Page 21 of His Enemy's Daughter
“You’ve really done your homework.” I can’t help but admire the calculation, even as every instinct warns me this could still be a trap. “What exactly are you offering?”
“Intelligence. Real, actionable intelligence about his operations, his security, his plans.” She pulls a flash drive from her jacket pocket, holding it between us like an offering. “This contains seven years of carefully gathered evidence—financial records, encrypted communications, details about hits he’s ordered, proof of bribes and blackmail. Everything I could access without raising suspicion.”
I stare at the flash drive, at this woman offering to burn down her entire world, and wonder if she understands what she’s actually proposing.
“And in exchange?”
“When the time comes, when you’ve used this information to dismantle his empire, you will help me disappear.” Her green eyes hold mine with desperate intensity. “New identity, new life, somewhere he can never find me. That’s the deal.”
“That’s assuming your information is legitimate.” I don’t take the flash drive yet, testing her. “That you’re not setting me up. That this isn’t some elaborate scheme to infiltrate Simeone’s organization.”
“Then don’t trust me.” She steps back, pocketing the drive with movements sharp with frustration. “Verify everything. Cross-reference it with intelligence you already have. Hell, assume I’m lying about all of it and proceed accordingly. But don’t waste my time pretending you’re not interested when we both know you need what I’m offering.”
“What I need is to know why now.” I close the distance she created, watching her spine straighten as I move into her space again. “Seven years you’ve been gathering evidence. Seven years you’ve been waiting. What changed? Was it our coffee so compelling?”
“Because he’s decided to marry me off.” The words come out raw, stripped of the performance I’ve seen her deploy. “My days are numbered. I don’t even know how long I have before he announces which man he’s chosen to be my husband. Which means my window for having any control over my own life is closing.”
“So this is about fear.” I soften my voice despite myself, recognizing desperation when I see it. “About running out of time.”
“This is about survival.” Her correction carries steel beneath the vulnerability. “And yes, fear is part of that. But it’s also about finally having an opportunity to do something instead of just enduring.”
The honesty in her admission does something uncomfortable to my chest. I recognize that sentiment, that shift from passive survival to active resistance. I felt it in prison when I stopped just counting days and started planning for the ones that came after.
“Show me.” I gesture to her pocket. “The flash drive. Let me see what you’re actually offering before I agree to anything.”
She hesitates, and in that suspended moment I watch her weigh everything—the life she knows against the one she’s imagining, safety against freedom, survival against actual living. Her hand trembles slightly before she steadies it, and I recognize that look: someone who knows they’re about to step off a cliff but has run out of ground to stand on.
Then she pulls out the drive and places it in my palm, her fingers brushing mine in a way that sends electricity up my arm.
“Verify it,” she says quietly. “Take your time. But know that every day you spend verifying is a day closer to me becoming someone else’s property.”
I close my hand around the flash drive, feeling its weight like a promise and a threat combined. “If this is legitimate, if even half of what you’re claiming is true, you understand what you’re offering to do? You’ll be destroying the only life you’ve ever known.”
“That life was never mine.” Fire enters her eyes again. “It was a carefully constructed prison designed to keep me compliant and useful. I want to burn it down and see what grows from the ashes.”
“Burning things down is easy.” I step closer, close enough that I can see gold flecks in her green eyes, close enough to be dangerous for both of us. “It’s what comes after that’s hard. You sure you’re ready for that kind of destruction?”
“Are you?” She doesn’t back away, meeting my proximity with her own challenge. “Because from where I’m standing, you’re the one who spent fifteen years locked up for protecting someone else. You want to tell me about understanding destruction and reconstruction?”
“Touché.” The word comes out rougher than intended, and I’m suddenly aware of how close we’re standing, how the space between us feels charged with something that has nothing to do with strategy or alliances.
She feels it too—I see it in the way her breath catches, how her pupils dilate, the slight parting of her lips that would be an invitation if either of us were stupid enough to act on it.
“This doesn’t work if we complicate it.” I force myself to step back, to put distance between us and whatever magnetic pull is trying to drag me closer. “Whatever attraction you think you’re feeling—it’s adrenaline. Fear. The thrill of rebellion. Nothing more.”
“I didn’t say I was feeling attraction.” But her voice carries amusement underneath the protest. “That’s all you, Mauricio.”
“Then we’re both feeling something we’re smart enough not to act on.” I pocket the flash drive, creating professional distance through sheer force of will. “I’ll verify this information. If it’s legitimate, we move forward with a trial alliance. You provide intelligence, I provide protection and eventually an exit strategy.”
“And if it’s not legitimate?” She raises an eyebrow. “What then?”
“Then I assume you’re a spy, tell Simeone to triple security, and make sure Sabino Picarelli knows his daughter tried to play both sides.” The threat comes out colder than I intend, but she needs to understand the stakes. “This isn’t a game, Regina. Betrayal means death—yours, mine, potentially everyone we care about.”
“I’m aware of the stakes.” No fear in her voice, just acceptance. “Do you think I’d risk this if I had any other options?”
“I think you’re desperate.” Honesty feels necessary, even if it’s cruel. “And desperate people make mistakes. They trust too easily, move too fast, assume risks that rational calculation would avoid.”
“And cynical people miss opportunities because they’re too busy assuming everyone’s an enemy.” Her counter comes fast, sharp. “You want to talk about mistakes? You spent fifteen years in prison for someone else’s decisions. Tell me that wasn’t born from some kind of desperation.”
