Page 62 of His Enemy's Daughter
“I’ll rest when I know you’re not going to bleed out on my couch,” she says, and I feel her warmth against my good side as darkness finally claims me.
The last thing I’m aware of is her hand in mine, the ledger safe on the coffee table, and the knowledge that we did it—survived, succeeded, and proved that in this war, we’re more dangerous than Sabino Picarelli ever imagined.
Tomorrow, we burn his world down.
Tonight, we rest.
18
Regina
“You’re staring at me again.”
Mauricio’s voice pulls me from my half-doze, and I realize I’ve been watching him sleep for God knows how long. Dawn light filters through the cabin windows, painting his silver hair in shades of gold, and even with the bandage wrapped around his shoulder, even knowing he took a bullet last night, he looks infuriatingly peaceful.
“Someone has to make sure you don’t die from blood loss.” I shift on the couch where I’ve been keeping vigil, my body protesting hours in an awkward position. “Besides, you’re not exactly subtle about your staring when you think I’m not looking.”
“Fair point.” His eyes open—storm-gray and clearer than they should be after the night we had. “How long was I out?”
“Six hours.” I reach for the water bottle I’ve been keeping ready. “You need to hydrate. Blood loss is—”
“I know what blood loss does.” But he’s already reaching for the water, and I don’t miss the wince when the movement pulls at his shoulder. “The ledger?”
“Safe. Right where we left it.” I gesture to the coffee table where Sabino’s private records sit innocuously, containing enough evidence to destroy his empire three times over. “I’ve been going through it while you slept. Mauricio, it’s worse than I thought. The murders, the trafficking, the blackmail—”
“Later.” He sets down the water, gaze fixing on me with intensity that makes my pulse quicken. “First, tell me you’re okay. Really okay, not just performing okay.”
“I’m fine. You’re the one who got shot—”
“I took a bullet through soft tissue. You watched me take a bullet, thought I might die, drove like a demon to get us to safety, and then spent six hours playing nurse while reliving every traumatic moment.” His good hand finds my face, thumb brushing across my cheekbone. “So I’m asking again—are you okay?”
The genuine concern in his voice cracks something in my chest. I’ve spent twenty-eight years having people ask if I’m fine while not actually caring about the answer. But Mauricio’s looking atme like my wellbeing matters more than bullet wounds or stolen evidence.
“I was terrified,” I admit quietly. “When that guard shot you, when you went down—I thought I’d lost you before we’d even really started whatever this is between us.”
“Hey.” He pulls me closer, careful of his injury. “I’m not that easy to kill. Fifteen years in prison taught me how to survive worse than one bullet.”
“Don’t joke.” My hand rests over his heart, feeling it beat steady and strong beneath my palm. “I just found someone who sees me as more than Sabino Picarelli’s daughter. I’m not ready to lose that.”
“You’re not going to lose me.” His voice carries absolute conviction. “But if we’re being honest—and we promised always honest, remember?—that moment when you were under fire, when bullets were hitting around you—I’ve never been that scared in my entire life.”
“Really?”
“Really.” His forehead rests against mine. “All my years in prison, I knew the risks I was taking. Every fight, every threat—I understood the danger. But watching you in danger? Having to choose between keeping you safe and completing the mission? That’s a new kind of terror.”
“We both made it out.” My fingers trace the edge of his bandage gently. “Though you took unnecessary risks with the whole human shield routine.”
“Not unnecessary.” His eyes hold mine. “Essential. Because if something happened to you—if I had the chance to protect you and didn’t take it—I couldn’t live with that.”
“Even if protecting me meant dying?”
“Especially then.” No hesitation, just raw honesty that makes my throat tight. “You’re what makes this whole fucked-up situation worth it, Regina. Not just the revenge, not just bringing down Sabino—you, specifically, being free and alive and choosing your own life.”
I kiss him before he can say more—soft, searching, tasting like gratitude and fear and desperate relief that we both survived. His response is immediate despite his injury, good arm pulling me closer, mouth claiming mine with heat that has nothing to do with strategy.
When we finally break apart, I’m breathing hard, acutely aware of how his body responds even through injury and exhaustion.
“Your shoulder—” I start.
