Page 57 of His Nephew's Ex
“There is no ‘or what.’ There’s only compliance.” I lean closer, until my breath ghosts across her lips. “Your feelings about it are irrelevant.”
Something dangerous flickers in her eyes. “Irrelevant?”
“Secondary to your survival.” My hands slide down to frame her face, feeling the angry heat radiating from her skin. “I’d rather have you furious and breathing than content and buried.”
“How generous.” Sarcasm drips from every syllable. “The great Simeone Codella will tolerate my emotional inconvenience as long as I stay alive to serve his purposes.”
“My purposes?” I stroke my thumbs across her cheekbones, feeling her pulse spike despite her anger. “You think this is about me?”
“Isn’t it? Your heir, your legacy, your empire?” Her eyes search mine for something I’m not sure she’ll find. “When do I factor into this equation as more than a means to an end?”
The question hits like a physical blow because I don’t have an answer that doesn’t expose too much. She factors into everything now—every decision, every plan, every moment of every day. But admitting that level of... attachment... feels like handing her a loaded weapon.
“You factor in as the most important asset I’ve ever acquired,” I say instead.
“Asset.” She tastes the word like poison. “Not a person. Not a partner. Asset.”
“The most valuable asset,” I correct, as if that distinction matters.
“Fuck your assets.” The crude language sounds strange from her cultured lips, but the fury behind it is genuine. “I’m not some prize you won in a poker game, Simeone. I’m a human being with thoughts and feelings and dreams that extend beyond your convenience.”
“Dreams that will get you killed if pursued recklessly.”
“Then help me pursue them safely instead of just shuttering them completely.” She presses closer, and suddenly there’s no space between us, only heat and want and the magnetic pull that’s been burning since we met. “Work with me instead of just controlling me.”
“I am working with you—”
“You’re managing me like a business problem.” Her hands come up to rest against my chest, and the simple touch makes my heart stutter. “There’s a difference between protection and imprisonment, and if you can’t see it, you’re not the man I thought you were.”
The disappointment is worse than anger, cutting through my defenses like a blade through silk. She’s not just fighting myrestrictions—she’s questioning my character, my methods, my fundamental approach to keeping her safe.
And maybe she should be.
“What do you want from me?” The question comes out rougher than intended.
“Partnership.” Her voice softens, becomes almost pleading. “Real partnership. Not just the illusion of choice while you puppet my life from behind the scenes.”
“Partnership requires trust—”
“Which you’ve never given me the chance to earn.” Her eyes search mine, looking for something I’m afraid to show her. “You’ve wrapped me in so much protection that I can’t prove I’m worthy of your confidence.”
“You’re worthy of everything I have to give.” The admission slips out before I can stop it, raw and honest. “That’s not the issue.”
“Then what is?”
In the dim light, her face is all shadows and secrets, beautiful in a way that makes my chest tight. This is the woman who walked into my structured world and set it on fire—and I’m finally ready to acknowledge what that means.
“Losing you would hurt,” I whisper.
The truth I’ve just spoken fills the space around us, thick and suffocating. Her face goes pale, eyes searching mine as if looking for an escape route.
“Simeone—”
“So yes,” I continue, my voice gaining strength. “I will err on the side of caution. I will choose your safety over your happiness. I will lock you away from every possible threat because the alternative is unthinkable.”
“Even if it breaks me?”
“Even then.” I lean down until our foreheads touch. “Because a broken you is still you. A dead you is nothing.”
