Page 85 of His Nephew's Ex
“You’re nothing.” The declaration falls between us like a death sentence. “A stranger who’s worn my protection like stolen armor for over two decades. A pretender who thought family loyalty would shield him from consequences.”
“Even if that’s true,” he says, desperation creeping into his voice, “you raised me. You loved me. That has to count for something.”
“It counted for everything. Until you threatened my wife.” I take a step closer, noting how he retreats despite his elevated position. “Until you put your hands on a pregnant woman. Until you forgot that love has limits and mine have been reached.”
“Please,” the word comes out broken, young. “I’m sorry. I made mistakes, but I can fix this. I can disappear, start over somewhere else. You’ll never see me again.”
“No.” The single word carries the finality of a closing coffin. “You won’t disappear. You won’t start over. You won’t do anything except learn what happens when someone threatens the mother of my heir.”
I gesture to Tiziano, who moves toward Loriana with bolt cutters that make quick work of her restraints. She flows into my arms like water finding its level, solid and warm and absolutely perfect against my chest.
“Are you hurt?” I murmur against her hair, breathing in jasmine and the faint scent of fear that makes me want to paint these walls with Flavio’s blood.
“No. I’m furious, but not hurt.” Her voice carries that steel edge that first drew me to her. “Though I think your former nephew might need medical attention after I’m done with him.”
Above us, Flavio’s composure finally cracks completely. “I didn’t hurt her! I wouldn’t hurt her! This was just supposed to be leverage, a way to negotiate, to get you to talk—”
“Leverage.” I taste the word like poison. “You kidnapped my pregnant wife for leverage. The mother of my child. The woman I would burn the world to protect.”
“I was desperate! You took everything from me—my inheritance, my future, my place in the family!” His voice rises to something that might be hysteria. “What was I supposed to do?”
“You were supposed to accept that actions have consequences.” I pull Loriana closer, feeling her pulse steady against my chest. “You were supposed to remember that threatening what’s mine carries a price you can’t afford to pay.”
“I’m begging you,” he cries, and there are actual tears in his voice now. “I’ll do anything. Go anywhere. I’ll sign papers giving up any claim to the Codella name, any connection to the family business. Just don’t kill me. Please.Zio.”
“Kill you?” I laugh, the sound sharp enough to cut glass. “Death would be mercy, and I’m not feeling merciful tonight.”
I gesture to my men, who take positions that transform the warehouse into a courtroom where I am judge, jury, and the only law that matters.
“You wanted to negotiate,” I say conversationally. “So let’s negotiate. Here are my terms: You walk out of this building withnothing except the clothes on your back and the knowledge that you no longer exist to me. No name, no protection, no family, no identity beyond what you can build from the ashes of your own stupidity.”
“Zio, please—”
“You have no money because the accounts you’ve been drawing from belong to the family you’re no longer part of. You have no connections because every ally you thought you had was really my ally, protecting you on my orders. You have no future because the man you thought you were never existed.”
The cruelty is designed to strip away everything he’s built his sense of self on. This is how you destroy someone without spilling blood—you show them that everything they thought they knew about themselves was an illusion.
“But I have nowhere to go,” he whispers. “No way to survive.”
“Then you’ll learn to survive the way everyone else does—through your own effort and intelligence.” I study his face, noting the exact moment comprehension settles like lead in his chest. “Of course, that assumes you have either.”
“This is insane. You can’t just erase twenty-six years—”
“I can erase anything I choose to erase.” My voice hardens. “I am Simeone Codella. I built this empire into what it is today, and I can unmake anything that threatens it.”
The warehouse falls silent except for the distant sound of my men securing the perimeter. Flavio stares down at us with something that might be shock or grief or the first stirrings of understanding about how completely he’s miscalculated.
“However,” I continue, my voice becoming almost gentle, “I won’t exile you forever. Seven years should do the trick. Consider it a wedding gift to my wife, who has a soft heart for lost causes.”
Loriana’s sharp intake of breath tells me she understands the magnitude of mercy I’m offering—and the conditions that come with it.
“But if you return to my city before your sentence is up, if you ever speak the Codella name, if you ever so much as think about my family again, or if you return with evil intentions, that mercy expires.” My smile could cut diamonds. “And I will show you exactly what happens to people from whom I decide to withdraw my mercy.”
The promise hangs in the industrial air like incense in a cathedral, heavy with the weight of absolute certainty. Flavio knows that I mean every word.
“Do we understand each other?” I ask.
“Yes,” he whispers.
