"The estate," I instructed.
Sophie shifted as far from me as the backseat allowed. "If you think Antonio will pay for my return—"
"I don't want his money."
"Then what?" Her voice cracked slightly. "What could you possibly want with me?"
I turned to face her fully, studying her features. Soaked and disheveled as she was, her beauty remained striking. But it wasn't her appearance that interested me.
"That flash drive, for starters."
Her hand instinctively moved toward her chest, confirming its location. "There's nothing on it that concerns you."
"I'll be the judge of that."
The rest of the drive passed in tense silence. I could feel her watching me, assessing, planning. Good. I preferred a strategic mind to blind panic.
The rain had eased to a drizzle by the time we reached my estate outside the city. The wrought iron gates opened silently as we approached, revealing the winding driveway flanked by ancient oak trees. The house itself stood three stories tall, old-world Italian architecture blended with modern security features invisible to the untrained eye.
Sophie's expression remained carefully neutral, but I caught the momentary widening of her eyes. My home tended to have that effect.
I escorted her inside, past the marble foyer with its soaring ceiling, down the hallway to my private study. The handcuffs were becoming an inconvenience, so I removed them once we were inside. She immediately rubbed her wrists, though I knew they weren't tight enough to leave marks.
"Sit," I gestured to one of the leather chairs opposite my desk.
"I'd rather stand."
I shrugged, moving to pour myself a glass of whiskey from the crystal decanter on the sideboard. "Suit yourself."
She paced like a caged animal, taking in the room—the floor-to-ceiling bookshelves, the massive desk, the security monitors discreetly positioned in one corner. Her gaze lingered on the door, measuring distance, calculating odds.
"Don't," I warned, not looking up from my drink.
"Don't what?"
"Don't try to run. This entire property is secured. You wouldn't make it past the gardens."
She crossed her arms. "Why didn't you take me back to Antonio?"
I took a measured sip of whiskey, letting the burn slide down my throat. "Perhaps I'm curious why his woman would steal from him and run."
"I'm not his woman anymore." The vehemence in her voice was genuine.
"He seems to think otherwise."
"Antonio thinks a lot of things that aren't true." She stopped pacing, fixing me with a direct stare. "Like how he didn't have anything to do with the ambassador's daughter."
My hand stilled, glass halfway to my lips. That particular operation had been carefully contained. The ambassador's daughter had been returned unharmed, the ransom paid, and all evidence erased. Antonio's involvement had been suspected but never confirmed—certainly not in any documents that would be accessible to someone like Sophie.
"Interesting accusation," I said carefully, setting my glass down.
"It's not an accusation when you have proof." A hint of triumph flashed in her eyes.
I moved toward her slowly, deliberately. She held her ground even as I towered over her, her chin tilting up to maintain eye contact.
"And what else might be on that flash drive, Sophie?"
"Enough to destroy him and half the organization." No hesitation. No fear. Just cold determination.
