Page 40 of His Enemy's Daughter
“Then make stupid choices.” The plea escapes before I can stop it. “I’ve spent my entire life watching people make smart, calculated decisions that served everyone except me. For once, I want someone to be stupidly, recklessly protective. Even if it’s not strategic.”
“Regina—”
“I know what you’re going to say.” I press my fingers to his lips. “That emotions compromise missions. That caring makes you vulnerable. That we need to stay focused on dismantling Father’s empire instead of whatever this is between us. And you’re probably right about all of it.”
“But?”
“But I don’t care.” The admission feels dangerous and freeing simultaneously. “I don’t care if this is suicide. I don’t care if sleeping with you makes everything more complicated. I care that for the first time in twenty-eight years, someone looked at me like I was worth more than my last name and connections.”
His expression does something complicated—softening and hardening at the same time, like he’s trying to reconcile competing instincts.
“You are worth more.” His voice is rough with emotion he’s not quite hiding. “You’re worth everything, Regina. That’s the problem. Because now every decision I make has to factor in keeping you safe, and that kind of divided focus gets people killed.”
“Then don’t divide your focus.” I lean back slightly, meeting his gaze directly.
“You’re right,” he says, surprising me.
We stay like that for a while, wrapped around each other, pretending the world outside doesn’t exist. Eventually, reality intrudes in the form of Mauricio’s phone buzzing with messages that probably can’t be ignored.
“Tiziano,” he says, checking the screen. “Wants a debrief on the compromised intelligence.”
“Duty calls.” I slide off his lap, immediately missing the warmth. “Back to being strategic partners instead of whatever this was.”
“Regina.” He catches my hand before I can move away. “This wasn’t just sex. You understand that, right? This was—”
“A complication?” I offer with a smile that doesn’t quite reach my eyes.
“A commitment.” His correction is firm. “Whatever happens next, whoever threatens you, however this ends—you’re mine now. And I take care of what’s mine.”
The possessiveness in his voice should probably concern me. Instead, it settles something in my chest that’s been unsettled for as long as I can remember.
“I’m not property, Mauricio.” But my protest is gentle, testing rather than rejecting.
“No.” He stands, pulling me into an embrace that feels like coming home. “You’re not property. You’re the person I’m choosing to fight for. There’s a difference.”
“A significant difference.” I rest my head against his chest, listening to his heartbeat steady and sure. “Though equally dangerous if Father figures it out.”
“Let me worry about your father.” Steel enters his voice. “You focus on surviving the next five weeks. I’ll handle making sure you don’t actually have to marry Lorenzo Di Noto.”
“How?”
“By doing what I do best.” His smile is sharp enough to cut. “Being ruthless and completely unwilling to accept outcomes I don’t like.”
We dress quietly, slipping back into our roles. But we both feel it—the shift, the change. Something’s different now, irrevocably so, though neither of us says it aloud.
At the door, Mauricio catches my face between his hands, kissing me with enough heat to make my knees weak.
“Be careful,” he murmurs against my lips. “Your father’s going to be watching for any changes in your behavior.”
“I’ve been performing my entire life.” I kiss him back. “One more role won’t kill me.”
“It might if you’re not careful.” Worry flashes across his features. “Promise me you’ll contact me immediately if anything feels wrong. If Sabino questions you, if security increases, if anything changes—”
“I promise.” I press my fingers to his lips. “Now stop worrying and start planning. We have five weeks to dismantle an empire. Time to get to work.”
He watches me drive away with an expression that’s equal parts concern and determination. And as I navigate back toward the gilded cage that’s been my home, I carry the memory of his touch like armor against whatever comes next.
Five weeks until the wedding.
