Page 60 of Claimed By the Enemy

But my phone stays silent, and I’m left wondering if I’ve finally pushed him too far.

A soft knock interrupts my spiraling thoughts. “Come in.”

Patrice appears with a breakfast tray, her usually warm smile replaced by gentle concern. “Good morning, Mrs. Moretti. I thought you might be hungry.”

“Thank you.” I sit up, accepting the coffee gratefully. “Any word from Dom?”

“He called this morning. Said he’d be staying at the office today.” Patrice hesitates. “He sounded… upset.”

Upset. Right. Because I’ve been lying to him for a week while pretending to be his partner.

“Patrice?” I ask as she starts to leave. “Can I ask you something?”

“Of course.”

“You’ve worked for Dom for a long time, haven’t you?”

“Nearly ten years.” She settles into the chair by the window. “Since shortly after he took over the company.”

“What was he like then? When he was younger?”

Patrice’s expression softens. “Lost. Very lost. He was only twenty-one when his uncle handed him control of everything, and I don’t think he’d had a single day to grieve properly.”

“Grieve?”

“His parents, dear. Such a terrible tragedy.” She shakes her head. “Riccardo brought him home from Italy like a broken thing. Wouldn’t speak to anyone for months, barely ate. I used to leave food outside his bedroom door and hope he’d take something.”

My chest tightens. “He was that young when they died?”

“Fifteen when his mother passed. Sixteen when his father… well, when the grief finally took him too.” Patrice’s voice grows quieter. “Riccardo did his best, but Dom never quite recovered from losing them both so close together.”

“Did he ever talk about what happened?”

“Only once. He asked me if I thought his parents were watching him, if they’d be proud of the man he was becoming.” She dabs at her eyes with a tissue. “I told him, of course, they would be. But I don’t think he believed me.”

I set down my coffee with shaking hands.

“Mrs. Sophie? Are you alright?”

“I’m fine.” But I’m not fine. I’m thinking about the business partnership documents, about Uncle Enzo training me to destroy a man who was probably still mourning his parents when I started planning his downfall.

“He’s never brought anyone here before,” Patrice continues. “In all my years working for him, you’re the first woman he’s ever introduced to his home.”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean, this house has been like a museum for ten years. Beautiful but empty. No laughter, no warmth, just Dom working himself to death in that study.” She smiles sadly. “But these past few weeks, with you here… It’s felt like a home again.”

“Patrice—”

“I’m not trying to interfere, dear. I just thought you should know that whatever trouble you two are having, Dom cares about you a lot. Believe me.”

After she leaves, I sit staring at my untouched breakfast, hating myself more with each passing minute.

Dom isn’t the monster Uncle Enzo painted him to be. He’s a man who lost his parents as a teenager and spent the next sixteen years building walls to protect himself from being hurt again.

And I’ve been systematically trying to tear down everything he built, all because Uncle Enzo told me it was justice.

But what if it’s not justice? What if it’s just revenge dressed up in prettier words?