Page 42 of Ruined By the Enemy
“I guess my memory is getting muddled up, then. That’s what happens when you grow old,” he says as he turns to me. “Although your father never had that problem. He was focused—it didn’t matter how difficult it looked; he always managed to get to the bottom of things.”
He lays a hand on my shoulder as his smile turns nostalgic. “I’m sure he’s proud of you. Of what you’ve become.”
A sharp feeling, like emotions tumbling all over the place, lodges in my chest. “Thank you, I murmur.”
“What about your uncle? I haven’t seen the old bastard in a while. Where’s he—?”
“Ah,” I swiftly cut him off. “Would you excuse us? I need to meet with some people. I’ll see you before I leave.”
“Alright,” he calls out as I turn away, already retreating. “You look like a nice young lady, Miss Greco. I wouldn’t mind if there were something more going on.”
Something more?Accountability, maybe. Settling old scores, sure. But I don’t intend to cross any other lines with Sophie Greco.
“There,” I make a head gesture to a group of three men standing a couple of feet ahead of us, all the same age as Mr. Malik. That’s Mr. Costa,” I say casually, dropping it like a nonessential piece of information. He’s one of the biggest players in the entertainment and media business.”
“Oh,” she murmurs from beside me, prompting a glance. Her earring catches the light as I turn, and she tucks her hair behind her ear, showing off her neck, delicate skin leading to her pulse.
Irecallhow it raced when I touched her. It felt live against my hand, skittering as my mouth traced her collarbone.
My focus drops to her collarbone and sinks into the neckline of her dress, tracing the shimmers I didn’t notice until now.
I lose myself only for a few seconds, but it’s long enough to have me crash into someone else.
“I’m sorry,” the man mutters when he lifts his head to mine, before hurrying off, while I play off my mistake with an offended frown.
“Beside him,” I say casually, slowing my stride just enough to let the words sink in, “is Marino Pesci. He’s friends with the Bellini family. He’s also friends with the CEO of One Construction.”
I glance sideways—just enough to catch her profile.
“They’ve become reclusive now—” I let the sentence hang, a deliberate pause slicing through the air, waiting to see if she’ll flinch. She doesn’t. Not even a breath out of place.
Her head bobs like she finds it interesting.
“Mr. Pesci’s known the family for decades,” I continue smoothly. “He might be able to help us.”
That gets her. Sophie’s eyes jerk to me, wide and unguarded. Her mouth parts slightly before she stammers, “Help with what?”
Her voice cracks. The smooth composure she wears like a second skin slips just for a second.
Bingo.
I keep my expression neutral. “Of course,” I say, as if her question didn’t matter, “you’ll be taking the lead on the project.”
I pick up pace again, weaving through the crowd of Armani suits and practiced laughter, but I sense it before I even turn around that she’s not moving.
I glance back and arch a brow. “Miss Greco?” Her skin is pale beneath the lighting, and beads of sweat gleam beneath her hairline.
“I need to…” Her voice is thin, breathless. “I need to use the restroom. I’ll be back in a few.”
She doesn’t wait for my response.
But her exit is exactly what I expect from her—measured, head held high, her heels clicking sharp and controlled against the floor like she hasn’t just been gutted from the inside.
She doesn’t run.
I didn’t expect her to, not with the planning that brought her into my company. But she will, and I’ll be right there to stop her.
Chapter Twelve
