Page 55 of Claimed By the Enemy
Amara nods slowly. “Well, at least you’re being honest now.”
“Amara—”
“It’s okay, Sophie. I mean, it’s not okay that you lied to me for months, but I understand why.” She stands up, shouldering her purse. “Just… be careful. Both of you.”
After she leaves, I return to the study feeling drained. Dom is back at his desk, but he’s watching me instead of reading.
“You okay?”
“No, not really.”
“For what it’s worth, I think you did the right thing.”
“I don’t think so. She’s in danger because of me.”
“But now at least she knows to be careful.”
I sink into the chair across from his desk, suddenly exhausted. “This is such a mess.”
“It is. But we’ll figure it out.”
“Will we?”
“Sophie.” Dom reaches across the desk, taking my hand. “We will.”
I turn back to the documents spread across the desk, and something catches my eye. A business partnership agreement between Bellini Enterprises and Moretti Group, dated three months before our parents died.
Signed by Marco Bellini.
“Dom,” I say slowly. “Look at this.”
He leans over to see what I’m holding, and I watch his expression change as he processes the implications.
“Your father was doing business with my father.”
“More than that. Look at the terms. This isn’t just a partnership. It’s…” I scan the legal language, my training kicking in. “It’s almost like a merger. Like they were planning to combine companies.”
“Which means?”
“Which means my father and your father weren’t enemies. They were allies.”
We stare at each other across the desk, both of us reaching the same conclusion.
“If they were working together,” Dom says slowly, “then who killed our parents?”
I don’t have an answer. But suddenly, I feel sick. Really sick. Like the room is spinning, and my stomach is trying to climb out through my throat.
“Sophie?”
I bolt from the chair, hand pressed to my mouth, and barely make it to the small bathroom attached to the study before I’m violently ill.
Dom appears behind me, holding my hair back as my body rebels against… what? Stress? The revelation about my father?
“Better?” Dom asks when the nausea finally passes.
I lean against the cool tile wall, trying to steady my breathing. “I think so.”
“Maybe you should rest. This has been a lot to process.”
