Page 22 of Claimed by the Enemy (Moretti Bratva #2)

Chapter Nineteen

Dom

“ Y ou’re an idiot.”

Raff’s voice cuts through the quiet of my office, where I’ve been sitting for the past hour, staring at the door Sophie walked through. Replaying her confession, her tears, the way she looked at me when she said she loved me.

“Excuse me?”

“You heard me. You’re an idiot.” Raff drops into the chair across from my desk, the same one Sophie occupied when she tore her life apart to save mine. “Sophie just gave you everything, Dom. Everything. And you’re sitting here looking like someone died.”

“I’m thinking.”

“About what? How to mess this up?”

I lean back in my chair, exhaustion settling into my bones. “About how to keep her alive. Uncle Enzo isn’t going to just disappear because Sophie chose me over him.”

“So what are you going to do about it?”

“I don’t know yet.”

“Well, while you’re figuring that out, maybe you should consider showing Sophie that she made the right choice.”

“What do you mean?”

Raff leans forward, his expression serious. “Dom, I watched that woman confess to lying about everything she’s ever told you. I watched her admit that she was trained to destroy you, that her uncle wants you dead, that she’s been living a double life for months.”

“Your point?”

“My point is that she could have kept lying. Could have fed you just enough truth to keep you satisfied while she figured out another way to handle Uncle Enzo. But she didn’t.”

“No, she didn’t.”

“She chose you. Completely, totally, without reservation. She chose you over the only family she has left, over everything she’s believed for sixteen years, over her own safety.”

I think about the way Sophie’s hands shook when she told me about Uncle Enzo’s ultimatum. About the tears in her eyes when she said she loved me more than anything.

“I know what she gave up, Raff.”

“Do you? Because from where I’m sitting, it looks like you’re still waiting for the other shoe to drop.”

“Maybe I am.”

“Why?”

“Because…” I pause, trying to find words for the fear that’s been eating at me since Sophie walked out that door. “Because I’ve never had anything this good before. And in my experience, when something seems too good to be true, it usually is.”

“Sophie isn’t too good to be true, Dom. She’s just good. And she loves you.”

“How can you be so sure?”

“Because I saw her face when she thought she was going to lose you. I’ve seen the way she looks at you when she thinks no one’s watching. That’s not an act, Dom. That’s not something you can fake.”

“What if Uncle Enzo-”

“What if nothing. Sophie made her choice. The question is, what are you going to do with it?”

I stare out the window at the city below, thinking about Sophie alone in that hospital room, probably scared and overwhelmed by everything that’s happened in the past few hours.

“What would you do?” I ask.

“If the woman I loved had just sacrificed everything to be with me?” Raff grins. “I’d show her it was worth it.”

“How?”

“Grand gesture, Dom. Something that proves you’re all in, just like she is.”

“Such as?”

“I don’t know. Take her somewhere special. Show her what your future together could look like.” Raff pauses, studying my face. “When’s the last time you did something romantic? Something that wasn’t about business or protection or family drama?”

I think about it, and the answer is depressing. “Never.”

“Never?”

“I’ve never been in a relationship worth making grand gestures for.”

“Well, you are now.” Raff stands up, heading for the door. “Figure it out, Dom. Sophie just bet her entire life on you. Don’t make her regret it.”

Two hours later, I’m standing on the deck of a sixty-foot yacht, watching the crew put the finishing touches on what I hope will be the perfect evening.

White lights strung along the rigging. A table set for two with candles and flowers. Champagne chilling in an ice bucket, though Sophie probably shouldn’t drink if she’s pregnant.

Pregnant. The word still sends a shock through my system every time I think it.

Sophie is carrying my child. Our child. A tiny life that will grow up free from the poison that’s been destroying our families for sixteen years, if I have anything to say about it.

“Mr. Moretti?” Captain Rodriguez appears at my elbow. “We’re ready to depart whenever you give the word.”

“Perfect. And the message was delivered to my wife?”

“Yes, sir. Your assistant confirmed that Mrs. Moretti received the invitation and will be here at seven.”

I check my watch. Six-thirty. Sophie should arrive soon, probably wondering what I’m up to.

I hope she likes surprises.

My phone buzzes with a text from Sophie: On my way. What are you planning?

You’ll see. Dock 47.

Dom…

Trust me.

I do.

Those two words hit me harder than they should. After everything that’s happened, after all the lies and secrets and betrayals, Sophie still trusts me.

Now I just have to make sure I’m worthy of it.

“Mr. Moretti?” Rodriguez calls from the bridge. “We have a situation.”

I look up to see three men walking down the dock toward us. They’re dressed casually, but there’s something about the way they move that sets off every alarm bell in my head.

Professional. Coordinated. Dangerous.

“Cast off,” I tell Rodriguez. “Now.”

“Sir, we’re still waiting for your wife-”

“Cast off now.”

But it’s too late. The men are already on the dock beside the yacht, and one of them is pulling out what looks like a badge.

“Harbor patrol,” he calls out. “We need to inspect your vessel.”

“For what?”

“Routine safety check. Won’t take but a few minutes.”

Everything about this feels wrong. The timing, the casual way they’re standing, the fact that they don’t look like any harbor patrol officers I’ve ever seen.

“I’m going to need to see some identification,” I say.

“Of course.”

The man reaches into his jacket, but instead of a badge, he pulls out a gun.

“Actually, Mr. Moretti, we’re going to need you to come with us.”

“Like hell.”

I’m already moving, diving behind the yacht’s central console as the first shot rings out. Glass explodes around me, and I hear Rodriguez shouting orders to his crew.

“Nobody has to get hurt,” the gunman calls out. “We just want to talk to Mr. Moretti.”

“Funny way of showing it,” I shout back.

More gunshots, but these are coming from a different direction. I risk a look over the console and see that the yacht crew has scattered, leaving me alone with three armed men who clearly aren’t here for a conversation.

My phone is in my jacket pocket, but I can’t reach it without exposing myself to gunfire. And even if I could call for help, they’d be here long before any backup could arrive.

“Mr. Moretti.” A new voice, older and more cultured than the others. “Please stop making this difficult.”

I know that voice.

“Uncle Enzo.”

“Hello, Domenico.”

I stand up slowly, hands visible but not raised. Enzo Bellini is standing on the dock, looking older and more tired than the surveillance photos suggested. Behind him, his three associates have their weapons trained on me.

“Interesting choice of venue,” Uncle Enzo says, stepping onto the yacht. “Very romantic. I assume this was meant to be a surprise for my niece?”

“What do you want?”

“To talk. To clear the air between us.” He gestures to his men, who lower their weapons but don’t holster them. “Sophie seems to think there’s been some kind of misunderstanding.”

“Has there been?”

“That depends. Tell me, Domenico, what do you know about the night your parents died?”

“I know your family killed them.”

Uncle Enzo’s expression doesn’t change. “Do you? Or is that simply what you’ve been told?”

“My uncle Riccardo was there. He saw-”

“Your uncle Riccardo saw what he wanted to see. Or perhaps what someone wanted him to see.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“It means that the truth is more complicated than either of our families has been willing to admit.”

Uncle Enzo moves to the yacht’s railing, looking out at the harbor like he’s seeing ghosts in the water.

“Your father and I were friends, Domenico. Best friends since we were boys growing up in the same neighborhood in Naples.”

“That’s impossible.”

“Is it? We came to America together, built our businesses together, stood as best men at each other’s weddings.” Uncle Enzo’s voice grows soft with memory. “Antonio was the brother I never had.”

“Then why-”

“Why did I train Sophie to destroy you?” Uncle Enzo turns back to me, and I can see pain in his eyes. “Because I believed the same lie you’ve been believing. That your family killed mine.”

“But you just said-”

“I said your father and I were friends. I didn’t say Marco Bellini was.”

The distinction hits me like a physical blow. “Sophie’s father wasn’t your brother.”

“Sophie’s father was my nephew. The son of my sister, Aurora. A good boy, but weak. Easily influenced.”

“Influenced by who?”

“By people who saw an opportunity to turn two powerful families against each other. People who benefited from our mutual destruction.”

“What people?”

Uncle Enzo studies my face for a long moment, as if weighing how much truth I can handle.

“People close to your family, Domenico. People you trust.”

“You’re talking about Uncle Riccardo.”

“I’m talking about a man who has spent sixteen years feeding both our families lies designed to keep us at each other’s throats while he profits from our war.”

“That’s impossible. Riccardo raised me. He’s been like a father-”

“He’s been like a parasite. Living off your pain, your anger, your need for revenge.”

“You’re lying.”

“Am I? Tell me, Domenico, who benefits from you and Sophie destroying each other? Who profits from the Moretti and Bellini families remaining enemies instead of allies?”

I think about Uncle Riccardo’s warnings about Sophie. His insistence that I couldn’t trust her, that marrying her was a mistake. His suggestion that I should make her disappear.

“Even if what you’re saying is true,” I say carefully, “that doesn’t explain why you trained Sophie to come after me.”