Page 19 of His Enemy's Daughter
My heart hammers against my ribs as I process what he’s offering. Alliance with my father’s enemy. Intelligence sharing that could destroy everything Sabino’s built. A partnership that would make me a traitor if discovered.
Or a survivor if successful.
“I need to think about this.”
“Of course.” He stands, taking my phone from where I have it next to my laptop and typing something quickly. “My number. When you’re ready to talk—if you’re ready to talk—contact me. We’ll figure out something that works for both our interests.”
I take the phone, see his contact information displayed with the kind of casual certainty that suggests he never doubted I’d accept.
“And if I decide to tell Father about this conversation?”
“Then you tell him.” Mauricio’s smile is sharp enough to cut. “But we both know you won’t. Because if you were the kind of person who reports everything to Daddy, you wouldn’t have been researching me in the first place.”
He’s right, and we both know it.
“Why are you doing this?” The question escapes before I can stop it. “Why risk approaching me at all?”
“Because fifteen years in prison taught me to recognize when someone’s trapped in a cage they didn’t build.” His expression softens slightly. “And because maybe I’m tired of watching people suffer for other people’s choices when there might be alternatives.”
“Alternatives that serve your interests.”
“Alternatives that serve everyone’s interests.” He corrects. “I won’t lie and pretend this is purely altruistic. But it doesn’t have to be exploitative either. Sometimes mutual benefit is the best foundation for partnership.”
He leaves before I can respond, moving through the coffee shop with that same controlled grace, drawing eyes without seeming to notice or care.
I stare at his contact information on my phone screen, at the decision point he’s presented wrapped in philosophical justifications and strategic logic.
Father expects me to marry within days. Mauricio Barone offers chaos that might create escape routes.
The choice should be impossible.
Instead, it feels inevitable.
I save his number under an innocuous name—”Dr. M. Barrett”—and finish my coffee while my entire world tilts on an axis I didn’t know existed until twenty minutes ago.
Outside, the city continues its normal rhythm, unaware that somewhere in a trendy coffee shop, two people from warring families just planted seeds that might grow into revolution or ruin.
I’m betting on both.
6
Mauricio
“Meet me. - R.P.”
The text message glows on my phone screen like a challenge, two words and initials that could mean opportunity or a trap. I’ve been out of prison for only three weeks, and already I’m considering walking into what might be an ambush because a woman with green eyes and survival instincts looked at me like I might understand captivity.
Stupid. Reckless. And precisely the kind of decision that got me locked up fifteen years ago. But I’m going anyway.
The address she provides leads to an abandoned church in a neighborhood that gentrification has forgotten—crumbling brick, boarded windows, the kind of place where deals are made in shadows and nobody asks questions. My hand rests on the gun tucked against my side as I approach, every instinct screaming that this is a setup.
But if Sabino Picarelli wanted me dead, he’d send professionals, not his daughter with cryptic text messages.
Or would he?
The church door gives way with a groan that echoes through the empty space. Inside, afternoon light filters through broken stained glass, painting the floor in fractured colors that make everything look like a crime scene waiting to happen. Pews sit in crooked rows, and there’s graffiti on walls that once held prayers.
Regina Picarelli stands near what used to be the altar, and the sight of her steals whatever greeting I’d planned.
