Page 58 of His Nephew's Ex
The silence drags on, loaded with danger. She clears her throat, then speaks so quietly I almost miss it.
“I need something that’s mine. Something I can control, even if it’s small.”
“Like what?”
“Let me in on the estate security protocols.” The request catches me off guard. “Not field operations—planning. Analysis. Threat assessment. Let me understand the dangers instead of just hiding from them.”
I pull back to study her face, noting the intelligence blazing in her brown eyes, the way her mind is already working through possibilities.
“You want to help plan your own protection?”
“I want to be part of the solution instead of just the problem being solved.” Her hands fist in my shirt. “I have a brain, Simeone. Let me use it for something that matters.”
The request is logical, strategic, completely manageable within my control parameters. And it gives her the intellectual engagement she craves while keeping her exactly where I can monitor her.
“Full disclosure of threat assessments?”
“Full disclosure of anything that doesn’t compromise operational security.”
“Direct involvement in security planning?”
“Advisory role with real influence.” Her grip tightens. “Not just a token consultation to make me feel important.”
I consider the offer, already seeing how it could work. She gets purpose, I get compliance, and her brilliant mind gets applied to the very real problem of keeping her alive.
“Done.” The word comes out decisive, final. “But you follow my lead on implementation. No unauthorized initiatives, no cowboy operations.”
Relief floods her features so completely that I realize how close I came to losing her in an entirely different way—not to violence, but to the slow psychological erosion of feeling useless.
“Thank you.” She rises on her toes, pressing a soft kiss to my jaw that makes my blood sing. “You won’t regret this.”
19
Simeone
The gun oil reeks of metal and violence as I drag the cloth through my Beretta’s barrel. My hands know this dance—disassemble, clean, reassemble—but my mind is on Flavio’s hands on Loriana, his latest violation of everything I’ve tried to protect. The rage won’t oil away tonight.
“You’re late,” I say without looking up as the door creaks open, my voice carrying the kind of quiet that precedes violence.
“Traffic was murder,” Flavio quips, sliding into the booth across from me with that casual arrogance that’s always grated against my nerves like fingernails on concrete. “Literally. Some poor bastard got himself shot on the interstate.”
I finally look up, studying the nephew I’ve raised as a son, noting the expensive suit that can’t hide the desperation in his dark eyes. Twenty-six years old and already showing the signs of a man drowning in debts he can’t pay and expectations he’ll never meet.
“Giuseppe’s gambling debts are affecting your judgment,” I observe, reassembling the weapon with practiced efficiency. “Three families are circling, and you’re making enemies faster than I can clean up your messes.”
“Giuseppe’s problems aren’t mine.” But the defensive edge in his voice tells a different story. “Besides, I didn’t come here to discuss that idiot’s poker addiction.”
“No? Then why are you here,nipote?” I slide the loaded magazine into place with a soft click that makes his eye twitch. “Because if this is another attempt to discuss Loriana—”
“Everything is about her now, isn’t it?” The bitterness in his voice is sharp enough to cut glass. “Your precious little breeding mare has completely rewritten the family hierarchy.”
The crude language makes violence rise in my chest like a tide, but I keep my expression neutral. Violence will come—but on my terms, at my timing.
“Choose your words more carefully.”
“Why? She’s not here to be offended by the truth.” Flavio leans back, trying to project confidence he clearly doesn’t feel.“Though I have to say,zio, you’re playing a dangerous game. Pregnant women are so... fragile. So many things can go wrong.”
The threat is subtle, wrapped in concern, but unmistakable. My finger finds the trigger guard of my weapon, not quite resting on the trigger but close enough that the message is clear.
