Page 18 of Claimed by the Enemy (Moretti Bratva #2)

Chapter Sixteen

Dom

M y house feels wrong the moment I walk through the front door.

It’s too quiet and too still—like the life has been sucked out of it.

“Sophie?” I call, dropping my keys on the hall table. My head pounds from too much whiskey and sleeping in my car in some random parking lot, but I need to find her. Need to apologize for walking out last night like a coward.

Silence.

“Patrice!” I shout, my voice echoing through the hallway.

She appears from the laundry room, looking frazzled and worried instead of her usual composed self. “Mr. Moretti! Thank God you’re home.”

Something in her tone makes my blood run cold. “Where’s Sophie?”

“Mrs. Moretti left this morning around nine. She said she needed some air, needed to think.” Patrice wrings her hands anxiously. “But sir, that was five hours ago, and we haven’t heard from her since.”

“Five hours?”

“Vincent has been trying to call you all afternoon. We both have. Your phone kept going to voicemail.”

My phone died at the bar last night. I never charged it. “What happened? Where did she go?”

“Vincent followed her as instructed, but…” Patrice’s voice gets smaller. “Perhaps you should speak with him directly.”

I find Vincent pacing the garage like a caged animal, his usual calm professionalism completely shattered. The moment he sees me, relief and panic war across his face.

“Sir! I’ve been trying to reach you for hours.”

“Where is my wife?”

“I don’t know.” Vincent’s face crumbles. “Sir, I followed her to several motels downtown. She was hunting for someone, showing people a photograph.”

“What photograph?” I grab his shoulder, probably harder than I should.

“An older man. Couldn’t make out the details from my distance. At Highway Motor Lodge, she got sick in the parking lot. I was about to help when she disappeared into one of the rooms.”

“Which room?” My voice cracks.

“Couldn’t see the number from where I was parked. But sir…” Vincent’s eyes fill with terror. “She went in. Never came out.”

“What the hell does that mean?” I’m in his face now, desperate.

“I waited an hour. An hour and a half. Finally went to check. Door wide open. The chair was knocked over. Lamp on the floor. Sophie was gone.”

The garage floor seems to drop out from under me. I stagger backward, hitting the car.

“Gone where?”

“No idea. The manager heard the noise but didn’t investigate. Said there were no cameras in that section.”

“You didn’t call the cops?” I want to hit him. Want to hit myself.

“I called you fifty times! Your phone went straight to voicemail every time. Patrice and I didn’t know if you’d moved her somewhere safe, if this was planned—”

“Does this look planned to you?” I’m shouting now, my voice echoing off concrete walls.

“Get me that address of the motel. Now.”

“Sir-”

“NOW!”

***

Thirty minutes earlier, I’d stood in the doorway of room 237 at Highway Motor Lodge, staring at the chaos someone had left behind.

Overturned chair. Broken lamp. Scuff marks across cheap carpet that told the story of a struggle. The management hadn’t bothered cleaning up - probably waiting for police who would never come because no one had called them.

Vincent had driven Sophie’s BMW back to the house while I memorized every detail of that trashed motel room. The chair was knocked toward the bathroom. The lamp cord stretched across the floor like someone had grabbed it as a weapon. The door hangs open like a mouth screaming silent accusations.

Sophie had fought. Whatever happened in that room, my wife hadn’t gone quietly.

Now I stood outside Uncle Riccardo’s penthouse, my hands still shaking from what I’d seen, ready to get answers from the one person who might know who wanted to hurt my family.

He lives in a penthouse that overlooks Central Park. I’ve never visited unannounced before.

Today, I don’t give a damn about protocol.

“Domenico.” Riccardo opens the door wearing a silk robe and an expression of mild surprise. “This is unexpected.”

“We need to talk.”

“Of course. Come in.”

His living room is a study in minimalist elegance, featuring clean lines and art on the walls. I don’t sit when he gestures to the sofa.

“Sophie’s missing.”

“Missing?” Riccardo moves to his bar cart, pouring himself a drink despite the early hour. “How concerning.”

“That’s it? That’s your reaction?”

“What would you like me to say, Domenico? I warned you about bringing a Bellini into this family.”

“Someone took her from a motel room. There were signs of a struggle. I went there myself. I don’t want to involve the cops.”

“Perhaps she simply decided to leave. You did marry her under rather… unusual circumstances.”

I step closer.

“Someone kidnapped my wife, and you’re standing there making jokes about it.”

“I’m not joking. I’m being realistic.” Riccardo takes a sip of his whiskey. “Sophie Bellini came into your life for one reason: to destroy you. Maybe this is simply her exit strategy.”

“She wouldn’t just disappear.”

“Think about it, Domenico. She’s gotten everything she wanted. Access to your company and your trust. Maybe the fantasy finally wore off.”

“You don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Riccardo sets down his glass with deliberate care. “Tell me, nephew, what do you really know about her family and what they’re truly capable of?”

Something in his tone makes the hair on my neck stand up. I grab him by the lapels of his robe before I realize I’m moving. “Where is she?”

“Dom.” Riccardo’s voice is calm despite my hands on his clothes. “Let go of me.”

“Not until you tell me what you know.”

“I know that you’re letting emotion cloud your judgment. Just like your father did.”

“My father?”

“Antonio was a good man. Too good. He trusted people he should have been watching. Made alliances with families he should have been investigating.”

“What families?”

“Let go of me, and we’ll discuss it properly.”

I release him, stepping back but keeping my fists clenched. “Talk.”

“Your father was investigating irregularities in his business partnerships shortly before he died. Discrepancies in accounts, missing inventory, money that should have been there but wasn’t.”

“Someone was stealing from him?”

“Someone was using his legitimate business to hide illegitimate activities. Someone he trusted completely.”

“Who?”

“I think you already know.”

Marco Bellini. Sophie’s father.

“But Marco’s dead too.”

“Yes. Which raises interesting questions about who might be continuing his work.”

“You think Uncle Enzo-”

“I think you should be very careful about who you trust, Domenico. And I think finding your wife might not be the blessing you’re hoping for.”

***

Giuseppe Caruso’s brownstone looks exactly the same as it did the day I was attacked outside it. Same elegant facade and sense of secrets hidden behind expensive architecture.

This time, I don’t wait to be invited in.

“Domenico.” Caruso appears in his hallway as I push past his housekeeper. “Back so soon?”

“You’re going to tell me the truth. All of it. Right now.”

“About what?”

“About what really happened the night my parents died. About who killed them and why.”

Caruso dismisses his housekeeper with a gesture, then leads me to his study. “This is about your missing wife.”

“How did you-”

“Word travels fast in our circles. Sophie Bellini disappeared yesterday from a downtown motel. Very dramatic.”

“You know where she is?”

“I know you’re asking the wrong questions.”

“Then what are the right questions?”

Caruso settles behind his desk, suddenly looking older than his years. “The right question is: who benefits from you and Sophie destroying each other?”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean that neither your father nor Marco Bellini killed anyone, Domenico. They were both victims.”

The words hit like physical blows. “That’s impossible.”

“Is it? Think about the timeline. Your father discovers irregularities in his accounts. Marco Bellini tries to warn him about a potential threat. Both men die within weeks of each other. Both families blame each other and spend the next sixteen years hating instead of investigating.”

“You’re saying someone framed them?”

“I’m saying someone orchestrated the perfect crime. Turn two powerful families against each other, eliminate the patriarchs, and profit from the chaos that follows.”

“Who?”

“Someone close enough to both families to know their business. Someone trusted enough to have access to sensitive information. Someone who’s been playing a very long game.”

“Just tell me who.”

“I think you already suspect.”

Before I can respond, my phone rings. Raff’s name on the screen.

“Dom, thank God. I’ve been trying to reach you.”

“Not now, Raff.”

“Dom, listen to me. Sophie’s fine. She’s not kidnapped.”

I nearly drop the phone. “What?”

“She was spotted this morning. Downtown, with an older man. They were getting into a car together. She didn’t look distressed.”

“Who was the man?”

“I’m sending you the surveillance footage now. But Dom… it looks like her uncle.”

The phone trembles in my hands as I open the video file. Grainy security camera footage shows Sophie walking out of a building, talking animatedly with a man who’s definitely Enzo Bellini.

She’s alive. She’s safe.

She’s with the man Caruso just implied might be a killer.

“Domenico?” Caruso’s voice seems to come from very far away. “Are you alright?”

I look up at him, remembering his words about someone playing a long game. Someone close to both families.

“Where would they go?” I ask. “If Enzo Bellini wanted to hide Sophie somewhere, where would he take her?”

“Somewhere, he feels safe and in control.”

“Like where?”

“Like the place where this all started.”

I drive home with my hands shaking and my mind racing. Sophie’s alive, but she’s with Uncle Enzo. The man who might have killed my parents. The man who’s been training her to destroy me for sixteen years.

The man who might still be using her, even now.

By the time I pull into my driveway, Vincent is waiting with three other security guards. Their faces are grim, apologetic.

“Sir,” Vincent begins, “we’ve located Mrs. Moretti.”

“I know. Where is she?”

“On her way home. She should be here within the hour.”

“And Uncle Enzo?”

“He’s with her.”

Of course he is.

I pace the living room like a caged animal, checking my watch every thirty seconds. When I finally hear the car in the driveway, I have to stop myself from running outside.

Sophie walks through the front door looking tired but unharmed. Her clothes are wrinkled, her hair pulled back in a messy ponytail, but she’s whole. She’s here.

“Dom.” Her voice is soft, uncertain.

I cross the room in three strides and pull her against me, breathing in the scent of her shampoo, feeling the solid reality of her in my arms. She’s warm and alive and here, and for a moment, nothing else matters.

“I couldn’t find you,” I say against her hair. “You were gone, and I couldn’t find you.”

“I’m okay. I’m sorry, I’m so sorry.”

I hold her tighter, feeling her heart beating against my chest. But even as relief floods through me, Caruso’s words echo in my head.

Someone close to both families. Someone playing a long game.

I pull back just enough to look at her face. “Sophie, I need to ask you something.”

“Okay.”

“Yesterday, when you went looking for your uncle… what did you find?”

Something flickers across her expression. Just for a second, but long enough for me to see it.

“What do you mean?”

“I mean, what did Uncle Enzo tell you? What did you learn?”

“Dom-”

“Because I’ve been having some very interesting conversations today. About our parents. About what really happened sixteen years ago.”

Sophie goes very still in my arms. “What kind of conversations?”

“The kind that suggests neither of our fathers were killers. The kind that suggests someone’s been lying to both of us for a very long time.”

“Dom, please-”

“Tell me the truth, Sophie. All of it. Do you know more than you’ve let on?”

I watch her face carefully, looking for signs of deception. Looking for proof that she’s still the enemy, still playing games, still protecting the man who might have destroyed both our families.

What I see instead breaks my heart.

Sophie looks terrified. Not of me, but of something else. Something she’s not ready to tell me.

“I don’t know what’s true anymore,” she whispers. “I thought I did, but I don’t.”

“Then we’ll figure it out together.”

“Will we?”

“Sophie.” I cup her face in my hands, feeling how fragile she seems. “Whatever your uncle told you, whatever you’re hiding, we can work through it. But I need you to trust me.”

“I do trust you.”

“Then tell me what happened yesterday. Tell me what you’re not saying.”

For a moment, I think she’s going to confess everything. Her lips part, and I can see her struggling with the words.

Then she looks away.

“I’m tired, Dom. Can we talk about this tomorrow?”

“Sophie-”

“Please. I just… I need some time to process everything.”

I want to push. Want to demand answers right now, while the fear of losing her is still fresh and raw. But looking at her exhausted face, her trembling hands, I realize that whatever’s coming, whatever truth we’re dancing around, it can wait one more night.

“Okay,” I say. “Tomorrow.”

“Tomorrow.”

She starts to move toward the stairs, then turns back.

“Dom? When you couldn’t find me… were you worried?”

The question is so quiet I almost miss it. But there’s something vulnerable in her voice, something that needs reassurance.

“Worried?” I let out a dry laugh. “Sophie, I turned this city upside down looking for you. I nearly got into a fist fight with my uncle. I threatened a man who’s been like family to me for thirty years.”

“Oh.”

“I thought I’d lost you. And I realized that losing you would destroy me.”

The admission hangs between us, honest and raw and completely true.

Sophie’s eyes fill with tears. “Dom-”

“Go get some rest. We’ll figure everything else out tomorrow.”

She nods and disappears upstairs, leaving me alone with my thoughts and the growing certainty that tomorrow is going to change everything.

Because whatever Sophie learned yesterday, whatever Uncle Enzo told her, it’s big enough to make her look at me like she’s seeing a stranger.

And if Caruso is right, if someone’s been playing us against each other for sixteen years, then Sophie and I are about to discover that everything we thought we knew about our families was a lie.

The only question is whether we’ll survive the truth.