Page 34 of His Enemy's Daughter
I leave before either of us can say something that complicates things further. But as I drive back toward the gilded cage that’s been my home for twenty-eight years, I feel something I haven’t felt in months.
Hope.
Dangerous, reckless, probably foolish hope.
But hope nonetheless.
10
Mauricio
“You’re lying to me.”
Regina freezes halfway through pulling documents from her briefcase, green eyes snapping to mine with a mixture of guilt and defiance that confirms every suspicion I’ve been nursing for the past seventy-two hours.
“Excuse me?” Her voice carries that perfect blend of confusion and indignation she’s perfected over twenty-eight years of survival. “I brought you exactly what you asked for—shipping manifests, security protocols, financial transfers—”
“That’s the problem.” I move around the safe house table, watching how her spine straightens as I approach. “You broughtme exactly what I asked for. Too exactly. Too perfectly. Like someone who’s being fed information designed to look authentic.”
“You think I’m working with my father?” The hurt that flashes across her face would be convincing if I hadn’t spent three days analyzing every piece of intelligence she’s provided, finding patterns that make my skin crawl.
“I think Sabino Picarelli doesn’t survive this long by being careless.” I stop just outside her personal space, close enough to see her pulse hammering in her throat. “I think he’s testing you. Feeding you information to see what you do with it. And I think you know it.”
The silence that follows is deafening. Regina’s knuckles whiten around the briefcase handle, and I watch her calculate exactly how much truth to reveal versus how much to maintain the comfortable lie we’ve both been living.
“When did you figure it out?” Her voice drops to something raw, stripped of performance.
“When you gave me details that Sabino would only share with his inner circle.” I lean against the table, arms crossed. “Information that specific doesn’t leak—it’s planted. He wanted us to intercept that shipment.”
“Why?” But the way she asks suggests she already knows.
“Because he’s watching to see who you’re working with. Following the trail of intercepted cargo back to its source.” I pull out my phone, show her the security footage Tiziano compiled. “These are surveillance cameras near every location you’ve given us intelligence about. See the pattern? They’re all positioned to track who responds to the information. Your father’s been building a map of our organization through you.”
Her face goes pale beneath expertly applied makeup. “How long have you known?”
“Does it matter?” I can’t keep the edge from my voice. “What matters is that every piece of intelligence you’ve provided has been compromised. Sabino’s been using you as bait, and we’ve been taking it.”
“I didn’t know—” She starts, then stops, jaw tightening. “That’s not true. I suspected. I started noticing the information was too accessible. Files I should have to work to decrypt were suddenly easy to crack. But I convinced myself I was being paranoid.”
“Paranoia keeps people alive in this world.” I close the remaining distance between us, and her breath catches. “Why didn’t you tell me your suspicions?”
“Because I was afraid you’d do exactly this.” Fire enters her eyes, that spark I’ve come to recognize as her refusing to be a victim. “Push me away. Cut me off. Decide I’m too compromised to be useful.”
“You are too compromised—”
“No.” She cuts me off with a hand to my chest, and the contact sends electricity through both of us. “I’m exactly as compromised as I’ve always been. Sabino’s been suspicious since the moment I started accessing his files. Nothing has changed.”
“Everything has changed.” I catch her wrist, not roughly but firmly enough to make my point. “If he’s testing you, it means he’s getting ready to make a move. He’s narrowing down suspects. And when he figures out you’re working with me—”
“He’ll kill me.” She finishes the thought with devastating calm. “I know. But running now doesn’t solve anything. As long as Sabino lives, I’ll never be free. He’ll find me. Track me down. Make an example that ensures no one else gets ideas about betrayal.”
“Then we accelerate the timeline even more—”
“We’re already accelerating!” Her voice rises, frustration and fear bleeding through carefully maintained composure. “Five weeks until I marry Lorenzo Di Noto, remember? Five weeks until I become someone else’s property. So, forgive me for not being cautious enough with intelligence gathering when my entire future is counting down in days.”
The reminder of that wedding—of some entitled bastard treating her like a trophy—ignites something violent in my chest. I release her wrist before I do something stupid like pull her closer.
“You should’ve told me.” The accusation comes out rougher than intended. “The moment you suspected Sabino was testing you, you should’ve contacted me.”
