Page 88 of Claimed By the Enemy

“Left? Did you see which direction?”

“North, toward the sound. But, lady, if you’re supposed to meet someone, they might not be coming back tonight.”

My blood turns cold. “Why not?”

“Because there was some kind of commotion. Heard what sounded like gunshots, then the boat took off like a bat out of hell.”

Gunshots. Dom.

I’m already dialing his number, but it goes straight to voicemail. Then I try texting:Where are you? What happened?

No response.

“The boat,” I ask the worker, “did you see who was on it?”

“Few guys in dark clothes. One older guy who seemed to be in charge. And your friend, I guess, though he didn’t look too happy about the situation.”

Uncle Enzo. It has to be.

“Thank you,” I tell the worker, already running back toward my car.

I drive through the harbor area like a woman possessed, checking every marina, every dock, anywhere a yacht might anchor for a private conversation. My hands shake on the steering wheel as worst-case scenarios play through my mind.

What if Uncle Enzo decided Dom was too dangerous to let live? What if this was never about getting answers, but about eliminating the threat Dom represents?

What if I’m too late?

At the fourth marina, I spot a familiar figure leaning against a black sedan. Raff. He’s on his phone, pacing back and forth like he’s arguing with someone.

“Raff!” I call, running toward him.

He looks up, relief flooding his face. “Sophie, thank God. Where’s Dom?”

“I was hoping you could tell me. He sent me a text saying he was at Dock 47, but when I got there, the boat was gone. Someone said they heard gunshots.”

“Shit.” Raff runs a hand through his hair. “I’ve been trying to reach him for two hours.”

“Do you know where he might have gone?”

“I know where I think he went.” Raff gestures toward the harbor. “Dom chartered a yacht for tonight. Some kind of surprise for you. But if the boat’s gone and he’s not answering his phone…”

“Someone took him.”

“That’s what I’m afraid of.”

“Uncle Enzo.”

Raff nods grimly. “Dom told me about your uncle’s ultimatum. About the choice he gave you.”

“This is my fault. If I hadn’t told Dom the truth, if I hadn’t made Uncle Enzo think I’d betrayed him-”

“Sophie, stop. This isn’t your fault.”

“Isn’t it? Uncle Enzo warned me what would happen if I chose Dom over the mission. Now he’s probably-” I can’t finish the sentence. Can’t voice the possibility that I might have gotten the man I love killed.

“We’ll find him,” Raff says firmly. “But Sophie, I need to ask you something, and I need you to be completely honest with me.”

“What?”