Page 41 of Ruined By the Enemy
“I’ll make the introductions.” I stop my thoughts by speaking aloud. I stand up, ignoring the drink. Without waiting to see ifshe 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 MorettiGroup.” 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.
