Page 27 of His Enemy's Daughter
“We can’t.” I close my eyes, because looking at her makes thinking impossible. “You’re Sabino Picarelli’s daughter. I’m trying to dismantle his empire. Getting involved beyond our strategic alliance compromises everything.”
“Everything?” Her voice drops lower, intimate. “Or just your carefully maintained control?”
“Regina—”
“Because from where I’m standing—or pressed, technically—it seems like you want me just as much as I want you.” Her hands slide up my chest, fingers finding the collar of my jacket. “And pretending otherwise is just another form of lying.”
She’s right, and that’s what makes this so fucking dangerous.
“Wanting something doesn’t mean acting on it.” I catch her wrists, gentle but firm, stopping their exploration. “Another lesson I spent fifteen years in prison learning is that lesson. Desire without discipline gets people killed.”
“Always so controlled.” But there’s heat beneath her words, frustration and arousal braided together. “Don’t you ever just want to feel something without calculating the risks?”
“Every damn day.” The confession costs me. “But feeling without thinking is how I ended up inside. How I lost fifteen years I’ll never get back. So yes, I calculate risks. I maintain control. Because the alternative is chaos.”
“Maybe I want chaos.” She leans closer, and her lips brush against my jaw—not quite a kiss, just a promise of one. “Maybe I’ve spent twenty-eight years being perfectly controlled, and I’m tired of it.”
“Then find chaos somewhere else.” I force myself to lean back, to create the distance that should have existed from the beginning. “Not with me. Not while we’re working together. Not while your life depends on both of us staying focused.”
The hurt that flashes across her face is brief but devastating. She rebuilds her armor quickly, smoothing her jacket with precise movements that speak to years of hiding emotion.
“You’re right.” Her voice is professionally neutral now, all that fire banked beneath ice. “I apologize for the unprofessional behavior. It won’t happen again.”
“Regina—”
“We should go.” She reaches for the door handle. “Five minutes have passed. The coast should be clear.”
She’s gone before I can stop her, slipping out of the closet and back into the warehouse shadows with the practiced ease of someone who’s learned to disappear. I follow, maintaining the professional distance I insisted on, hating myself for the hurt I put in her eyes.
We make it to the exterior without incident, moving through shipping containers and past loading docks with synchronized efficiency that speaks to how well we’ve learned to work together. The surveillance went perfectly—we have photos of the manifest, confirmation of the Rotterdam connection, intelligence about security rotations.
Everything we came for.
The safe house is fifteen minutes away—a nondescript apartment Tiziano set up for exactly these kinds of operations. Regina drives with focused intensity, her jaw tight with tension I put there.
Inside the apartment, she pulls up the photos on her laptop.
“The manifest confirms shipments every Tuesday and Friday,” she says, all business now. “Security detail rotates at twenty-three hundred hours, which gives us a three-minute window if we want to—”
“Stop.” I can’t take it anymore—the coldness, the distance, the way she’s treating this like we didn’t just almost destroy our carefully maintained boundaries. “Regina, stop.”
“Stop what?” But she won’t look at me, too focused on the screen. “I’m giving you the intelligence analysis you need. Isn’t that what I’m here for?”
“You’re here because we’re partners.” I move to stand beside her, forcing her to acknowledge my presence. “Because we’re working together to give you freedom and me revenge. Not because I’m using you.”
“Could have fooled me.” The bitterness leaks through despite her best efforts. “You made your position clear in that closet. I’m a strategic asset, nothing more.”
“That’s not—” I run a hand through my hair, frustration mounting. “Fuck, Regina, you know that’s not what I meant.”
“Then what did you mean?” Finally, she turns to face me, and the hurt in her green eyes nearly breaks something in my chest. “Because from where I’m standing, you’re the one who keeps sending mixed signals. You touch me like you can’t help yourself, then pull away like I’m contaminated. You look at me like I’m the answer to questions you haven’t asked, then tell me we can’t cross that line. So, which is it, Mauricio? Am I a partner or a problem?”
“Both.” The honesty comes out raw. “You’re both, and that’s what makes this so fucking complicated.”
“How?”
“Because I’m trying to protect you.” I catch her shoulders when she gets too close, holding her at arm’s length even though it’s killing me. “Because getting involved with me makes you a target in ways you can’t imagine. Sabino already wants you married off. If he discovers you’re sleeping with his enemy? He’ll kill you, Regina. Painfully. Slowly. Making an example that ensures nobody else gets ideas about betrayal.”
The certainty in my voice finally penetrates her anger. She stops fighting against my grip, and I see the moment reality crashes through desire.
