Page 1 of Claimed by the Enemy (Moretti Bratva #2)

Chapter One

Sophie

T he sound of my real name cuts through the air with quiet precision.

“Sophie Bellini.”

Dom’s voice carries no emotion, but something in my chest stops working. I can’t breathe properly. Can’t think past the ringing in my ears. I just stare at him across Mark’s desk while my carefully constructed life falls apart.

He knows.

He’s always known.

Mark shifts uncomfortably in his chair, clearly sensing something has shifted but not understanding what. The contract for One Construction sits between us, forgotten. The pen in Dom’s hand rests motionless above the signature line he never reached.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” I whisper. The words feel foreign in my mouth.

Dom sets the envelope down with deliberate care, his eyes never leaving mine. The evidence he mentioned—whatever proof he has of my deception—sits there like an accusation.

“Of course you don’t.” His voice stays maddeningly calm. “Mark, thank you for your time, but this meeting is over.”

“What?” Mark’s voice climbs. “But we had an agreement—”

“We had a conversation.” Dom stands, straightening his jacket. “And conversations end.” His attention returns to me. “Especially when they involve complications.”

My legs have turned to water. Everything in me screams to run, to bolt for the door and disappear into the city streets. But my body won’t cooperate. My hands are shaking where they rest on my thighs, and I press them down harder, trying to stop the tremor.

“Miss Greco.” Dom’s voice could cut glass. “We need to talk. Now.”

I force myself to stand even though my knees want to buckle. My mind scrambles through possibilities. Deny everything. Admit nothing. Create some elaborate lie about mistaken identity.

But as we walk past Mark’s desk toward the elevator, his frustrated voice trailing behind us with complaints about wasted time and broken promises, I know I’m trapped. The game I’ve been playing for months just ended, and I lost spectacularly.

The elevator feels smaller than it should. Dom stands close enough that I catch his cologne—something expensive and clean —but the warmth that used to radiate from him has vanished. His face shows nothing. Pure control.

When the doors slide open, he gestures toward the lobby. “My car is outside.”

I follow because I can’t think of anything else to do. My legs move on autopilot while my brain struggles to catch up. The black sedan waits at the curb, Vincent holding the rear door open like this is just another evening.

“Good evening, Mr. Moretti,” Vincent says with his usual politeness. “Miss Greco.”

The normalcy of it makes everything worse. I slide into the backseat, and Dom settles beside me. The door closes with finality.

“Drive,” Dom tells Vincent.

The car pulls into traffic, and I press my face against the cool window. The city blurs past while I try to process what just happened. The meeting with Mark, the envelope full of evidence, the way Dom spoke my real name like he’d been saving it up for exactly this moment.

Minutes pass in heavy silence. I can feel Dom watching me, waiting for something. A confession, maybe. Or another lie he can tear apart.

“I’ve known who you were all along,” he finally says.

The admission sits between us like a live wire. My stomach drops to somewhere around my feet.

“Then why—” I start, but my voice cracks.

“Why didn’t I expose you immediately?” He turns to study my profile in the streetlight. “Because I wanted to see what you were really after. How far you’d go.”

I can’t look at him. Can’t face whatever expression he’s wearing right now. “And now you know.”

“Now I know that whatever you’ve been planning goes deeper than I initially thought.” His voice drops to something almost dangerous. “That stunt with One Construction could have buried my company completely.”

A bitter laugh escapes me. “You walked into it willingly.”

“Because I was curious whether you’d actually go through with it.” His eyes narrow when I finally turn to face him. “Tell me something, Sophie. How does it feel to discover you’ve been fighting the wrong enemy this entire time?”

My head snaps toward him. “What are you talking about?”

“Your father. Marco Bellini. The man you’ve spent years planning to avenge.” Dom leans back against the leather seat, completely relaxed despite having just blown up my world. “He’s the real villain in this story.”

“That’s a lie.”

Dom’s tone stays conversational, almost casual. “What exactly do you know about the night your parents died? Beyond whatever story Uncle Enzo fed you.”

“I know your father murdered them.” The words taste like poison in my mouth.

“My father tried to save them.”

“That’s impossible.” But even as I say it, something cold starts creeping up my spine.

Dom watches me with those unreadable dark eyes, and I hate how steady his voice sounds. “Your father made a deal with my family’s enemies. Sold out everything for money. When my father discovered the betrayal, he tried to warn your parents and get them somewhere safe before it was too late.”

“You’re making this up.” My voice comes out smaller than I intended.

“Your father’s greed got them killed, Sophie. His betrayal destroyed both our families.”

“No.” The word tears out of me. “That’s not what happened.”

“Then tell me what did happen. Your version.”

I open my mouth, then close it again. Because I don’t have a version. I have Uncle Enzo’s story, the one he’s repeated since I was ten years old. The one I accepted without question because questioning meant doubting the only family I had left.

“My uncle raised me. He wouldn’t lie about something like that.”

“Your uncle turned you into a weapon pointed at the wrong target.”

“He gave me a purpose.”

“He gave you his version of revenge.”

The car feels too small suddenly. The air too thin. I reach for the door handle, needing space, needing to get away from Dom’s steady voice dismantling everything I believe.

“Stop the car,” I tell Vincent, my voice sharp with desperation.

“Don’t,” Dom says quietly, but Vincent’s already pulling over to the curb.

I don’t wait for the car to come to a complete stop. I’m out the door the second it slows, my heels hitting the sidewalk as I stride away from the sedan. I don’t have a plan, don’t know where I’m going. I just need to move, to breathe, to get away from Dom and his impossible accusations.

“Sophie.”

His voice carries across the evening air, but I don’t turn around. I keep walking, my pace quickening as I hear his footsteps behind me.

“Sophie, stop.”

“Leave me alone,” I call over my shoulder.

But Dom’s legs are longer than mine, and he catches up easily. His hand closes around my wrist, firm but not painful.

“Let go of me.”

“Not happening.”

I try to jerk away, but his grip tightens. “This is insane. You can’t just—”

The rest of my protest dies as Dom bends down, hooks an arm around my waist, and lifts me clean off my feet. My world tilts as he tosses me over his shoulder like I weigh nothing.

“Put me down!” I pound my fists against his back, kicking my legs. “Put me down right now!”

He ignores my struggles, walking back toward the car with steady, determined steps. A couple across the street stops to stare. A jogger slows down, clearly debating whether to intervene.

“This is kidnapping!” I shout, mortified but too angry to stop fighting.

“This is a necessity,” Dom says calmly, as if carrying a woman over his shoulder in public is perfectly normal behavior.

Vincent has the car door open by the time we reach it. Dom deposits me in the backseat with surprising gentleness, then slides in beside me before I can scramble for the opposite door.

“Drive,” he tells Vincent.

“You’re coming home with me, Sophie. And you’re going to tell me everything you know.”

“Absolutely not.”

“Absolutely yes.” His smile has sharp edges. “Because despite the lies, the deception, and the fact that you just tried to destroy everything I’ve built, someone wants both of us dead. Until I figure out who, you stay where I can protect you.”

The words punch through my defenses. My mouth goes dry. “What are you talking about?”

“The threats that have been coming in.” His gaze stays locked on mine. “You didn’t think I’d noticed the pattern?”

My blood chills. If he’s right, if someone really has been targeting both of us, then this situation just became infinitely more complicated than my simple revenge mission.

“I don’t need protection from you.”

“You need protection from someone. And right now, I’m the only one offering it.”

The car slows, then turns onto a tree-lined street I recognize. Dom’s neighborhood. His house sits ahead, all clean lines and expensive taste. Part fortress, part sanctuary.

Vincent brings the car to a smooth stop in the driveway. Through the window, I can see the warm lights of Dom’s house, and suddenly I feel like I’m standing at the edge of a cliff.

“This conversation isn’t finished,” I tell him, trying to inject some steel into my voice.

“I know.”

“I’ll find a way to make you pay for all of this.”

“I’m sure you’ll try.”

Dom gets out first and waits while I follow on unsteady legs. The evening air feels cool against my skin, but it doesn’t clear the fog in my head.

As we walk toward the front door, I realize everything has fundamentally changed. The mission I thought I understood, the enemy I thought I knew, the life I’ve built around revenge—none of it makes sense anymore.

The rules just changed completely, and I have no idea how to play this new game.