Page 11 of Claimed by the Enemy (Moretti Bratva #2)

The question catches me off guard. Why haven’t I tried to run before? I’ve had opportunities, resources, and motivation.

“Because you’re not a coward, Sophie. And running away would be the coward’s choice.”

He’s baiting me, and I know it. But the words hit their mark anyway.

“I should go,” I say, standing up. “I need to get ready for dinner.”

“Sophie.” I pause at the door. “Wear the blue dress. The one from the party.”

“Why?”

“Because it’s my favorite.”

I don’t respond to that because acknowledging that he has a favorite dress of mine would mean acknowledging that he pays attention to what I wear, that he thinks about me when I’m not around.

And I’m not ready to go down that road.

***

At exactly seven o’clock, Amara arrives looking radiant in a floral sundress and carrying a bottle of wine.

“You look amazing,” she says, giving me a quick hug in the foyer. “That dress is incredible on you.”

“Thanks.”

“Are you okay? You seem tense.”

“Just tired. It’s been a long week.”

Dom appears from the living room with that same warm, charming smile. He’s changed into dark slacks and a white button-down that makes his eyes look even darker than usual.

“Amara, welcome. You look lovely.”

“Thank you for having me,” she says, handing him the wine. “I hope you like Bordeaux.”

“Thank you for having me,” Amara says, handing him the wine. “I hope you like Bordeaux.”

“One of my favorites. Sophie, you look stunning.”

His eyes linger on the dress, and I feel heat creep up my neck. “Thank you.”

“Shall we go to the dining room? Patrice has prepared something special.”

Dinner is a carefully orchestrated performance. Dom plays the perfect husband, attentive and charming, asking Amara questions about her work and her life. “She responds politely, but I can see her observing him, like she’s trying to figure something out.”

I sit between them, smiling and nodding and playing my part while inside I’m screaming.

“So tell me more about this boat trip,” Dom says as Patrice serves dessert. “Sophie mentioned it might be good for her to get away for a while.”

“Oh, it should be nice,” Amara says, glancing at me. “I found this gorgeous forty-foot yacht we can charter. The owner is a friend of a friend, so we got a great deal. We’re planning to start in the Hamptons and work our way up the coast. Maybe stop in Mystic, Newport, some of the smaller islands.”

“How long were you thinking?”

“A week, maybe? Sophie said she wanted to really disconnect.”

“That’s quite a commitment,” Dom observes. “Sophie, are you sure you can be away from work that long?”

“I think I can manage,” I say sweetly. “After all, it’s not like I’ve been particularly busy lately.”

His smile doesn’t waver, but I see the warning in his eyes.

“Well, you know what they say about all work and no play,” Amara interjects, clearly missing the undercurrent. “Besides, Sophie deserves some time to herself. Marriage is a big adjustment.”

“Indeed, it is,” Dom agrees. “Although I have to admit, I’m going to miss having her around.”

“You’ll survive,” I say.

“Will I? I’m not so sure.”

We’re having two conversations now. One that Amara can hear, polite, normal, and safe. And another one underneath, loaded with meaning and challenge and the memory of everything that’s happened between us.

“I’m sure you’ll find ways to keep yourself occupied,” I continue.

“I always do. Although some activities are more enjoyable than others.”

Heat flares in my cheeks, and I take a sip of wine to cover my reaction.

“You two are so sweet,” Amara says, oblivious to the tension. “I love seeing couples who still flirt after they’re married.”

Flirt. Is that what we’re doing?

“Sophie brings out the romantic in me,” Dom says, his eyes never leaving mine.

“That’s beautiful. You can tell you’re still in the honeymoon phase.”

If only she knew what our honeymoon phase actually looked like.

“Something like that,” I murmur.

After dinner, Dom walks us to the door, playing the gracious host until the very end.

“Thank you for a lovely evening,” Amara says. “And thank you for being so understanding about the trip. Some husbands would be jealous of their wives gallivanting around without them.”

“I trust Sophie completely,” Dom replies. “Don’t I, sweetheart?”

“Completely,” I echo.

“Although,” he continues, “I hope you’ll reconsider the timeline. A week or two seems excessive for a simple girls’ weekend.”

“We’ll see how it goes,” I say.

“Yes. We will.”

He kisses my cheek goodnight, and I feel his lips brush against my ear.

“Sweet dreams, Sophie. Try not to plan any more escapes while I’m sleeping.”

Then he’s stepping back, smiling pleasantly at Amara, and I’m left standing there with my heart racing and the distinct impression that I’ve just lost the first battle in a war I didn’t even know we were fighting.

As I walk Amara to her car, she glances back at the house where Dom is still standing in the doorway.

“He’s… very attentive,” Amara says carefully, still looking back at the house. “Are you happy, Sophie? Really happy?”

The question catches me off guard. “Of course. Why wouldn’t I be?”

“I don’t know. Something just feels…” She shakes her head. “Never mind. I’m probably overthinking it.”

“Yeah,” I say. “You probably are.”

“I’ll call you tomorrow about the boat details,” she says, giving me a quick hug. “This trip is going to be exactly what you need.”

I watch her drive away, then turn back toward the house where my husband is waiting.