Page 43 of Ruined By the Enemy
Dom
An hour passes before I realize that Sophie never returned to the building. Two hours later, she’s still nowhere to be found.
If she hasn’t jumped ship yet, then she’s probably hiding from me—not that I blame her.
I came so close to exposing her act.
“Do you know how many people have asked me tonight if your company’s about to fold?” Raff’s voice cuts in, sharp and far too amused. I turn to find him with his tie hanging loose, shirt unbuttoned halfway down his chest, and a whiskey glass he doesn’t need.
“Going under? Filing bankruptcy?” he continues, throwing the words out like confetti. “Is that your new PR strategy? Mystique and financial ruin?”
I drag a hand down my face, jaw ticking. “I didn’t ask for commentary, Raff.”
“Well,” he shrugs, “I wouldn’t report the commentary if I didn’t have to repeat it to every person—”
I cut him a look. “You mean every woman you’ve tried to charm?”
His grin kicks up instantly, incorrigible. I glance at the faint smear of lipstick on his neck. “Judging by that mark, I’d say I wasn’t the subject for long.”
He laughs, unbothered. “No, no. You were just the opener.” He gives me a lazy punch to the arm. “Lighten up, man. It’s a party.”
Raff’s expression sobers slightly when I don’t give him the smile he wants. “Seriously. Where’s Sophie? I thought I saw you two earlier.”
Two hours ago. But who’s counting? “She had something to attend to,” I say, my voice clipped.
He raises a brow, unimpressed. “You didn’t chase her away, did you?” He whistles under his breath. “She must’ve found better company, then. Can’t say I blame her.”
“You should be using your charm on the women instead of wasting it on me,” I say with sarcasm and a lot of bite, wishing I had a drink about now so I could distract myself from the coiled tension in my chest.
So I can stop thinking about green dresses and loose curls.
“Oh,” Raff says with some excitement. “There she is. I told you she found better company.” I don’t respond, dismissing it as a prank.
“And…” he lets out a low whistle, “he’s handsome too. Not that you’re bad on the eyes,” he adds quickly, throwing me a sheepish grin. “But that guy looks like he came straight off a fashion spread.”
My gaze shifts with a mind of its own, following the direction of his pointed finger with slow, deliberate precision until it lands on Sophie.
Walking back into the building like she didn’t vanish for hours.
But what makes my jaw tighten isn’t the dress or her slow, composed stride. It’s the man at her side. He’s tall, clean-cut, and charming in that polished,vanillaway.
Her arm is tucked neatly in the crook of his elbow, and she’s smiling.
Not the sharp-edged smile she gives me when she’s pissed off or the too-sweet smile that means she’s lying through her teeth. This one is softer and genuine.
A quiet pressure builds behind my ribs. It’s not rage, although it feels like I’m too close to the edge. Too freaking close.
Raff keeps talking beside me, but I don’t hear a word. My world narrows to the sight of Sophie leaning in, saying something to the man that makes him laugh.
“Dom?Dom?…Domenico Moretti?” Raffaele stares at me with a quizzical expression. “Are you okay?” he asks.
My shoulders barely lift. “Other than the comments you find pleasure in repeating? Yeah, I am. Why?”
Raff jerks his chin toward Sophie. She’s at a different table now—some boutique investment firm, I think. The man with her pulls out a chair, and she sits without hesitation, placing her hand lightly on his arm as she murmurs something in his ear.
My fist curls at my side.
If she thinks cozying up to someone else is going to save her from—
