Page 83 of His Nephew's Ex
The choice of words makes rage flare in my chest, hot and bright. “Don’t you dare—”
“Don’t I dare what? Call things what they are?” He laughs, the sound sharp and bitter. “You’re a pawn,bambina. A beautiful, expensive pawn in a game between men. And pawns get sacrificed when the board needs clearing.”
I turn to run, but he’s faster than I expected. His hand clamps around my wrist with bruising force, and suddenly I’m being dragged toward the van that’s now pulling up beside the garden path.
“Let go of me!” I struggle against his grip, but he’s stronger than I remembered, desperation giving him the kind of vicious strength that comes from having nothing left to lose.
“Stop fighting,” he snarls, his fingers digging into my skin hard enough to leave marks. “This will be easier if you don’t make me hurt you.”
“Fuck you.” I drive my elbow back toward his solar plexus, earning a grunt of pain and a moment of loosened grip.
But it’s not enough. His other hand tangles in my hair, yanking my head back with enough force to bring tears to my eyes. “I said stop fighting.”
The van door slides open, revealing the darkness within. No matter how this ends, I know with terrible certainty that nothing will ever be the same. This isn’t just a kidnapping—it’s a declaration of war between two men, and I’m about to become the battlefield.
“Simeone will kill you for this,” I manage through gritted teeth as Flavio pushes me toward the open door.
“Probably.” His voice carries a note of resignation that might be acceptance or madness. “But not before I make him suffer the way I’ve suffered. Not before I take everything he values and watch him break.”
“You’re insane.”
“I’m desperate.” He shoves me into the van with enough force to send me sprawling across the metal floor. “And desperate men are the most dangerous kind.”
The door slams. Darkness swallows me whole—metal floor, stale air, the sharp bite of bleach that can’t quite mask something rotten underneath. Flavio’s voice cuts through steel, barking directions I can’t make out.
As the van lurches into motion, carrying me away from the safety of Simeone’s fortress, I press my hand to my stomach and make a silent promise to the life growing there. Whatever Flavio has planned, whatever game he thinks he’s playing, he’s underestimated one crucial factor.
I’m not just Simeone’s wife anymore. I’m not just some pawn to be moved around the board for men’s convenience.
I’m a Codella now. And Codellas don’t surrender without a fight.
The van speeds through streets I can’t see, carrying me toward whatever hell Flavio has prepared. But underneath the fear and rage runs a cold, calculating fury that tastes like steel.
He wants to use me against my husband? He wants to threaten what’s mine?
He’s about to learn exactly why the Silver Devil chose me as his queen.
The warehouse smell hits me before I even see it—rust and abandonment and the kind of decay that comes from years of neglect. When the van finally stops and the door slides open, harsh fluorescent light spills across my face, making me squint against the sudden brightness.
“Welcome to your new accommodations,” Flavio says with mock courtesy, hauling me out of the van with hands that show no gentleness. “I hope you’ll find them... educational.”
I stand on unsteady legs, taking in the cavernous space around me. Concrete floors stained with substances I don’t want to identify. High windows too grimy to see through. Industrial equipment covered in dust and rust, like the skeletal remains of some long-dead operation.
It’s the perfect place for someone to disappear.
27
Simeone
The tracking signal bleeds red across my phone screen, each pulse marking another second my wife remains in enemy hands. Twenty-two minutes since Loriana vanished from our garden. Twenty-two minutes for my rage to crystallize from molten fury into something cold, sharp, and infinitely more dangerous.
“GPS shows the warehouse district,” Tiziano’s voice cuts through the helicopter’s rotor noise, his usual diplomatic calm replaced by the focused tension of a man preparing for war. “Industrial complex on the south side, registered to a shell company Giuseppe Longino used for his gambling debts.”
Giuseppe. One of Flavio’s pathetic friends, the kind of weak man who borrows money he can’t repay and sells his soulin installments to avoid consequences. The same man whose financial ruin I could’ve orchestrated years ago if I’d known he’d eventually threaten my wife.
“How many men?” I ask, checking the magazine of my Beretta with movements sharp enough to cut glass.
“Six in the perimeter, unknown inside. Building has multiple exits, two loading docks, minimal cover.” His eyes meet mine through the helicopter’s window. “Do you want to wait for additional backup?”
