and cold. “But let’s hope it doesn’t come to that.”
I stare at him, searching for some trace of the man who took me in after my parents died and told me I could always rely on him.
There’s nothing there. No guilt or shame. Just strategy.
The final piece clicks into place as my mouth curls into a sad smile. I shouldn’t be surprised.
Enzo Bellini has always been willing to do whatever it takes for revenge—even if it means offering up blood that’s supposed to be his own.
Mine.
He shoves the document at me. “I was planning to wrap things up a week ago, but since you got in the way, you’ll finish it.”
I pick it up with shaky hands but I don’t look at it. “You get only one shot,” he says. “Make him put in an offer to buy the company and make sure it goes through. Then you leave the country.”
My head shoots up.
“Leave the country?”
“Yes. I need you far away when things blow open. Trust me, you don’t want to be anywhere near Domenico Moretti.”
I don’t ask how bad it is because I already know he won’t tell me. I glance at the document again, flipping the first page open. My brows draw sharply and the questions are already on my tongue before I even lift my head.
“One Construction?” There’s shock and confusion. “Why? I thought you said you didn’t want him anywhere near the company? You wanted to buy it,” I grind my teeth, frustration seeping through. “Now you want me to dump it on him, why?”
My uncle’s face doesn’t reveal anything. It’s grim, closed off, even from his niece. “It doesn’t matter. Tell him he can buy into the company. He can buy the entire thing if he wants. The CEO will be declaring bankruptcy tomorrow.”
I see. My uncle’s decision to back out of a company he forced me to protect, only means one thing: Everything is about to go to hell.
“What’s the catch?” I ask, my voice tighter than I intend. How bad is it going to be? I don’t want to find out for myself, because if I do…I’ll be tempted to pull Domenico out.
I’d save him again, just like in Italy.
“Just do as you’re told,” he snaps. “That’s what I’ve been training you for.”
Right.
I’m the one who gets to plant the bomb, but I have no idea how big the blast will be or how many people it’ll take down with it.
My uncle watches me, his eyes sharp for any sign of hesitation. “Don’t tell me you’re having trouble seeing it to the end,” he says. “It’s either this or I put a bullet through his head.”
My heart lurches.
So those are my options: destroy him from a distance, or let him bleed out in front of me.
And either way, I’ll be the one who lit the fuse.