Page 70 of Claimed By the Enemy

Chapter Seventeen

Sophie

Guilt tastes like copper pennies and lies.

I’ve been awake since five this morning, staring at the ceiling and listening to Dom breathe beside me. He sleeps restlessly, his arm thrown across my waist like even in sleep he’s afraid I might disappear again.

I should tell him the truth. Should have told him the truth the moment I walked through that door last night. But every time I open my mouth, Uncle Enzo’s voice echoes in my head, reminding me what’s at stake.

What I’ve promised to do.

Dom stirs, his fingers tightening against my hip. “You’re awake.”

“Couldn’t sleep.”

He turns to face me, and even in the dim morning light, I can see the questions in his eyes. “Bad dreams?”

“Something like that.”

“Sophie.” His voice is gentle but persistent. “We need to talk about yesterday.”

“I know.”

“Then talk to me.”

I want to. God, I want to tell him everything about Uncle Enzo and his disappointment. About the choice I’ve been forced to make. About the way my heart breaks a little more every time Dom looks at me like I’m something precious.

Instead, I kiss his forehead and slip out of bed. “I need coffee first.”

Dom doesn’t follow me downstairs, but I can feel his eyes on me as I leave the room. He knows I’m hiding something since the moment I walked through that door.

The question is how long I can keep lying before he stops trusting me altogether.

Patrice is already in the kitchen when I arrive, humming softly as she prepares breakfast. She looks up with her usual warm smile, but there’s concern in her eyes.

“Good morning, Mrs. Moretti. How are you feeling?”

“Fine.” The lie comes automatically now. “Just tired.”

“Perhaps you should take it easy today. You’ve been through quite an ordeal.”

An ordeal. If only she knew.

I accept the coffee she offers, wrapping my hands around the warm mug like it might anchor me to something solid. But even the caffeine can’t quiet the voice in my head.

You have one week, Sophie. One week to prove your loyalty, or I’ll finish this myself.

Uncle Enzo’s words from yesterday morning play on repeat, each syllable a weight pressing down on my chest. He’d looked so disappointed when his people brought me to that warehouse. So hurt by what he saw as my betrayal.

I raised you better than this,he’d said, pacing the length of the empty space like a caged animal.Trained you to be strong, to remember what’s important. And you throw it all away for what? Pretty words from a pretty man?

It’s not like that,I’d protested, but even as I said it, I knew it was a lie.

It was exactly like that.

Then prove it,he’d challenged.Prove that you remember who you are. Who we are. What the Morettis took from us.

And I had. Standing in that warehouse, looking at the man who’d been my whole world for sixteen years, I’d promised him whatever he needed to hear.