Page 18 of His Enemy's Daughter
“Prison made you philosophical.”
“Prison made me observant.” He pauses. “So did having fifteen years to think about the life I had before and the one I wanted after.”
“And what life did you want?”
“One where I’m not defined by other people’s choices.” The honesty in his voice catches me off guard. “One where sacrifice means something beyond just survival.”
The silence that follows feels charged with understanding that shouldn’t exist between enemies. Because that’s what we are, theoretically—the daughter of Sabino Picarelli and the best friend of Simeone Codella, two families moving toward collision.
“Your father’s been making moves against the Codellas,” Mauricio says finally, shifting topics with strategic precision. “Threats. Intimidation. Testing boundaries.”
“I know.” No point denying what we both understand. “He sees Simeone as a threat that needs neutralizing.”
“And you? What do you see?”
I should lie. Should give him the party line about family loyalty and territorial disputes. Should maintain the perfect facade I’ve spent twenty-eight years constructing.
But something about his storm-gray eyes and the way he’s looking at me—like I’m a person rather than property—breaks through years of careful self-preservation.
“I see an opportunity.”
“For what?”
“For chaos.” The admission tastes like freedom and terror. “For the kind of conflict that might crack open cages that seemed unbreakable.”
His expression doesn’t change, but I see understanding flash across his features. “You want to use the war between our families to escape yours.”
“I want to use whatever tools are available to stop being Sabino Picarelli’s most valuable asset.” My hands tighten around my coffee cup. “I want to become someone whose value isn’t measured in marriage prospects and strategic alliances.”
“That’s dangerous thinking.”
“Living safely hasn’t gotten me anywhere except more trapped.” The words spill out faster now, years of suffocation finding voice. “Father’s deciding which man I’ll marry. Days, maybe weeks—that’s all I have left before he announces his choice and I become someone else’s perfectly controlled wife.”
“So you thought you’d what? Research the enemy? Find leverage?” Mauricio’s voice carries something between respect and concern. “Or were you looking for an exit strategy?”
“I don’t know.” The honesty feels dangerous. “Maybe all of those things. Maybe none of them. Maybe I just needed to prove to myself that I could do something—anything—that wasn’t part of Father’s carefully orchestrated plan for my life.”
He’s quiet for a long moment, those storm-gray eyes assessing me with the kind of intensity that makes me feel simultaneously exposed and seen.
“Are you happy, Regina?”
The question lands like a punch. Nobody’s asked me that. Ever. Not Father, not Rosalia, not even Dr. Muni, who’s been documenting my psychological captivity for years.
My practiced smile starts to form automatically—the one that says I’m perfectly content, that my life is enviable, that being Sabino Picarelli’s daughter is a privilege rather than a sentence.
But something about Mauricio’s gaze, about the way he’s waiting for truth instead of performance, makes the smile falter before it fully forms.
“No.” The word comes out barely above a whisper. “I’m not happy. I’m not sure I even remember what happy feels like.”
“Then we might be able to help each other.”
“How?”
“You want chaos that creates opportunities for escape.” He leans forward, voice dropping low enough that only I can hear. “I want information that helps me understand your father’s operations, his security, his plans. We both want things that the other might be able to provide.”
“You’re suggesting we work together.” I force myself to consider it logically rather than emotionally. “You’re suggesting I betray my father.”
“I’m suggesting you choose yourself for once.” His correction carries no judgment. “There’s a difference between betrayal and survival.”
