Page 32 of His Nephew's Ex
“Or someone who’s learned professional techniques.” We reach the street level, where a black Bentley idles at the curb with Tiziano behind the wheel. “Either way, this isn’t over.”
As he helps me into the car, I catch a glimpse of two other vehicles—security details that will escort us to his estate. The reality of my new life hits me all at once: armed guards, bulletproof cars, a fortress mansion where every window is bulletproof and every door is monitored.
I’m trading my independence for protection, my freedom for safety, my simple life for survival in his dangerous world.
The car pulls away from my building, and I watch my neighborhood disappear through the tinted windows. Everything familiar and comfortable and mine grows smaller inthe distance until it’s just another collection of lights in the city that never sleeps.
“Regrets?” Simeone asks quietly, noting my silence.
“Plenty.” I turn to look at him, this man whose protection comes with a price I’m still figuring out. “But not about staying alive.”
His smile is sharp, satisfied, absolutely devastating. “That’s all I need to hear.”
But as we drive through the empty streets toward his estate, his phone rings again. This time, the conversation is shorter, sharper, and when he hangs up, the temperature in the car seems to drop several degrees.
“What?” I ask, though I’m not sure I want to know.
“They found something else at your apartment.” His voice is carefully controlled, which somehow makes it more frightening. “A surveillance device. Professional grade, military specification.”
My blood turns to ice. “How long has it been there?”
“No idea who’s behind it. But they’ve been watching you long enough to know everything—your schedule, your habits, your weak points.” He meets my eyes, both of us understanding the implications. “Whoever this is, they’ve done their homework.”
The implications crash over me like a tidal wave. Someone has been in my apartment, touched my things, watched me sleep and eat and live my life through electronic eyes. The violation feels worse than the broken window, more invasive than the threats.
“Who would do that?”
“Someone who’s been planning this for a while,” he says quietly. “Someone who wants more than just to scare you.”
The car turns through iron gates that close behind us with the finality of prison doors. As we approach his mansion—beautiful and imposing and nothing like the life I’m leaving behind—Simeone’s phone rings once more.
This time, when he answers, his entire body goes rigid.
“Cosa?” The word is sharp, dangerous.
The conversation that follows is rapid Italian, but I don’t need translation to understand that something has gone very, very wrong. When he hangs up, his expression is murderous.
“Simeone?” My voice comes out smaller than intended.
He turns to me, and in his eyes, I see something that makes my blood freeze in my veins.
“They weren’t just watching you,stellina.” His voice is soft, deadly. “They were studying you. Learning your patterns, your security, your vulnerabilities.”
“For what?”
His smile is sharp enough to cut glass, and suddenly I understand that I haven’t been rescued from danger—I’ve been dropped into the center of a war I have no business being a part of.
“For the perfect moment to take you.”
11
Simeone
The gates sealed us inside the estate’s perimeter. Loriana pressed closer to the window, her breath fogging the glass as she examined the mansion’s facade. Her fingers traced patterns against her leg—nervous habit or mental mapping, I couldn’t tell. Either way, she was already thinking three steps ahead.
“In the night, it’s bigger than I remembered,” she says quietly, her voice carrying a note of resignation that makes something dark and possessive unfurl in my chest.
“You’ll have the run of the estate during the day,” I tell her as Tiziano brings the car to a smooth stop in front of the main entrance. “The grounds, the library, the pool. Anything you need.”
