Page 10 of Claimed by the Enemy (Moretti Bratva #2)

Chapter Nine

Sophie

F our days.

Four days of cold silence, of passing each other in hallways like strangers, of pretending that what happened in the wine cellar was just another regrettable mistake.

Four days of him leaving for work before I wake up and coming home after I’ve already retreated to my room.

Four days of me returning to work and sitting in that sterile office at Moretti Group, doing absolutely nothing productive while Dom’s assistant sends me increasingly pointed emails about pending assignments.

I delete each one without reading past the subject line.

If Dom wants to pretend I don’t exist, fine. Two can play that game.

But pretending is harder than I thought it would be. Especially when I can still feel the ghost of his hands on my skin, still taste the whiskey and desperation from his kiss. Still remember the way he looked at me when I told him he wasn’t as cruel as he wanted me to think.

“You’re being ridiculous, Sophie,” I mutter, staring at my computer screen without seeing it. “It was just sex. Complicated sex between two people who hate each other.”

Except I’m not sure I hate him anymore. And that’s the problem.

Because somewhere between his confession about wanting to kill that mam for touching me and the way he whispered my name in the wine cellar, something shifted. Something I can’t afford to acknowledge if I want to maintain any semblance of sanity.

Or self-preservation.

Which is why I need to get out of here. Away from Dom, away from this house, away from the magnetic pull that seems to exist between us, no matter how much we both pretend otherwise.

I need perspective. Distance. A chance to think clearly without his presence clouding my judgment.

I need an escape plan.

My phone buzzes against the desk, and I glance at the screen. Amara’s name flashes across it like a sign from the universe.

“Hey,” I answer, already feeling lighter just hearing her voice.

“Please tell me you’re not sitting in that office doing nothing again,” she says without preamble.

“I’m being very productive, thank you.”

“Productive at what? And don’t say nothing, because I know you better than that.”

What’s going on? Where do I even start? My fake marriage to my enemy is getting complicated because I keep having incredible sex with him in inappropriate places. My revenge mission is falling apart because I might actually be developing feelings for the target?

“I need to get away for a while,” I say instead. “Clear my head.”

“Away from work or away from your husband?”

Both. Definitely both. “Just away. Maybe a weekend trip. Something relaxing.”

“Ooh, girls’ weekend?” Amara’s excitement is immediate and infectious. “I’ve been dying for an excuse to get out of the city. Where were you thinking?”

This is perfect. Amara loves planning trips, and she’s good at it. All I need to do is plant the right seeds and let her natural enthusiasm take over.

“Maybe somewhere with water?” I suggest casually. “I’ve always thought a boat trip might be nice. Island hopping, you know?”

“Oh my God, yes. That sounds amazing. There are some gorgeous routes along the coast, or we could do the Sound. I know someone who has a boat we could charter.”

My pulse quickens. A boat means mobility, means options. Once we’re on the water, I can direct where we go. And if I plan it right, I can make stops along the way until I’m far enough from New York that Dom won’t be able to track me easily.

“That sounds perfect,” I say, trying to keep the eagerness out of my voice. “When could we do it?”

“Let me make some calls. This weekend might be too short notice, but maybe next weekend? I’ll need a few days to coordinate everything.”

A week. I can survive one more week if it means freedom at the end of it.

“Take your time,” I tell her. “I want this to be perfect.”

“It will be. God, Sophie, this is exactly what you need. Some time away from all the stress and weirdness of your new situation.”

If only she knew how weird it really was.

“You’re the best, Amara. Seriously.”

“I know. Okay, I’m hanging up now so I can start making calls. This is going to be amazing, Sophie. I promise.”

She disconnects, leaving me alone with my thoughts and the first real hope I’ve felt in days.

One week. I just need to survive one more week of this cold war with Dom, and then I’ll be free to figure out what I actually want without his presence confusing everything.

I lean back in my chair, allowing myself a small smile of satisfaction. For the first time since the wine cellar incident, I feel like I’m back in control.

***

“Mrs. Moretti?”

I look up from the legal journal I’ve been pretending to read to find Dom’s assistant hovering by my desk with an expression of barely contained panic.

“Yes?”

“Mr. Moretti would like to see you in his office. Immediately.”

My stomach drops. “What for?”

“He didn’t say. But he seemed…” She pauses, searching for the right word. “Insistent.”

Shit.

“I’ll be right there,” I say, closing the journal.

I take my time walking to his office.

I knock once and enter without waiting for permission, because showing weakness now would be suicide.

Dom is behind his desk, but he’s not alone. Sitting in one of the leather chairs across from him, looking perfectly at ease and slightly confused, is Amara.

My heart stops.

“Sophie!” Amara turns as I enter, her face lighting up with surprise. “I didn’t know you’d be here. I was just telling your husband about our boat trip plans.”

Our boat trip plans. My carefully constructed escape route, laid out in detail for the one person I most need to avoid.

Dom’s eyes meet mine over Amara’s head, and I can see the calculation there. He knows. Somehow, he knows exactly what I was planning.

“Amara was just explaining how much she’s looking forward to your girls’ weekend,” Dom says, his voice perfectly pleasant. “It sounds like quite an adventure.”

“It does,” I manage, trying to keep my expression neutral. “What are you doing here, Amara?”

“Oh, I stopped by to finalize some details with you, but when I mentioned to the receptionist that I was planning a trip for Sophie Moretti, she directed me here instead.” Amara glances between Dom and me with obvious curiosity.

“Your husband is…” Amara pauses, studying Dom’s face carefully.

“Very interested in making sure you have a good time.”

There’s something cautious in her tone, and I can see her protective instincts kicking in as she glances between us.

Dom leans back in his chair. “In fact, I was just thinking that you both should join me for dinner tonight. I’d love to hear more about your plans.”

No. No, no, no.

“That’s… unexpected,” Amara says slowly, clearly picking up on the tension in the room. “Sophie never mentioned you were the type to plan social events with her friends.”

“Sophie and I are still learning about each other,” Dom replies smoothly. “Marriage is full of surprises.”

That’s one way to put it.

Amara’s eyes narrow slightly at that. “I’m sure it is. Especially when it happens so quickly.”

The silence stretches uncomfortably. Dom’s smile doesn’t waver, but I can feel the tension crackling between them.

“Well,” Amara continues, her voice carefully neutral, “dinner still sounds… nice. Should I bring anything?”

“Just yourselves. Shall we say seven?”

“Perfect. Sophie, is that okay with you?”

What choice do I have? If I object now, Amara will ask questions I can’t answer. And if I don’t show up, she’ll want to know why.

“Of course,” I say, my smile feeling like it might crack my face. “I’m looking forward to it.”

“Wonderful.” Dom’s smile is warm and genuine, and if I didn’t know better, I’d think he was actually pleased about having dinner guests. “I’ll let Patrice know to expect company.”

“Well then,” Amara says, standing up. “See you at seven!”

She gives Dom a polite handshake and me a quick hug before breezing out of the office like a hurricane of enthusiasm and good intentions.

Leaving me alone with my husband for the first time in four days.

“Sit down, Sophie.”

“I’d rather stand.”

“Sit. Down.”

There’s steel in his voice now, the pleasant facade already dropping away. I sink into the chair Amara just vacated, keeping my back straight and my chin up.

“A boat trip,” Dom says conversationally. “How interesting.”

“It’s just a girls’ weekend.”

“Is it? Because from what your friend described, it sounds like quite an extensive itinerary. Multiple stops along the coast. Very… comprehensive.”

“Amara likes to be thorough.”

“I’m sure she does.” Dom leans forward, his elbows on the desk. “Tell me, Sophie, were you planning to mention this trip to me? Or were you just going to disappear one weekend and hope I didn’t notice?”

“Why would I need to mention a weekend trip to you?”

“Because you’re my wife. Because there are people who want to hurt you. Because the last time you went somewhere without telling me, you ended up in the hospital.”

“That was different.”

“It’s not because it seems to me like you have a pattern of making impulsive decisions without considering the consequences.”

My temper flares. “The only impulsive decision I’ve made lately was letting you kiss me in that wine cellar.”

“Is that what you think it was?” he asks quietly. “Impulsive?”

“What else would you call it?”

“Inevitable.”

The single word hits me like a physical blow. Because he’s right, and we both know it.

“You can’t run away from this,” Dom says.

“I’m not running away. I’m taking a vacation.”

“You’re running. Because what happened between us scared you. Because for the first time since you walked into my office, you’re not in control.”

“I’m in perfect control,” I lie.

“Are you? Because from where I’m sitting, it looks like you’re terrified of admitting that you want me. That this marriage might be more than just a business arrangement.”

“Then why haven’t you tried to escape before now?”