Page 55 of Ruined By the Enemy
“Are you worried that they might try something else? The person who almost killed her?” Raffaele asks.
That too. “I don’t know.” The words are quiet, but true. I’m on some kind of honesty streak today, and it tastes bitter on my tongue. “I haven’t found anything new. Neither have you.”
He clicks his tongue and leans back. “I don’t know what’s more worrying—knowing she was targeted, or that the person who did it is still in the wind.”
I glance up and give him a long, steady look. “Thank you for your astute observation.” Sarcasm bleeds through my tone.
Raffaele grins as he links his hands behind his head. “Thank you.”
“It’s not a compliment,” I say.
He shrugs, closing his eyes. “But I’ll take it anyway.” I sigh as I ignore him, gathering up the papers and photos. I’m surprised he didn’t see them when he plopped down on the chair, but the last thing I need is to explain why I’m looking into Enzo Bellini.
Raffaele doesn’t know about my family’s dark history, and I intend it to stay that way.
One eye opens as he peers at me. “You do like her, don’t you?”
I refuse to answer. He plants his hands on the desk. “YoulikeSophie Greco and not in a friendly, professional way.”
“What’s your plan for onboarding the next set of artists? I assume the ones topping the charts will be going on tour—have you confirmed the countries? Worked with the ticketing companies? I remember talking about a documentary some months ago,” I dump the questions rapidly, not stepping when he shifts nervously in his chair. “Have you gotten the rights for it?”
“Fine,” he blows a disgruntled breath. “I get the point. You don’t want me poking around in your head because you’re scared of your feelings, then I won’t.”
“Good.”
His eyes narrow as he points at me, and I mutter “Jesus” under my breath. “But let me be the first to say that because you choose not to talk about it doesn’t mean it will magically disappear. I’ve been there before.”
I cross my arms, irritation flaring beneath my skin. “This is different.”
“Is it?” Raff lifts a brow, clearly not buying it. “Because from where I’m sitting, it looks a lot like denial. You can manage billion-dollar deals, predict market trends, sign global talent before they blow up—but feelings?” He laughs under his breath. “Apparently, that’s where you draw the line.”
I’m one more misspoken statement from tossing him out of my office, even though it’ll make me look like a jerk.
But as long as he doesn’t know the whole truth, there’s no telling how far Raffaele will go to force an admission from me. “We’re not talking about this.”
“We never do,” he fires back, leaning forward, voice lowered but direct. “You keep telling yourself that everything’s part of a plan. That she’s just your employee. But why don’t you treat her like the rest if she is just that?”
“Okay.” He purses his lips. “Maybe you don’t like her that way. But I know when something’s going on, Dom, and this smells like a cover-up.”
MaybeI shouldn’t have played it too close to the vest.
“You’re either trying to prove that you won’t cross a line by keeping her close,” he says, watching me. “Or you’ve crossed the line and don’t want to admit it, so you’re keeping the evidence by your side.”
My jaw tenses as I look away. “Focus on the artists, Raff.”
He nods slowly, pushing up from the chair. “Sure. Because drowning yourself in work is the perfect way to ignore the thing eating you alive.”
As he reaches the door, he throws one last hit over his shoulder. “Just don’t take too long to figure it out. Or someone else might get there first.”
I try not to think about Sophie in the silence he leaves behind.
I don’t last a minute.
***
When my car rolls into the parking garage, it’s darker than dusk. I let the engine run for a minute, tapping my fingers on the wheel while I watch the house from my sitting position.
The lights are on, but it could mean anything. Since Sophie’s staying with me, I’ve changed Patrice’s schedule so she comes every day, and she might have stayed late this time.
