Page 16 of Claimed By the Enemy
Something flickers across his expression—genuine confusion mixed with discomfort. “Sophie, I think there might be some misunderstanding. Dom told me recently about some… complications with your situation, but-”
“Complications.” A laugh escapes me, too dry to mean anything. “That’s what you call it.”
“I don’t know the details,” he says quietly. “Dom doesn’t share everything, not even with me.”
I can see he’s telling the truth, which somehow makes it worse. Dom’s own best friend doesn’t know what he’s capable of.
“I need to get out of here,” I say, reaching for my phone. “And I need a drink.”
I dial Amara’s number. It rings twice before she picks up.
“Sophie? God! Girl, where have you been? I’ve been trying to reach you for days, and your phone keeps going straight to voicemail.”
“I know, I’m sorry. It’s been… complicated. Are you free right now? I need to see you.”
“Complicated?” Amara’s voice sharpens. “Sophie, you disappeared after telling me you quit your job and slept with your new boss. Now you’ve been radio silent for days. What the hell is going on?”
“I can’t explain over the phone. I will be after several drinks. Can you be ready in half an hour? I’m coming to pick you up.”
“You’re scaring me, but yes, I’ll be ready.”
“Okay. I’ll see you soon,” I hang up and turn to Raff. “I’ll be ready in a minute.”
In my room, I change into a black cocktail dress that makes me feel like I can take on the world. It’s fitted, elegant, and completely inappropriate for day drinking, which makes it perfect for my mood. I check my reflection, noting how the platinum wedding band catches the light on my finger. I can’t take it off.
I grab a leather jacket and my purse, then head back downstairs where Raff is waiting by the door.
“Ready?” he asks, taking in my outfit with raised eyebrows.
“More than ready.”
In the car, I give him Amara’s address. “It’s downtown, near the art district. The building with the red awning.”
“Got it.”
The drive takes about twenty minutes through afternoon traffic. I spend most of it staring out the window, trying to figure out what I’m going to tell Amara. The truth? Some version of it? Another lie to add to the growing pile?
When we pull up outside Amara’s building, she’s already waiting on the front steps. She looks exactly the same as always - wild curly hair barely contained in a messy bun, paint-stained jeans, and an oversized cardigan that’s seen better days. She’s been my anchor since college, the one person who knew me before Uncle Enzo’s mission became my entire identity. Seeingher now, after everything that’s happened, makes my chest tight with something that might be homesickness.
She slides into the backseat, and I immediately join her, leaving Raff alone in the front.
“Okay, first question,” she says before I can even buckle my seatbelt. “Since when do you have a personal driver? And second question, why do you look like you’re about to either seduce someone or commit murder?”
“The driver isn’t mine. He’s…” I glance at Raff in the rearview mirror. “Complicated.”
“I’m not a driver,” Raff says with amusement. “I’m a friend of Sophie’s husband.”
“Sophie’s WHAT?” Amara’s voice rises several octaves.
“Amara, meet Raff. Raff, this is my best friend, Amara.” I buckle my seat belt and try to pretend this is a normal introduction. “And yes, before you ask, husband is apparently the correct term now.”
Amara stares at me for a long moment, then grabs my left hand and examines it like she’s conducting a scientific investigation.
“Is that an actual wedding band?” she asks, running her thumb over the platinum. “Sophie, this is real. When did you get married? To who? And why wasn’t I invited?”
“It’s complicated.”
“Stop saying that! Everything can’t be complicated.” She looks between me and Raff like she’s trying to solve a puzzle. “How long have I been out of the loop? A week? Two weeks?”
