Page 57 of Claimed By the Enemy

“It’s exactly the point. Sophie, I trust you. Completely. Which is why I would never do something this stupid.” I gesture to the photographs. “If I wanted to keep tabs on your family, I’d tell you. We’re supposed to be honest with each other now.”

“Are we?”

“Aren’t we?”

“I’ve been trying to reach Uncle Enzo for three days,” she says, her voice cracking slightly. “Five days, Dom. He promised to contact me, and there’s been nothing. No calls, no messages, no sign that he’s even alive.”

“Maybe he’s being careful. Maybe he’s lying low until-”

“Or maybe you had him killed.”

The accusation hits like a physical blow. “What did you just say?”

“You heard me.”

“Sophie.” I step closer, and she backs away like I’m dangerous. “I would never hurt your family. Never. Not Uncle Enzo, not your aunt, not anyone you care about. But Sophie, think about what you’re accusing me of. Why would I take a beating trying to find answers? Why would I-”

“I don’t know!” The words explode out of her. “I don’t know what to think anymore.”

There’s real pain in her voice now, beneath the anger. Sophie’s not just furious about the photographs. She’s scared and confused and grasping for something solid in a world that keeps shifting beneath her feet.

“What aren’t you telling me?” I ask quietly.

“What do you mean?”

“Sophie, I’ve spent a while learning to read you. You’re not just angry about these pictures. There’s something else. Something you’re hiding.”

Her face goes pale. “I’m not hiding anything.”

“Yes, you are. What is it?”

Her mouth opens, closes, and I can see her struggling with whatever secret she’s carrying.

Then her expression hardens again.

“Fine. You want to know what I’m hiding?” She stalks to the coffee table and grabs a folder I hadn’t noticed before. “I found this a week ago. The day Amara came by.”

She throws the folder at me the same way she threw the envelope.

“What is this?”

“Evidence I found last week. About Uncle Enzo and the fire.”

I take the papers from her hands, my blood turning cold as I read. Email exchanges between Uncle Enzo and unknown contacts, discussing“removing the Moretti problem permanently.”Photos of him meeting with men near our family house days before the fire. Plans that mention“making it look accidental.”

“You’ve been sitting on this for a week?” My voice is dangerously quiet. “While we’ve been working together, being honest with each other, you’ve been hiding this from me?”

“I was trying to understand what it meant.”

“What it means is that your uncle planned the fire that killed my mother. That he’s the reason my father died from grief.”

“Those emails could be fabricated.”

“Look at the metadata, Sophie. The photos. The timeline matches perfectly.”

“Uncle Enzo would never hurt anyone. He’s not a killer.”

“He trained you to be a weapon against me!”