Page 82 of His Nephew's Ex
“Promise me you’ll think about it. Really think. Not just plan the most efficient way to eliminate a threat.”
“I promise.” He leans down to press a soft kiss to my forehead. “A few more days of consideration won’t change the ultimate outcome, but I’ll weigh all the options.”
Relief floods through me, though I’m not entirely sure why. Maybe because despite everything Flavio has done, the thought of Simeone crossing that particular line sits wrong in my chest.
“Where are you going today?” I ask as he shrugs into his jacket.
“Meetings with the port authority about the new shipping arrangements. Some delicate negotiations that require my personal attention.” His expression darkens slightly. “Unfortunately, it means I’ll be away from the estate most of the day.”
“I’ll be fine,” I assure him, though I catch the way his eyes narrow with concern. “Tiziano and I have the security protocols locked down tighter than Fort Knox, and I’m planning to spend most of the day working on nursery designs.”
“Nursery designs?” The unexpected vulnerability in his voice makes my heart skip.
“Someone has to start planning for our little heir,” I tease, letting my hand rest on my stomach. “Unless you’re planning to raise our child in a fortress without any consideration for comfort or beauty.”
“Everything our child needs will be provided.” The vow carries the weight of absolute conviction. “Beautiful, safe, worthy of the next generation of Codellas.”
The way he says it—like our baby is already the most precious thing in his world—makes my heart swell.
“I love you,” I whisper.
“Ti amo, stellina. More than I thought possible. More than is probably safe for either of us.”
After he leaves, I spend the morning reviewing furniture catalogs and paint samples, letting myself imagine what it will be like to create a nursery with a man who approaches everything—even baby planning—with the intensity of a military campaign. The thought makes me smile as I spread fabric swatches across the library table.
Noon hits, and I need air. This fortress is suffocating me. Surely I can walk my own damn garden without setting off alarms.
I slip out through the French doors leading to the rose garden, breathing in the afternoon air that carries the scent of jasmine and freedom. The grounds stretch before me like a private paradise—manicured lawns, flowering trees, pathways that wind through carefully cultivated beauty.
This is my world now. Safe, secure, absolutely controlled. Sometimes I miss the chaos of my old life, the uncertainty that kept me sharp and aware. But as I rest my hand on my stomach, I remind myself that this protection isn’t just about me anymore.
The sound of gravel crunching under tires makes me turn toward the main drive, expecting to see one of Simeone’s security team returning from patrol. Instead, I spot a dark van moving slowly along the perimeter road—not speeding like someone with legitimate business, but creeping like a predator stalking prey.
Warning bells start ringing in my head. This isn’t one of Simeone’s vehicles. The guards at the gate would never allow unauthorized access to the estate. Which means either there’s been a massive security breach, or—
“Hello,bambina.”
The voice behind me makes my blood turn to ice. I spin around to find Flavio emerging from behind the gardenia bushes, his expensive suit wrinkled and his face bearing the yellowing remains of bruises from his last encounter with Simeone. But it’s his eyes that make my skin crawl—flat, calculating, absolutely devoid of the charm he used to wield like a weapon.
“Surprised to see me?” His smile is poison wrapped in silk. “You shouldn’t be. I told you this wasn’t over.”
I take a step backward, my hand moving instinctively to my stomach. “How did you get onto the estate?”
“Money opens a lot of doors, even ones guarded by men who think they’re loyal.” His voice carries the bitter satisfaction of someone who’s discovered just how easily honor can be purchased. “Amazing what a security guard will overlook when his gambling debts suddenly disappear.”
“Simeone will—”
“Simeone will do exactly what I want him to do.” Flavio moves closer, and I see something that looks like madness flickering behind his dark eyes. “Because you’re going to help me make sure of that.”
“I’m not helping you with anything.” I continue backing away, but he matches my movement step for step. “Whatever game you think you’re playing—”
“This isn’t a game.” His voice drops to that whisper that once seemed charming but now sounds like barely controlled violence. “This is survival. Your husband has decided I’m expendable. But he’s about to learn that some people don’t disappear quietly.”
The van I spotted earlier is getting closer, and I realize with crystalline clarity that this isn’t some chance encounter. This isa coordinated attack, carefully planned and precisely executed while Simeone is away from the estate.
“You’re making a mistake,” I say, trying to project more confidence than I feel. “Whatever you think this will accomplish—”
“This will accomplish exactly what I need.” His smile turns savage. “Uncle Simeone values nothing more than what belongs to him. And right now, what belongs to him is you and that bastard growing in your belly.”
