Page 53 of His Enemy's Daughter
“Because they were too good.”
“Because they were bait.” I lean back, forcing myself to relive details I’ve spent years trying to forget. “The night we moved in—twenty of us, thinking we were establishing a foothold—the lights came on. Sabino’s soldiers were everywhere. They’d been waiting, Regina. Watching us set up, letting us commit resources, probably laughing at how thoroughly we’d walked into his trap.”
Her hand finds mine, fingers lacing through with surprising tenderness. “What happened next?”
“Blood.” The single word carries weight of twelve men’s deaths. “We were outgunned, outmaneuvered, completely unprepared for the level of force he deployed. Some of our people tried to fight their way out. Others surrendered immediately. I grabbed Simeone and ran—got him out through a back exit I’d scouted earlier, the one advantage of my paranoia.”
“You saved him.”
“I kept him alive long enough to escape.” My correction is important. “But we lost men, Regina. Good men who trusted our planning, who believed we knew what we were doing. Their blood is on my hands as much as Sabino’s.”
“That’s not—”
“It is.” I cut off her protest gently but firmly. “I was second in command. I helped plan the operation. I convinced Simeone it was viable. When it went wrong, when men died, that responsibility fell on me.”
She’s quiet for a long moment, processing information that reframes everything she thought she knew about me. Finally, she speaks, and her voice carries understanding I don’t deserve.
“Is that why you took the fall? Guilt over the men who died?”
“Partially. But also because Simeone had the organization to run, people depending on him for protection and income. If we both went down, everything we’d built would collapse. Someone had to take responsibility. Someone had to go to prison to satisfy law enforcement and rival families. So I made it me.”
“Fifteen years.” She says it like she’s testing the weight. “You gave up fifteen years of your life out of guilt and loyalty.”
“I gave up fifteen years because I believed it mattered.” The distinction is important. “Because protecting what we’d built meant something. Because Simeone was worth saving.”
“And now?” Her green eyes search mine. “Was it worth it? Fifteen years in prison, losing your thirties, becoming someone harder and colder—was Sabino Picarelli’s trap worth the cost?”
The question deserves honesty, even when honesty is complicated.
“Some days yes. Other days no.” I turn to face her fully. “I learned things in prison. I learned about survival, about patience, and about what actually matters. But I also lost things I’ll never get back. Connections, experiences, the person I might have become if I’d stayed free. Was it worth it? I don’t know, Regina. Ask me again when this is over.”
“When we’ve destroyed my father’s empire?”
“When we’ve both gotten what we came for.” My hand cups her jaw, thumb brushing across her cheekbone. “Freedom for you. Justice for me. Whatever comes after.”
She leans into my touch, and I see the moment she makes her decision—to accept this complicated history, to move forward knowing we’re built on mutual destruction.
“I’m sorry.” The words come out soft but genuine. “I’m sorry my father did that to you. That he set a trap and destroyed your operation and cost you fifteen years. I’m sorry you’re connected to me through that trauma.”
“Don’t apologize for his choices.” I pull her closer, needing the contact. “You didn’t set that trap. You didn’t kill those men. You’re just trying to survive the aftermath of his cruelty—same as me.”
“We’re both survivors, then.” Her smile is tinged with sadness. “Built from other people’s violence, trying to figure out how to be something other than broken.”
“Maybe being broken isn’t the worst thing.” I rest my forehead against hers. “Maybe it means we understand each other in ways whole people never could.”
She kisses me then—soft, searching, tasting like forgiveness and understanding braided together. When we finally break apart, something has shifted between us. The past is laid bare. There are no more secrets lurking in shadows.
“What happens now?” she asks against my lips.
“Now we finish what we started.” Steel enters my voice. “Starting with making your father pay for every life he destroyed—including the one he tried to force you to live.”
Outside, the sun sets behind mountains, painting everything in shades of amber and shadow. Inside, we’re planning a revolution. We’re two people that were forged in fire, but are now finally ready to burn down the world that tried to break them.
Fifteen years ago, Sabino Picarelli set a trap that destroyed my life.
But looking at Regina—at the fierce determination in her green eyes—I realize something crucial.
That trap led me here. To her. To this moment where past trauma becomes fuel for present justice.
