Page 67 of Ruined By the Enemy
Just a slight misstep on a tangled branch, but her hand reaches out on instinct and catches my arm. Her fingers tighten around me to steady herself, but the contact burns through my skin.
“I’m sorry,” Sophie hurriedly apologizes before turning away.
“It’s fine,” I say, clearing my throat when I hear how rough my voice sounds.
She nods.
We continue, with more distance between us this time, but I can’t help stealing glances at her, with questions hanging at the tip of my tongue.
Don’t ask, Domenico.I don’t want to feel anything for her, much like sympathy. If she were someone blameless, I might’ve considered it.
But she’s a spy with intentions that should leave me writhing with anger.
“My parents,” she starts as I pause in my steps, about to stop the tour. I hold back my words. Sophie spares me a look. “They had a vineyard. That’s why I reacted the way I did.”
She exhales, running a hand through her hair. “But they died when I was young. I had to leave home because I couldn’t take care of myself, and the only family I had was far away.”
Her parents’ death is a story I know all too well. But who bought the place if she had to leave?
Enzo Bellini? Seeing as the crest remains on the gate, it’s the likely answer.It would explain things, like why she reacted like she’d lost the home she had.
Now that I know the truth, I should back off.
“How did they die?” I ask gently, holding up a hand when she looks at me warily. “If you don’t mind me asking.”
I want to hear how she knows it. How she’ll explain away her father’s action.
“They were killed,” she whispers, her voice cracking with tears. “They trusted the wrong person, and they died for it.”
Wait. What?
My brows shoot up, but I manage to hide my surprise. They trusted the wrong person?
That’s not how the story goes.
Her father set fire to my house when I was fifteen. He wanted us dead—my parents and me.
My father managed to drag me out, but he couldn’t save my mother. I heard her scream as the flames swallowed the walls.
When he discovered it was his best friend who’d planned it all, he went after him.
But instead of facing justice, Sophie’s father made a different choice—he ended his own life. And took his wife with him.
My father couldn’t recover.
Losing her broke something in him. A few months later, I found him slumped on the floor, the gun still in his hand.
Even though he pulled the trigger, it was Sophie’s father who killed him.
“Killed?” I echo, scoffing under my breath. “Are you sure?”
She tilts her head, a flicker of confusion crossing her face.
“You think anyone wants their parents to be murdered?” she asks softly. “Why would I lie about how they died… and to you of all people?”
I can’t trust myself to speak, because if I do, I’ll bring everything crumbling down. And there’s still much to uncover regarding Sophie Bellini.
So I turn and walk away, my hands shoved deep into my pockets and my jaw clenched hard enough to ache. I can’t look at her another second—can’t trust what might slip through if I do.
