Page 16 of Claimed by the Enemy (Moretti Bratva #2)

Chapter Fourteen

Dom

A week of working together has changed everything between us.

When I’m not at the office, Sophie and I work together in the study, going through documents and mapping connections between our families.

She spends her days researching while I handle business, then we compare notes in the evenings over dinner.

By weekend, we spread everything across the dining room table, trying to piece together decades of lies.

It’s the new norm in our world now.

Which is why finding Sophie standing in the living room with murder in her eyes when I get home from the office feels like stepping into an alternate reality.

“We need to talk,” she says without preamble.

I set down my briefcase, noting the manila envelope clutched in her white-knuckled grip. “About what?”

“About this.” She tosses the envelope at my feet. Photographs spill across the marble floor.

I bend to pick them up, and my blood runs cold. They are photos of her Uncle and Aunt in locations I don’t recognize, taken with a telephoto lens.

“Where did you get these?”

“They were slipped under the front door this morning. No note, no explanation. Just pictures of my family under surveillance.” Sophie’s voice is deadly calm, which means she’s angrier than I’ve ever seen her.

I study the photographs more carefully.

“Sophie, I didn’t-”

“Don’t.” She holds up a hand. “Don’t lie to me. Not after everything we’ve been through this week.”

“I’m not lying. I have no idea where these came from.”

“Right. Because it’s just a coincidence that my uncle and aunt suddenly disappeared after I started working with you, and now someone’s sending me surveillance photos.”

“They’ve disappeared?”

“Yes! I can’t reach them.”

“Look, this is definitely not a coincidence. But it’s also not me. Think about this logically. Why would I have your family followed?”

“To use them against me. To make sure I stay in line.”

“Stay in line?” I drop the photographs, genuinely stunned. “Sophie, we’ve been working together. As partners. Why would I need to threaten your family when you’re already helping me?”

“Maybe because you don’t trust me. Maybe because you think I’m still planning to betray you.”

“Do you want to betray me?”

Sophie’s anger falters for just a moment, and I see something vulnerable flicker across her features.

“That’s not the point.”

“It’s exactly the point. Sophie, I trust you. Completely. Which is why I would never do something this stupid.” I gesture to the photographs. “If I wanted to keep tabs on your family, I’d tell you. We’re supposed to be honest with each other now.”

“Are we?”

“Aren’t we?”

“I’ve been trying to reach Uncle Enzo for three days,” she says, her voice cracking slightly. “Five days, Dom. He promised to contact me, and there’s been nothing. No calls, no messages, no sign that he’s even alive.”

“Maybe he’s being careful. Maybe he’s lying low until-”

“Or maybe you had him killed.”

The accusation hits like a physical blow. “What did you just say?”

“You heard me.”

“Sophie.” I step closer, and she backs away like I’m dangerous. “I would never hurt your family. Never. Not Uncle Enzo, not your aunt, not anyone you care about. But Sophie, think about what you’re accusing me of. Why would I take a beating trying to find answers? Why would I-”

“I don’t know!” The words explode out of her. “I don’t know what to think anymore.”

There’s real pain in her voice now, beneath the anger. Sophie’s not just furious about the photographs. She’s scared and confused and grasping for something solid in a world that keeps shifting beneath her feet.

“What aren’t you telling me?” I ask quietly.

“What do you mean?”

“Sophie, I’ve spent a while learning to read you. You’re not just angry about these pictures. There’s something else. Something you’re hiding.”

Her face goes pale. “I’m not hiding anything.”

“Yes, you are. What is it?”

Her mouth opens, closes, and I can see her struggling with whatever secret she’s carrying.

Then her expression hardens again.

“Fine. You want to know what I’m hiding?” She stalks to the coffee table and grabs a folder I hadn’t noticed before. “I found this a week ago. The day Amara came by.”

She throws the folder at me the same way she threw the envelope.

“What is this?”

“Evidence I found last week. About Uncle Enzo and the fire.”

I take the papers from her hands, my blood turning cold as I read.

Email exchanges between Uncle Enzo and unknown contacts, discussing “removing the Moretti problem permanently.” Photos of him meeting with men near our family house days before the fire.

Plans that mention “making it look accidental.”

“You’ve been sitting on this for a week?” My voice is dangerously quiet. “While we’ve been working together, being honest with each other, you’ve been hiding this from me?”

“I was trying to understand what it meant.”

“What it means is that your uncle planned the fire that killed my mother. That he’s the reason my father died from grief.”

“Those emails could be fabricated.”

“Look at the metadata, Sophie. The photos. The timeline matches perfectly.”

“Uncle Enzo would never hurt anyone. He’s not a killer.”

“He trained you to be a weapon against me!”

“That was about justice!”

“Justice? He murdered my family and then spent years turning you into his revenge fantasy!”

Sophie’s face goes white. “Uncle Enzo didn’t kill anyone.”

“The evidence says otherwise.”

“Evidence can be faked. Someone planted this to make you think exactly what you’re thinking.”

“Who would do that?”

“I don’t know! But Uncle Enzo raised me when no one else would.

“He killed my parents and then lied to you about everything.”

“You’re wrong.”

“The proof is right there. Your uncle burned down our house with my mother inside.”

“I trusted you,” Sophie says, her voice barely above a whisper. “This week, I actually started to trust you. Started to think that maybe we could figure this out together.”

“We can. That’s exactly what I’m trying to do.”

“By accusing my uncle of murder?”

“You just accused me of harming him minutes ago, Sophie! When did you become a hypocrite?”

The slap comes out of nowhere, sharp and stinging across my cheek. We both freeze, staring at each other in the sudden silence.

“If…” she starts, tears streaming down her face. “If the evidence leads to my family being the real killers? If everything Uncle Enzo told me was a lie? Then what, Dom? What happens to me?”

The question breaks something in my chest. Because I can see it now—not just the anger, but the terror underneath. Sophie isn’t just defending her uncle. She’s defending the foundation of everything she’s believed about herself.

“Sophie-”

“No. I can’t do this.” She’s already moving toward the stairs. “I can’t stay here and listen to you tear apart the only family I have left.”

“Where are you going?”

“Away from you.”

“Sophie, wait-”

But she’s gone, her footsteps echoing down the hallway like gunshots.

I stand alone in the living room, surrounded by the damning documents.

My phone buzzes with a text message. Unknown number again.

She’s protecting him just like her father protected him. Some people never learn.

I stare at the message, pieces clicking into place.

The photographs arrived at the perfect moment. The threats escalated just when we were getting close. Even Sophie finding those documents feels too convenient, too perfectly timed.

This has manipulation written all over it. Someone’s been pulling strings from the shadows, feeding us information designed to tear us apart.

They want us to turn on each other.

And it’s working.

I grab my keys and head for the door. I need air. I need space. I need to think without Sophie’s perfume clouding my judgment and her accusations ringing in my ears.

I drive through the city aimlessly, taking random turns, hitting red lights, watching people live their normal lives through my windshield.

The same thought won’t leave me alone.

What if she’s right? What if I’m so desperate to find someone to blame for my parents’ deaths that I’m willing to destroy the only good thing in my life to get answers?

What if the real enemy isn’t Enzo Bellini at all, but whoever’s been playing us against each other from the very beginning?

And what if, by walking away tonight, I’ve given them exactly what they wanted?

I end up at a bar downtown, the kind of place where nobody cares who you are as long as your money’s good.

Three whiskeys in, I’m still seeing Sophie’s face when I accused her uncle of murder.

Still hearing the break in her voice when she asked what would happen to her if everything she believed was a lie.

My phone has been buzzing constantly—texts from Sophie, missed calls, voicemails I haven’t listened to. But I’m not ready to go home yet.

Because the truth is, I don’t know what happens if Enzo Bellini is the killer. I don’t know how Sophie and I can come back from this kind of betrayal. I don’t know how to love someone whose family destroyed mine.

And somewhere in the space between my third and fourth drink, I realize that’s exactly what this is.

Love.

I’m in love with Sophie Bellini. Maybe since the moment she walked into my office with fire in her eyes and lies on her lips.

Which makes walking away from her tonight either the stupidest thing I’ve ever done, or the only way to protect us both from destroying each other completely.

The bartender refills my glass without being asked, and I stare into the amber liquid like it might hold answers.

It doesn’t.

But somewhere in the back of my mind, a voice is whispering that none of this feels right. That someone’s been pulling our strings from the beginning, feeding us information designed to turn us against each other.

That maybe the real enemy has been watching us tear ourselves apart while they sit back and wait for us to finish the job they started sixteen years ago.

I down the whiskey and signal for another.

Because if that’s true, then walking away from Sophie tonight might be the biggest mistake of my life.

And I might not get the chance to fix it.