Page 15 of Claimed by the Enemy (Moretti Bratva #2)

Chapter Thirteen

Sophie

I stir awake to the sound of Dom’s steady breathing beside me, his arm still draped across my waist. Everything from last night comes rushing back.

Dom. The attack.

I turn carefully to look at him, taking in the butterfly bandages on his forehead, the bruising around his eye that’s darkened overnight. Even injured, even sleeping, he looks like he’s ready for a fight.

“I can literally feel you boring holes into my brain,” he mumbles without opening his eyes.

“You look terrible.”

“Good morning to you, too.”

I trace my finger along his uninjured cheek, careful not to disturb the bandages. “How do you feel?”

“Like I got hit by a truck.” Dom finally opens his eyes, wincing slightly. “But alive.”

“That’s something.”

He’s right. Yesterday could have ended very differently. If whoever attacked him had been more serious, if they’d really wanted him dead instead of just sending a message…

“I need to check on Uncle Enzo,” I say, the thought suddenly urgent.

Dom’s expression shifts, becomes more alert. “Why?”

“If someone’s targeting both our families, he could be in danger too.”

“Sophie—”

“I know what you’re thinking. That he’s the one behind this. But Dom, he raised me. Whatever else he’s done, he wouldn’t hurt me.”

Dom doesn’t argue, but I can see the skepticism in his eyes. “How will you contact him?”

“Carefully.”

I slip out of bed, pulling on Dom’s shirt from last night. It hangs almost to my knees, smelling like him and the faint metallic scent of dried blood.

“I’m coming with you,” Dom says, starting to sit up.

“No, you’re not. You’re staying in bed and recovering.”

“Sophie—”

“Dom.” I turn to face him, hands on my hips. “We agreed to work together. That means trusting each other. Do you trust me?”

He studies my face for a long moment. “Yes.”

“Then let me handle this.”

I use Patrice’s phone again, dialing Uncle Enzo’s emergency number. It rings four times before he picks up.

“Sophie.” His voice is tense, cautious. “Are you safe?”

“I’m fine. Are you? Did you and Aunt Martha get somewhere secure?”

“We’re safe. But Sophie, there are things happening.”

“What things?”

“Not over the phone. Can you meet me?”

“Uncle, Dom was attacked yesterday. Badly.”

Silence on the other end. Then: “Dom was attacked?”

“Yes. He thinks it’s connected to the letters he’s been receiving.”

“Letters?”

“Threatening letters. Someone who wants to finish what happened between our families.”

Another long pause. “Sophie, listen to me carefully. Don’t trust anyone right now. Not until we can talk face-to-face.”

“I can’t leave the house. It’s not safe.”

“Then I’ll come to you.”

“Uncle—”

“Two days. I’ll find a way to contact you in two days.”

He hangs up before I can respond.

I stare at the phone, unsettled by something in his voice. Uncle Enzo sounded… afraid. In all the years I’ve known him, through all the training and planning and preparation, I’ve never heard fear in his voice.

“Everything alright?”

I turn to find Dom in the doorway, wearing sweatpants and a T-shirt that shows off the bruises on his arms.

“You’re supposed to be resting.”

“I got restless.” He moves closer, studying my expression. “What did he say?”

“That there are things I need to know. Things he can’t say over the phone.”

“Things about what?”

“I don’t know. But Dom, he sounded scared.”

Dom’s jaw tightens. “Or he’s playing you.”

“He’s my uncle.”

“He’s also the man who trained you to destroy me.”

I can’t argue with that logic, even though every instinct tells me Uncle Enzo isn’t the enemy here.

“I want to help investigate,” I say, changing the subject. “Find out who attacked you.”

“Absolutely not.”

“Dom—”

“Sophie, these people are dangerous. You’re not getting anywhere near this.”

“I’m already near this. They’re threatening me too, remember?”

“Which is why you’re staying safe while I handle it.”

“We agreed to work together.”

“We agreed to figure out the truth together. That doesn’t mean putting you in danger.”

I step closer. “I’m not helpless, Dom. I’ve been training for this my entire life.”

“Training to infiltrate companies and gather information. Not training to fight off armed attackers.”

“Really?” I raise an eyebrow. “Pretend you’re going to attack me.”

“Sophie—”

“Do it. Come at me like you’re one of those men.”

Dom looks skeptical but moves toward me with obvious intent, like he’s going to grab me. I duck under his reach, hook my foot behind his ankle, and use his momentum to send him crashing to the floor. Before he can recover, I’m on top of him, my knee pressed against his chest.

Dom winces, his face contorting in pain as his injuries from yesterday protest the sudden impact.

“Shit, I’m sorry,” I say immediately, scrambling off him. “I forgot about your ribs.”

“It’s fine,” he grits out, but I can see him favoring his left side as I help him to his feet.

“No, it’s not fine. I should have been more careful.”

“Sophie.” Dom straightens slowly, still breathing carefully. “Uncle Enzo didn’t just teach you to gather information, did he?”

“Sixteen years of field work training tends to be pretty comprehensive,” I say, steadying him with a hand on his arm.

“I stand corrected,” he says, wincing again. “Remind me never to underestimate you.”

“Good. Now, can we work together on this?”

“Absolutely. Just… maybe next time warn me about the demonstrations when I’m not already beaten up.”

***

After we freshen up and have breakfast, we spend the morning in Dom’s study, surrounded by files and documents and the remnants of sixteen years of family history. Dom has more resources than I expected—business records, newspaper clippings, even some police reports from the time our parents died.

“Your father and mine did business together,” I tell him, looking through a stack of contracts. “More than either of us realized.”

“Regular business or something else?”

“Looks regular. Import/export deals, some real estate ventures. But there are gaps in the records.”

“What kind of gaps?”

“Meetings that aren’t documented. Phone calls that aren’t logged. Like they were being careful about something.”

Dom looks up from his own stack of papers. “Or someone else was being careful about hiding it.”

“You think someone destroyed evidence?”

“I think someone’s been covering their tracks for sixteen years.”

A knock at the study door interrupts us. Patrice appears with a worried expression.

“Mrs. Moretti? Your friend Amara is here. She seems quite upset.”

My stomach drops. “Upset about what?”

“She says there are men following her. She asked to speak with you immediately.”

Dom and I exchange looks. “Send her up,” he says. “Call Vincent. Tell him to do a perimeter check.”

“Of course, sir.”

Amara appears in the doorway moments later, her usual composure completely shattered. Her hair is disheveled, her hands shaking, and there’s real fear in her eyes.

“Sophie, thank God. There are men watching my apartment. Following me to work. I don’t know what’s happening.”

Dom stands up. “Miss Smith, I’m sorry. I should have anticipated this.”

“Anticipated what?”

I move to her side, taking her arm. “Amara, sit down.”

“I’m fine, I just…” She lets me guide her to the chair.

“Can I get you some water? Do you want to lie down?”

“No.” Amara shakes her head firmly. “I don’t want water. I don’t want to lie down. I just want to know what the hell is happening. Sophie, there are men following me. It started since we began hanging out a lot again. Just tell me what’s going on.”

“Dom?” I look at him questioningly. “Know what this is about?”

“I arranged security for you,” Dom tells Amara directly. “The men following you are bodyguards.”

“Bodyguards?” Amara and I chorus.

“Why would I need bodyguards?”

I turn to Dom, shocked. “You arranged security for Amara without telling me?”

“I should have mentioned it,” Dom says. “But with everything happening, I wanted to make sure she was safe.”

“Safe from what?” Amara demands.

Dom and I exchange another look. This is it. No more half-truths.”

Because Dom and I are in the middle of a family feud that’s turned deadly,” I say quietly. “This is going to be a long conversation. Are you sure you don’t want that water?”

“Sophie.”

I tell Amara everything. About Uncle Enzo and the mission for revenge. About the marriage being forced for protection. About the threatening letters and Dom’s attack yesterday. It must be an hour long.

She listens in stunned silence, her face cycling through shock, disbelief, and finally, hurt.

“You’ve been lying to me,” she says when I finish.

“I wanted to tell you. But the less you knew, the safer you were.”

“Safe from what?”

“From this,” Dom says grimly. “From being used as leverage against Sophie.”

Amara looks between us, processing. “So this marriage… It’s not real?”

I hesitate. After last night, after everything Dom and I confessed to each other, I’m not sure what’s real anymore.

“It’s complicated,” I say finally.

“Do you want to leave?” Amara asks suddenly. “I mean, if this is all about protection and forced marriage and family feuds, do you want to run away from it?”

“I…” The question catches me off guard. A week ago, the answer would have been an immediate yes. But now?

“We’re working together now,” I say softly.

“So that’s a no?”

“That’s… I don’t know.”

“I can’t believe this is your life now,” she says softly. “When we were in college, you used to talk about opening your own firm, maybe traveling, living on your own terms. And now…”

“Now I’m married to my target and learning that everything I believed might be a lie,” I finish.

Amara nods slowly. “Well, at least you’re being honest now.”

“Amara—”

“It’s okay, Sophie. I mean, it’s not okay that you lied to me for months, but I understand why.” She stands up, shouldering her purse. “Just… be careful. Both of you.”

After she leaves, I return to the study feeling drained. Dom is back at his desk, but he’s watching me instead of reading.

“You okay?”

“No, not really.”

“For what it’s worth, I think you did the right thing.”

“I don’t think so. She’s in danger because of me.”

“But now at least she knows to be careful.”

I sink into the chair across from his desk, suddenly exhausted. “This is such a mess.”

“It is. But we’ll figure it out.”

“Will we?”

“Sophie.” Dom reaches across the desk, taking my hand. “We will.”

I turn back to the documents spread across the desk, and something catches my eye. A business partnership agreement between Bellini Enterprises and Moretti Group, dated three months before our parents died.

Signed by Marco Bellini.

“Dom,” I say slowly. “Look at this.”

He leans over to see what I’m holding, and I watch his expression change as he processes the implications.

“Your father was doing business with my father.”

“More than that. Look at the terms. This isn’t just a partnership. It’s…” I scan the legal language, my training kicking in. “It’s almost like a merger. Like they were planning to combine companies.”

“Which means?”

“Which means my father and your father weren’t enemies. They were allies.”

We stare at each other across the desk, both of us reaching the same conclusion.

“If they were working together,” Dom says slowly, “then who killed our parents?”

I don’t have an answer. But suddenly, I feel sick. Really sick. Like the room is spinning, and my stomach is trying to climb out through my throat.

“Sophie?”

I bolt from the chair, hand pressed to my mouth, and barely make it to the small bathroom attached to the study before I’m violently ill.

Dom appears behind me, holding my hair back as my body rebels against… what? Stress? The revelation about my father?

“Better?” Dom asks when the nausea finally passes.

I lean against the cool tile wall, trying to steady my breathing. “I think so.”

“Maybe you should rest. This has been a lot to process.”

“Yeah. Maybe.”

One thought keeps circling through my mind as Dom helps me back to the main room.

When was my last period?

And why can’t I remember it?