Page 28 of Claimed by the Enemy (Moretti Bratva #2)

Matteo

She doesn’t belong here.

I stop listening to Fieri when my gaze wanders to the entrance of the restaurant, just in time to see her walk in.

She’s dressed differently—no shimmering gown or outfit meant to show off the outlandish status of people who frequent this place or statement jewelry intentionally worn to sparkle—but she owns the room the second she enters.

Her brown hair, with hints of gold that softly embrace the warm lightning, grazes her shoulders, framing a face that does not intend to demand attention.

The thick-framed oversized glasses that slip down her nose should make her seem studious or even emphasize how out of place she looks. Instead, they draw my gaze to her eyes. Green, striking—the kind of color that makes my pulse tick faster.

“Matteo,” I hear Fieri call my name from far away.

He’s saying something with a tone of urgency, but I can’t seem to pull away.

My eyes follow her as she walks further into the room, stopping to have a conversation with a waiter and offering him a small smile that tugs on the corner of her flushed, pale pink lips.

She’s dressed in fitted slacks that mold to her legs with every measured step, accentuating curves that send a subtle thrill down my throat.

Each movement is precise, effortless, and intentional, but all I can think about is how those slacks hug her hips and follow the sway of her body like they were made just for her.

Her off-white blouse is tucked neatly into the waistband, crisp and professional, but the neckline dips just enough to tease a hint of cleavage. Just enough to stoke the hunger simmering low in my chest, spreading like a slow burn.

The sharp lines of her blazer do nothing to mask the way she carries herself—confident, poised, completely unaware of the effect she has. Or maybe she knows. Maybe it’s deliberate. I should look away.

But I don’t. I can’t.

“Matteo?” This time, Fieri reaches for my arm, forcing my attention back to him. I blink twice, with an imperceptible shake of the head to clear my thoughts, but he notices the lapse and arches his brow. “What happened to you?”

“‘Happened’?”

He nods. “Yeah. I was talking about the De Lucas and revisiting the treaty with them. And the next minute you were…” he mimics the sound of an explosion, “poof. Gone.”

Her.

I take a sweeping glance at the restaurant, but she’s disappeared.

It’s almost as if she never existed, and I somehow fell into a hallucination.

Which would make a lot of sense, because I’m not the kind of man to get distracted by random people.

I’m always alert, aware of my surroundings, and constantly watching my back, even when it’s turned away.

Still… there was something about her. Something that gnaws at the back of my mind, clinging fiercely.

It’s exhaustion , I tell myself. I’ve been working around the clock for the past seventy-two hours, going from one meeting to another, forming allies with men my father never bothered with when he was in charge.

He left his ineptitude for me when he stepped down reluctantly because the son he wanted to take over was more useless than a wet dish rag.

“As I was saying,” Fieri continues, and I reach for the glass of red wine before me, swirling the liquid before bringing it to my lips. “Rumors are going around that the De Luca family intends to start a turf war with some Russian gang. We’ll have to make a stand at some point.”

Bastards. I shake my head with a disappointed sigh. I only agreed to the treaty because they made a good speech. And I thought, Why not keep your enemies closer? Or use them until they become useless?

“What’s your plan?”

I take another sip, intending to respond, when I see her out of the corner of my eye.

It wasn’t a hallucination.

But she’s not alone. No.

I was right when I said she came in with a purpose. The green-eyed woman is seated at the same table as the one person I hate more than anyone in the world—Dante Valachi.

My fingers curl around the stem of the glass, digging into my skin, as a different emotion rages through my veins. Anger. Hatred. Revenge.

Despite the simmering emotions and the painful digging of my nails, my curiosity doesn’t leave. I’ve had eyes on Dante Valachi for a while now—years, actually—and I’ve never seen him with her.

She’s not dressed like one of his women, either, so I know she’s new to the scene.

If she is, why would he be meeting her in public?

“Do you know her?” I ask Fieri, still keeping my eyes trained on the woman. She’s engrossed in a conversation now, and her hand keeps moving to the stray lock of hair that refuses to sit behind her ear.

“Who?” Fieri’s tone is confused, but he’s smart enough to stop asking questions and follow my gaze. “Huh,” he clicks his tongue. “Can’t say I have. But I know that’s Dante. I thought he went underground?”

To recoup, I’m sure.

Whatever he’s up to, though, I plan to be one step ahead. Something tells me that she’s the key.

“Find out who she is,” I say, dropping the glass.

Fieri shrugs. “Sure. A moment.”

While I watch, trying to read between the lines and figure out what a woman like her would be looking for with a man like Dante, Fieri subtly takes a picture.

It still begs the question, though… What is she doing here?

Smart. Gorgeous. A woman who knows what she wants and knows how to work a room.

She’s either a pawn he’s planting among his competitors and enemies, or she’s running a double game on him. If it’s the latter, I wouldn’t mind sticking around to watch.

“Got it,” Fieri announces with a grin, handing me his phone. “Her name’s Julia Richards. Twenty-six. Works at a law firm here in Manhattan.”

The photos online don’t quite match the woman sitting at the table. Not bad, just clumsier. Like a lawyer still finding her footing. My gaze flicks from the screen to the real thing, studying the difference.

I’ve seen women like her before, trained to seduce men in high places. If she’s one of them, I have no doubt she’s deadly.

And yet—

“And get this,” Fieri says as he takes his phone from me and taps on the screen a couple of times. “It turns out that she’s the lawyer who uncovered the loophole that helped Dante freeze Andreas’ accounts—all of them. That’s why he took over their territories.”

Bingo.

My lip curls into a knowing smirk, and my fingers tap on a table in a measured rhythm. She’s important to him.

That’s why she’s here.

“It might’ve been luck,” my best friend continues. “Because she’s a junior lawyer at her law firm. Why’re you interested in her, though?”

I shake my head as my eyes narrow. It wasn’t luck. I know luck, and in my world, it never goes that far.

“Julia Richards.” Her name rolls off my tongue before I take another sip of the wine, letting the slightly bitter taste run down my throat. “Julia Richards.”

Dante leans closer to her with a gleaming smile, but I see his hand as it slides across the space between them, almost touching her. I see the lust in his eyes—how much he wants her, the same way he wants every woman who crosses his path.

And something inside me burns.

It flares sharply, searing through my chest. I clench my jaw, watching his filthy fingers hover just shy of her skin. Watching his eyes zero in on her with an intent that is barely concealed.

If she notices it, too, it doesn’t show at all.

I should let it go. Focus on the assets I have to monitor his movements. Fieri might be right. It could be a wild stroke of luck. A beginner’s four-leaf clover.

Something inside me snaps.

“She’s mine.” The words leave my mouth before I can stop them.

“What?”

I turn to Fieri. “I want her.”

He chuckles. “Because she found a loophole? You have better attorneys, Matteo. If Dante thinks she’s worth something, it’ll be an opportunity for us to finally take him down.”

“If he thinks she’s worth something, then I don’t want him to find out how much,” I state coolly.

“Find everything you can about her,” I add, facing him. “Whatever you need to do to get her on our side, do it.”

Fieri scoffs. “You’re not serious?”

I level him with a look, my voice flat. “Do I look like I’m not?”

He studies me for a second, then exhales, shaking his head. “Alright. Whatever you say.”

I don’t bother responding. My gaze shifts back to her. I don’t believe in coincidences. If Dante wants her, then I’ll make damn sure he never gets the chance.

***

Fieri and I leave the dining establishment after Dante and Julia exit, and I watch her until she walks through the door, again disappearing from view.

“What will you have her working on?” he asks as he opens the door. I get in, and he climbs into the driver’s side. “Legal disputes? She’s a corporate lawyer, by the way. And I might be saying this for the tenth time, but we have a firm on retainer for everything corporate.”

“As for the other side,” he glances at me through the vanity mirror, “you know you can’t trust anyone. The lawyers working on that end have been in your family for years.”

I lean back, resting my head and shutting my eyes. “It’s never too late to bring in someone new,” I intone dryly. “The system isn’t what it used to be, and frankly, I wouldn’t trust anyone who worked under my father to do an excellent job.”

Fieri chuckles as he starts the car. “I’m with you on that one. Where are we headed?”

Taking a deep breath to calm the wave of rising frustration at the answer to the question, I reply, “My father’s. He’s expecting me.”

My father’s housekeeper meets us at the door, holding it open with a smile.

“Matteo,” she says, pulling me into a hug. “You’ve become a stranger.”

“Lucia.” I allow myself to go into her arms, allowing the kiss to my forehead when she lets go. “You haven’t aged a day.”

She laughs and waves me off before hugging Fieri. “Your father is in his study.”

“Thank you,” I nod. Fieri waits behind as I walk in, my steps echoing through the foyer and into the living room of the large, empty house. It was my childhood home, but it might’ve as well been the first place I knew I wasn’t wanted.

I had to fight for everything I got—a room, my father’s acknowledgment in public, a place at the dinner table. I was the son he never wanted, and he already had one, so I had to earn my place.

My jaw locks, and my fingers curl into fists at my sides. The force of my grip makes my knuckles ache as I stride down the hallway.

Each breath that escapes only dredges up memories that claw their way to the surface. Finally, I stop at a tall, mahogany door that gleams with Lucia’s constant polishing.

I raise my fist, swallowing hard as another memory forces its way into my head. I push it down hard, squaring my shoulders.

I’m no longer the little boy that my father beat for hours because I wasn’t good enough. I’m not twelve and trembling outside his study, knowing what awaits me.

“Matteo.”

He’s seated on an antique chair by the window, a newspaper half-folded on his lap. His eyes glaze over me with something unreadable, although I can tell there’s no pride in them.

It doesn’t matter. I learned a long time ago not to seek validation from him.

“You asked to see me.”

“Yes.” He nods. I stand a couple of feet from him, my hands behind my back, and my shoulders stiff. “Elio is back in the country.”

I see. The prodigal son returns.

“I—” he pauses as a prolonged, loud cough takes over, then clears his throat. “I want you to give him something. He’s part of the family, too.”

If my father had his way, he would have given Elio everything. But his pride—his stubborn refusal to admit he made the wrong bet—outweighed even his dislike for me.

“I’ve told him to stop by your office,” he adds, adjusting the newspaper as if the conversation is already over. “Make time for him.” Then, with a slight shrug and a casual lift of his brows, he delivers the final blow.

“Who knows… he might just surprise us.”

The implication is clear. He might change. He might prove himself. He might take over what I’ve worked for.

I keep my expression blank, unwilling to give him the satisfaction of a reaction. But inside, his words settle like a slow-burning coal, searing, smoldering.

Never.

It’ll never happen.

Elio can return. He can play the part, make his moves, whisper in our father’s ear.

But he’ll never take what’s mine.