Page 51 of His Enemy's Daughter
“Safety.” Mauricio’s arms wrap around me from behind. “For however long we need it.”
I lean back against his chest, letting myself have this moment of comfort before the storm. Outside, Father’s mobilizing every resource to find me. Inside, I’m planning his destruction.
“Mauricio?” My voice is small, uncertain.
“Yeah?”
“Thank you. For letting me be a part of this. For—” My phone buzzes—the old burner Mauricio gave me for emergencies only.
The message is from a number I don’t recognize, but the video attachment makes my blood run cold.
I click it with trembling fingers.
Giordano. Tied to a chair in what looks like Father’s basement. His face is already swelling, blood running from a split lip, and Father stands behind him with that cold expression I know too well.
“This is what happens,” Father’s voice comes through tinny but clear, “when people betray me. When they help my property escape. When they forget who owns them.”
The first blow makes me flinch. The second makes me gasp. By the fifth, I’m shaking so badly Mauricio has to take the phone from my hands.
“Regina—”
“He’s killing him.” The words come out strangled. “Father’s killing Giordano because I escaped. Because he helped me. This is my fault.”
“This is Sabino’s fault.” Mauricio’s correction is firm, but I barely hear it over the sound of flesh hitting flesh, over Giordano’s pained grunt that he tries to muffle because even being beaten he refuses to give Father satisfaction.
The video ends with Father’s face filling the screen. “Come home,figlia mia. Before I have to get creative with everyone you’ve ever cared about.”
The screen goes black.
I’m shaking. Mauricio’s arms are around me, but I can’t feel them—can’t feel anything except crushing guilt and rage braided together.
“This is the cost,” I whisper. “This is what my freedom costs.”
“No.” Mauricio turns me to face him. “This is what your father’s cruelty costs. Don’t confuse the two.”
But as I stare at the blank screen, all I can see is Giordano’s battered face. All I can hear is the sound of my freedom being purchased with someone else’s blood.
And I know—with terrible certainty—that this is just the beginning.
15
Mauricio
“I’m the reason you went to prison.”
Regina’s words hit like bullets, each syllable finding its mark with devastating precision. She’s standing by the cabin window, backlit by afternoon sun that makes her look ethereal and untouchable, and I can see the exact moment understanding crashes through her carefully maintained composure.
“Regina—”
“Don’t.” She spins to face me, green eyes blazing with something between rage and horror. “Don’t try to soften this. You said fifteen years ago, you and Simeone tried to establish operations in territory someone controlled. That someone was my father,wasn’t it? The Moretti job that sent you to prison—it was in Sabino Picarelli’s territory.”
The silence that follows is deafening. I’ve been dreading this conversation, knowing eventually the past would collide with the present in exactly this way.
“Yes.” The admission tastes like rust and regret. “The job was in your father’s eastern territories. We thought we were being clever—moving into areas he’d neglected, establishing footholds where his attention seemed divided.”
“But you weren’t clever.” Her voice drops to something dangerous. “You were walking into a trap.”
“We underestimated him.” I move closer, needing her to understand. “Sabino’s intelligence network was more sophisticated than we’d calculated. He knew about our plans weeks before we made our move. He let us think we were succeeding—let us commit resources, bring in personnel, build infrastructure. Then he crushed us.”
