Page 9 of Claimed By the Enemy
“Like you got outplayed?”
“Like I’m weak. Like I’m a fool who was completely deceived by a Bellini.” His jaw clenches. “People are already talking and questioning my judgment, my leadership. Whether I can be trusted to run this company if I can’t even spot a spy in my own office.”
“So what are you suggesting?” I ask carefully. “That we call a truce? Team up against a common enemy?”
“No.” Dom sets down his glass and turns to face me fully. “I’m suggesting we get married.”
My mouth falls open and I let out a short, disbelieving laugh. “Marriage?” I blink at him rapidly, waiting for the punchline. “You’re joking. You have to be joking.”
“I’m strategic.” He moves closer, and I can see the calculation in his eyes. “Think about it, Sophie. Right now, you’re a corporate spy who infiltrated my company under false pretenses. When this comes out—and it will—it makes me look like either a fool or a co-conspirator.”
I start laughing, because surely this is some elaborate joke.
“So? So, what if it proves something you already are?”
“So marriage changes the entire narrative. Instead of ‘CEO deceived by enemy spy,’ it becomes ‘strategic alliance between rival families.’ Instead of looking weak, I look like a man who’s so powerful he can turn his enemies into wives.”
“That’s sick.”
“That’s business. You marry me, and suddenly your infiltration wasn’t espionage—it was courtship, and I don’t look incompetent to my board members.”
“You are insane and you just want to win.” I cross my arms, armor against whatever game he’s playing now. “And what’s a bigger victory than forcing your enemy to marry you? Making me take your name, wear your ring, pretend to love the man whose family destroyed mine?”
“This wouldn’t be happening if you hadn’t lied your way into my company, faked your identity, or allowed yourself to be brainwashed by your uncle!”
“No.” I’m backing away now, putting distance between us even though the room suddenly feels too small. “Send me to a different country, fake my death for all I care. But I will not marry you.”
Dom watches my retreat with calculating eyes. “Even if your refusal means your aunt and uncle will… let’s say, begin encountering certain difficulties?”
The question stops me cold. “What?”
“Don’t make me spell it out, Sophie.”
“You bastard.” The words come out as a whisper, but they carry the weight of all my rage. “You absolute bastard.”
“I’m a realist.” Dom moves closer, and this time I don’t back away because there’s nowhere left to go. “Your aunt and uncle. Martha and Enzo Bellini. They live quiet, predictable lives. Very… exposed.”
“You’re threatening them.”
“I’m telling you the reality of your situation, and the consequences, should refuse to marry me! Corporate espionage carries a 10-year federal sentence, Sophie. I have documentation of every lie you’ve told, every system you’ve accessed, and every piece of information you’ve stolen. Marry me, and you’ll be my wife, helping me investigate security vulnerabilities. Refuse…” He shrugs. “Well, a federal prison is no place for a young woman. And accidents happen to elderly couples all the time.”
“No. No.”
“Remember the threats still exist. I’m a man who protects what’s his. Marry me, and you, your uncle, and aunt will become part of that protection. Refuse…” He shrugs. “Well, I can’t be responsible for what happens to people outside my sphere of influence.”
“But this isn’t about protecting me at all.” The pieces click into place with sickening clarity. “This is about controlling me. About making sure I can never move against you because you’ll always have leverage and about your stupid company!”
Dom’s smile is sharp enough to cut. “Bingo.”
The casual cruelty of it—the way he can stand there and admit to using my family as hostages—makes something snap inside me.
“You sick fuck.” I’m moving before I realize it, my hand swinging toward his face in a slap that would leave marks if it connected.
But Dom catches my wrist easily, his grip firm but not painful. “Careful, sweetheart. That’s no way to treat your future husband.”
“I’d rather die first.”
“That can be arranged.” His voice drops to a whisper, intimate and terrifying. “But your aunt and uncle would die with you. Is your pride really worth their lives?”
