Page 53 of Claimed By the Enemy

Dom looks skeptical but moves toward me with obvious intent, like he’s going to grab me. I duck under his reach, hook my foot behind his ankle, and use his momentum to send himcrashing to the floor. Before he can recover, I’m on top of him, my knee pressed against his chest.

Dom winces, his face contorting in pain as his injuries from yesterday protest the sudden impact.

“Shit, I’m sorry,” I say immediately, scrambling off him. “I forgot about your ribs.”

“It’s fine,” he grits out, but I can see him favoring his left side as I help him to his feet.

“No, it’s not fine. I should have been more careful.”

“Sophie.” Dom straightens slowly, still breathing carefully. “Uncle Enzo didn’t just teach you to gather information, did he?”

“Sixteen years of field work training tends to be pretty comprehensive,” I say, steadying him with a hand on his arm.

“I stand corrected,” he says, wincing again. “Remind me never to underestimate you.”

“Good. Now, can we work together on this?”

“Absolutely. Just… maybe next time warn me about the demonstrations when I’m not already beaten up.”

***

After we freshen up and have breakfast, we spend the morning in Dom’s study, surrounded by files and documents and the remnants of sixteen years of family history. Dom has more resources than I expected—business records, newspaper clippings, even some police reports from the time our parents died.

“Your father and mine did business together,” I tell him, looking through a stack of contracts. “More than either of us realized.”

“Regular business or something else?”

“Looks regular. Import/export deals, some real estate ventures. But there are gaps in the records.”

“What kind of gaps?”

“Meetings that aren’t documented. Phone calls that aren’t logged. Like they were being careful about something.”

Dom looks up from his own stack of papers. “Or someone else was being careful about hiding it.”

“You think someone destroyed evidence?”

“I think someone’s been covering their tracks for sixteen years.”

A knock at the study door interrupts us. Patrice appears with a worried expression.

“Mrs. Moretti? Your friend Amara is here. She seems quite upset.”

My stomach drops. “Upset about what?”

“She says there are men following her. She asked to speak with you immediately.”

Dom and I exchange looks. “Send her up,” he says. “Call Vincent. Tell him to do a perimeter check.”

“Of course, sir.”

Amara appears in the doorway moments later, her usual composure completely shattered. Her hair is disheveled, her hands shaking, and there’s real fear in her eyes.

“Sophie, thank God. There are men watching my apartment. Following me to work. I don’t know what’s happening.”

Dom stands up. “Miss Smith, I’m sorry. I should have anticipated this.”

“Anticipated what?”