Page 68 of Ruined By the Enemy
But her voice chases after me, slipping through the cracks. “They took everything from me.”
My feet stop at the heavy grief in her voice and the way it rings through the distance, like she’s done carrying it. “Everything.” There’s a beat, then with quiet resignation, she adds, “but they should’ve killed me too.”
I stop and turn. She’s standing where I left her, with shoulders rigid and lips trembling, but her eyes hit me hardest.
She believes it.
Every last word. Sophie thinks someone murdered her parents and that dying with them would’ve been a better fate.
Something beneath me shifts.My truth.The version of history I thought I knew and stood by. She believes someone killed her parents—probably my father. I grew up knowing that her father turned me into an orphan.
How did we end up with two versions of events?
Was it—?
I shake my head, refusing to entertain my thoughts. There was proof that her father was behind it. And even if my father avenged, it was in retaliation.
Enzo Bellini must’ve fed her a lie and twisted the story. He took a grieving, vulnerable child and turned her into a weapon. To take me down.
The thought makes my stomach churn.
Sophie exhales hard, squaring her chin as she wipes her tears away with the back of her hand, furious and composed, as if pretending she’s not still shaking.
“I think I should talk to the administrators,” she says, her voice strained but steady. “Get a feel for what we’re dealing with, although I’m not sure we’ll leave Italy with a signed contract.”
She’s running again, just like before.
“Don’t bother,” I say, tight and clipped. “I’m no longer interested.”
She blinks.
“We’ll leave first thing tomorrow,” I continue. “So if you’ve got places to be, take the rest of today to do it.”
I don’t wait for her response before walking down the rows of vines.
Because if I stay another second, I might say something I can’t take back. Something Ifeelinstead of something Iknow.
Chapter Eighteen
Sophie
I pause outside the honey-colored building, my heart thudding hard against my ribs. Even with the evening breeze cooling my skin, my palms are slick with sweat.
“I shouldn’t have come,” I whisper to the wall.
But I couldn’t stop wondering if I was about to throw away my last chance to say goodbye to my childhood home.
Even if Dom keeps to his word about withdrawing his interest, I don’t think I could come back.It hurts. Too much.
It also carries betrayal, and I doubt I’d ever look into my uncle’s face again without remembering that he lied to me.
“For now, I’ll just sit here,” I murmur, running my fingers against the chipping paint. “Just for an hour.” I lower myself to the ground, curling my jeans-clad legs and exhaling audibly.
I’ll pretend I’m ten again and can still hear my mom’s voice asking me to come into the house. Maybe it’ll give me the closure I never had.
As I close my eyes and hold my arms out, slipping back into memories, I hear voices from afar. They sound like hushed whispers, but it’s the urgency in them, the secrecy that has my ears perking.
“…we should do it now. I heard they’re leaving in the morning.” I hear the distinct voice of a man.
