Page 72 of His Enemy's Daughter
“Our plan,” she corrects, crossing to me with purpose. “We end this together, Mauricio. No more protecting me from my own revenge.”
I pull her close, breathing in her addictive scent.
“Okay,” I agree, my hand sliding into her hair, tilting her face up to mine. “Borghese gets her federal case. We get justice our way. And if those two things happen to align? Bonus.”
Her smile is all teeth and promise. “I knew there was a reason I liked you.”
“Just one reason?”
“Well,” she considers, fingers tracing down my chest with deliberate slowness. “The silver hair is growing on me. And the scar. And the way you plan someone’s destruction like other men plan dinner reservations.”
“High praise from a woman who just committed eighty million in financial fraud before lunch.”
“We make a good team.”
“The best,” I agree, and mean it more than she probably realizes. “Let’s finish what we started.”
22
Regina
“You always did love dramatic settings, Father.”
My voice echoes through the abandoned church, bouncing off vaulted ceilings and broken stained glass that filters dying sunlight into blood-red patterns on the stone floor. The same church where I propositioned Mauricio weeks ago, where I offered myself as bait to trap a monster. How fitting that it becomes the place where that monster finally falls.
Sabino Picarelli stands at the altar like some twisted priest preparing for a dark sacrament, surrounded by six armed men whose hands rest too casually on their weapons. He’s aged a decade since I last saw him—hair disheveled, expensive suitrumpled, eyes carrying the wild desperation of a king watching his kingdom burn.
“Regina.” My name on his lips sounds like ownership, like he still believes I’m property he can reclaim. “You’ve caused me considerable trouble, daughter.”
“I’m not your daughter.” The words taste like freedom. “I never was.”
His laugh is sharp, brittle. “Is that what he told you? Mauricio Barone, the loyal dog who spent his life in a cage? Did he poison you against your family with his lies?”
“No lies needed.” Mauricio’s voice cuts through the tension as he moves to stand beside me, his presence solid and dangerous. “Just truth you thought would stay buried with the people you murdered.”
I watch recognition flicker across Sabino’s face—the understanding that we know everything, that secrets kept for twenty-eight years have finally surfaced.
“So the whore found her parents’ death certificate.” Sabino’s dismissal is casual, practiced. “What does it matter now? They’re dead. I raised you. Fed you. Educated you. Everything you are exists because I allowed it.”
“Everything I am exists despite you.” I step forward, feeling Mauricio’s hand briefly touch the small of my back—support,not control. “And now I’m going to watch everything you built crumble to dust.”
“Bold words from a woman standing in a church surrounded by my men.” Sabino gestures, and the armed guards shift, weapons becoming more visible. “Did you really think I’d come here alone?”
“About as much as we trusted you’d play fair.” Mauricio’s smile is all teeth and promise.
Movement near the confessional catches my attention. Giordano stumbles forward. His hands are bound behind his back. His face is already swelling with bruises that speak of recent violence. Our eyes meet, and I see apology and determination warring in his expression.
“My traitorous enforcer,” Sabino says, shoving Giordano toward us. “The man who’s been protecting you since you were ten years old.”
“He has something you never understood.” I move toward Giordano, seeing past the bindings to the man who’s been my quiet guardian. “A conscience. Loyalty to something beyond power and money.”
“Sentiment.” Sabino spits the word like a curse. “The weakness that destroys empires. I should have killed him years ago, but I thought I could trust my own blood—”
“He’s not your blood.” The correction comes from Giordano, voice rough but steady. “None of us are. We’re just tools you used until we outlived our purpose.”
Sabino’s composure cracks further, rage bleeding through the careful facade. “Then perhaps it’s time to dispose of broken tools.”
He raises his hand, signal clear, and the church explodes into violence.
