Page 84 of Claimed By the Enemy

“Funny way of showing it,” I shout back.

More gunshots, but these are coming from a different direction. I risk a look over the console and see that the yachtcrew has scattered, leaving me alone with three armed men who clearly aren’t here for a conversation.

My phone is in my jacket pocket, but I can’t reach it without exposing myself to gunfire. And even if I could call for help, they’d be here long before any backup could arrive.

“Mr. Moretti.” A new voice, older and more cultured than the others. “Please stop making this difficult.”

I know that voice.

“Uncle Enzo.”

“Hello, Domenico.”

I stand up slowly, hands visible but not raised. Enzo Bellini is standing on the dock, looking older and more tired than the surveillance photos suggested. Behind him, his three associates have their weapons trained on me.

“Interesting choice of venue,” Uncle Enzo says, stepping onto the yacht. “Very romantic. I assume this was meant to be a surprise for my niece?”

“What do you want?”

“To talk. To clear the air between us.” He gestures to his men, who lower their weapons but don’t holster them. “Sophie seems to think there’s been some kind of misunderstanding.”

“Has there been?”

“That depends. Tell me, Domenico, what do you know about the night your parents died?”

“I know your family killed them.”

Uncle Enzo’s expression doesn’t change. “Do you? Or is that simply what you’ve been told?”

“My uncle Riccardo was there. He saw-”

“Your uncle Riccardo saw what he wanted to see. Or perhaps what someone wanted him to see.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“It means that the truth is more complicated than either of our families has been willing to admit.”

Uncle Enzo moves to the yacht’s railing, looking out at the harbor like he’s seeing ghosts in the water.

“Your father and I were friends, Domenico. Best friends since we were boys growing up in the same neighborhood in Naples.”

“That’s impossible.”

“Is it? We came to America together, built our businesses together, stood as best men at each other’s weddings.” Uncle Enzo’s voice grows soft with memory. “Antonio was the brother I never had.”

“Then why-”

“Why did I train Sophie to destroy you?” Uncle Enzo turns back to me, and I can see pain in his eyes. “Because I believed the same lie you’ve been believing. That your family killed mine.”

“But you just said-”

“I said your father and I were friends. I didn’t say Marco Bellini was.”

The distinction hits me like a physical blow. “Sophie’s father wasn’t your brother.”

“Sophie’s father was my nephew. The son of my sister, Aurora. A good boy, but weak. Easily influenced.”

“Influenced by who?”