Page 76 of His Enemy's Daughter
“Where would we go?”
“Anywhere you want.” He’s already pulling out his phone, showing me a list of locations he’s apparently been researching. “Greece. Croatia. Portugal. Small coastal towns where Americans with cash don’t attract attention and extradition treaties are more suggestion than law.”
I study the options, each one representing a future I never let myself imagine. “What about your obligations to Simeone? The organization?”
“Simeone will survive without me. He doesn’t need me.” Mauricio’s smile carries affection and certainty. “He’s got Loriana and Alessandro, an empire that’s running smoothly, and Tiziano to handle operations. My presence only brings up complicated feelings of guilt. He doesn’t deserve that, and neither do I. And honestly, I need distance from this life for a while.”
“To figure out who you are when you’re not just surviving?” I echo his earlier words back at him.
“Exactly.” He sets the phone aside, giving me his full attention. “Fifteen years in prison, then immediately into planning your father’s destruction. I haven’t had time to just... exist. To figure out what I want beyond revenge and loyalty and keeping people I care about safe.”
“And you want to figure that out with me?”
“I want to figure it out with you.” The certainty in his voice settles something restless in my chest. “If you’ll have me. If you want to spend a long while on some beach drinking wine and pretending we’re normal people with normal problems.”
“We’re never going to be normal people.”
“No,” he agrees, that dangerous smile spreading across his face. “But we can pretend. At least until we get bored and start planning someone else’s destruction for entertainment.”
The laugh that escapes surprises me—genuine amusement breaking through the weight of aftermath. “You think we’d get bored with peace?”
“I think we’d find ways to make peace interesting.” His hand slides into my hair, tilting my face up. “But let’s find out together.”
I kiss him then, tasting coffee and possibility and the future we’re building from the ashes of my father’s empire. When we finally break apart, both breathing hard, I know what my answer is.
“Italy,” I decide. “Our ancestors’ homeland. Somewhere with blue water and absolutely no one who knows what we’ve done.”
“Italy, it is.” He pulls me close again, and I sink into the embrace with relief that feels like coming home. “We’ll leave in a few days. Give Borghese her statement today, tie up the remaining loose ends, then disappear for as long as we need.”
“What about the inheritance?” The question feels obligatory, even though I already know my answer. “Technically, as Sabino’s daughter—”
“There is no inheritance.” Mauricio’s correction is firm. “Federal seizure took everything. The estates, the accounts, thebusinesses—all of it seized as proceeds of criminal enterprise. You inherit nothing.”
“Good.” And I mean it with surprising vehemence. “I don’t want his blood money. Don’t want to build anything on a foundation of corpses and crimes. Whatever comes next, I want it to be ours—built from scratch, clean.”
“Then that’s what we’ll do.” He kisses my temple, and I feel the promise in the gesture. “Build something clean. Something ours. Something that has nothing to do with empires or revenge or the weight of names we didn’t choose.”
My phone buzzes one more time. Borghese, with her final update:
Case closed. Self-defense ruling confirmed. No charges, though we still need your statement. You’re free, Miss Picarelli. Make the most of it.
I show the message to Mauricio, feeling the words settle like a benediction.
“Free,” I repeat, testing the word. “I’m actually free.”
“You are.” His smile carries understanding of exactly what that means. “So what do you want to do with that freedom?”
I look at him—silver hair catching early light, scar tracing his jaw, storm-gray eyes that have seen too much violence but stilllook at me with something soft. The man who helped me destroy my father. Who gave me the choice, even when the easier path would have been to handle everything himself? Who’s offering me a future with no strings attached except the ones we weave together.
“I want to leave,” I say finally. “Leave the country, leave the organization, leave everything that connects me to Sabino Picarelli and his empire. I want to wake up somewhere warm where the biggest decision I face is what to have for breakfast. I want to figure out who Regina is when she’s not surviving.”
“Then that’s what we’ll do.” He stands, pulling me up with him. “Pack light. I’ll take care of the transport.”
“Where are we going exactly?”
“Sicily first.” He’s already moving toward the bedroom, planning our escape. “I’ll rent a small villa under a name that can’t be traced. We stay there for a month, maybe two, just existing. Then we decide what comes next.”
“Just like that?” I follow him, feeling something that might be hope unfurling in my chest. “We just... leave? Start over?”
