Page 62 of Ruined By the Enemy
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.
