Page 49 of His Enemy's Daughter
Regina
“Stop looking at me like I’m about to shatter.”
Mauricio’s hands tighten on the steering wheel, jaw working as he navigates another hairpin turn on this endless mountain road. “I’m not—”
“You are.” I cross my arms, hyper-aware of how the motion presses against bruises I acquired climbing down that damned trellis. “You’ve been shooting me concerned glances every thirty seconds since we left the safe house. I’m fine.”
“You drugged two guards, scaled a three-story building, and fled your father’s compound with nothing but a stolen gun and pure desperation.” His voice carries that rough edge I’m learningmeans he’s wrestling with emotions he doesn’t want to name. “Forgive me for wondering if you might be experiencing some delayed shock.”
“Shock would require me to be surprised by Father’s brutality.” The bitterness leaks through despite my best efforts. “I’ve had twenty-eight years to get used to it.”
“Getting used to trauma doesn’t make you immune to it.” He glances at me again—that same concerned assessment that’s been grating on my nerves for the past hour. “Regina, what you did took incredible courage—”
“Or incredible stupidity.” I turn to stare out the window at pine trees blurring past. “Giordano gave me his car and gun. He helped me escape. When Father realizes that...” My throat tightens around words I don’t want to finish.
“He’ll punish him.” Mauricio’s statement is blunt, acknowledging what we both know. “Brutally. As an example to anyone else who might consider betraying him.”
The casual certainty in his voice makes my stomach turn. “I should have made him come with me.”
“He wouldn’t have.” The correction is gentle. “Men like Giordano—good men trapped in bad organizations—they understand sacrifice. He knew the cost and chose to pay it so you could be free.”
“That doesn’t make me feel better.”
“It’s not supposed to.” He reaches across the console, fingers finding mine with surprising tenderness. “It’s supposed to make you honor his choice by surviving. By using the freedom he bought you to actually be free.”
I lace my fingers through his, drawing strength from the contact. “How much longer until we reach this mysterious cabin?”
“Another forty minutes.” His thumb traces circles on my palm. “It’s remote—off the grid, stocked with supplies, defensible if Sabino’s people somehow track us. Simeone’s owned it for years through so many shell companies even I had trouble following the paper trail.”
“Sounds isolated.”
“That’s the point.” His smile is sharp. “No neighbors to witness anything. No surveillance cameras. No way for your father to find us without physically searching every property in a hundred-mile radius.”
The idea of isolation should comfort me. Instead, it makes my skin crawl with claustrophobia I’m trying not to acknowledge.
“Regina.” Mauricio’s voice pulls me from spiraling thoughts. “Talk to me. What’s going through your head right now?”
“I’m wondering if I just traded one cage for another.” The admission escapes before I can stop it. “Father’s compound or a remote cabin—either way, I’m trapped somewhere waiting for men to decide my fate.”
His grip on my hand tightens almost painfully. “That’s not—”
“Isn’t it?” I pull my hand away, needing the space to think. “You’re making decisions about where we go, what we do, how we execute this plan. I appreciate the protection, Mauricio, but I didn’t escape one controlling man just to let another—”
“Stop.” The single word cuts through my building rant. He pulls the car onto a narrow dirt road, drives another hundred yards, then parks with sharp precision. “Get out.”
“Excuse me?”
“Get. Out.” He’s already exiting the vehicle, moving around to my door with predatory grace. “We’re having this conversation face to face, not while I’m trying to navigate mountain roads.”
I climb out, immediately hit by pine-scented air and isolation so complete I can hear my own heartbeat. We’re surrounded by trees on all sides, the road barely visible behind us.
“You think I’m controlling you?” Mauricio’s voice carries an edge I haven’t heard before—something dangerous beneath the concern. “You think I’m making decisions for you instead of with you?”
“Aren’t you?” I meet his gaze directly, refusing to back down. “You decided we needed to run. You chose this location. You’re coordinating the press release with Simeone—”
“After you told me you wanted to burn your father’s empire to the ground.” His interruption is sharp. “After you showed up bleeding and desperate, saying you were ready to go to war. I’m executing the plan you demanded, Regina. Not making you do anything.”
“But you’re executing it.” The distinction feels important. “You and Simeone, making strategic calls while I just... what? Hide in a cabin and wait?”
