Page 8 of Claimed By the Enemy
Let him come find me. Let him see exactly how much I care about his stupid house rules and his threats.
I’ve been lying here for the past hour, staring at the ceiling and plotting seventeen different ways to burn his life to the ground.
The nausea that sent Patrice running to call him has passed, leaving behind a cold, crystalline rage that feels infinitely more useful.
The front door opens with a soft click.
“Sophie?” His voice carries through the foyer, tight with something that might be concern if I didn’t know better.
I don’t answer.
“There you are.” Dom appears in the doorway, still wearing his suit jacket, hair slightly mussed like he’s been running his hands through it. “Patrice said you weren’t feeling well.”
“Patrice worries too much.” I don’t look at him, keeping my eyes fixed on the hand-carved crown molding that runs along the ceiling. “I’m fine.”
“You don’t look fine.”
That gets my attention. I turn my head just enough to give him a withering stare. “Gee, I wonder why. Could it be because the man I’ve been trying to destroy has been playing me like a violin from day one?”
Dom moves into the room, loosening his tie slowly. “Is that what’s bothering you?”
“What’s bothering me,” I say, pushing myself up to sitting, “is that you’re acting like this is all some kind of game. Like my family’s pain, my parents’ deaths, everything I’ve worked for—it’s all just entertainment for you.”
“Your parents’ deaths were a tragedy.” His voice is softer now. “But they weren’t caused by my family.”
“Bullshit.” I surge to my feet, finally meeting his eyes. “You don’t get to rewrite history. I know what happened. I’ve known since I was ten years old.”
“You know what your uncle told you happened.” Dom shrugs out of his jacket, draping it over the back of a chair like we’re having a casual conversation instead of a fight that’s been sixteen years in the making. “That’s not the same thing.”
The casual dismissal ignites something volcanic in my chest. “My uncle raised me. Protected me. Gave me a purpose when I had nothing left.”
“Your uncle trained you to be a weapon pointed at my family.”
“Maybe because your family deserved it!”
Dom doesn’t flinch or get angry. He just watches me with those dark eyes that see too much, understand too much.
“Maybe,” he says finally. “But that’s not why you’re here anymore.”
Something in his tone makes my skin prickle with warning. “What do you mean?”
“Someone wants you dead, Sophie. The threats aren’t going to stop just because I’ve exposed your cover—news travels fast in these parts.”
“What threats?”
Dom moves to the bar cart in the corner, pouring himself two fingers of whiskey like he needs the fortification. “Anonymous letters. And this morning, a visit from one of my father’s old associates, suggesting that the best solution to my Sophie Bellini problem would be to make you disappear permanently.”
The blood drains from my face. “You’re lying.”
“I wish I were.” He takes a sip, studying me over the rim of the glass. “They know you’re here. They know what you’re trying to do. And they want both of us dead for it.”
“Both of us?”
“The Moretti-Bellini feud didn’t end with our parents, sweetheart. Someone’s been keeping it alive, and now they want to finish what they started.”
I sink back onto the couch, mind racing. If what he’s saying is true, then my mission has become infinitely more complicated.
“That’s not all,” Dom continues, his voice taking on a harder edge. “You wormed your way into my company under false pretenses, Sophie. Corporate espionage. Identity fraud. Do you have any idea how this makes me look?”
