His Enemy’s Daughter (Italian Mafia Empires #2)

Chapter 1 Mauricio

Mauricio

“Fifteen years, three months, and fourteen days.”

The words taste like rust and freedom as I step through the final gate, leaving behind walls that have contained me since I was thirty-one years old.

The afternoon sun hits my face with an intensity that makes my eyes water—or maybe that’s just the shock of seeing a world that’s moved on without me.

A sleek black Mercedes idles at the curb, so out of place in this depressed neighborhood that it might as well be a spaceship. The driver’s door opens, and my chest tightens with something that might be emotion if I still remembered how to feel those.

Simeone Codella steps out looking like time decided to be kind to at least one of us.

Some silver hair where there used to be dark, lines around his eyes that speak of responsibility and power, but that same iron posture that commanded respect when we were young and stupid enough to think we were invincible.

“You counted the days?” His voice carries across the distance between us, rough with something I won’t name because naming it makes it real.

“Every single one.” I move toward him with the careful gait of someone who’s spent too long learning to measure space in six-by-eight increments. “Though I lost track somewhere around year twelve. Had to do the math backward.”

“Mauricio.” He doesn’t move, just stands there like he’s afraid I might disappear if he blinks. “Fratello mio.”

The Italian endearment—my brother—nearly breaks something in me that fifteen years of surviving prison couldn’t crack. But I’ve learned to swallow emotion like poison, to let it burn going down and settle cold in my gut.

“Still dramatic as ever,” I say, closing the distance between us. “Some things never change.”

We embrace with the kind of desperation that men like us only show each other—hard, brief, loaded with everything we won’t say. When we pull apart, I notice the wetness in his dark eyes that he’s too proud to acknowledge.

“You look like hell,” he observes.

“You look like you’ve been playing house instead of running an empire.” I gesture at his expensive suit, the wedding ring that catches the light. “Domestication suits you.”

“Get in the car before I remember why I used to want to strangle you.” But there’s warmth in his voice, the kind that comes from shared history and blood that might not be literal but runs deeper than genetics.

The Mercedes’s interior smells like leather and money, a sharp contrast to the industrial cleaning solution and desperation that’s been my constant companion. I sink into the passenger seat with a sigh that comes from somewhere deep in my bones.

“So,” Simeone says as he pulls away from the prison that’s been my home for longer than I care to calculate. “Where do we start?”

“How about with why you’re picking me up personally instead of sending Tiziano?” I study his profile, noting the tension in his jaw. “Not that I’m complaining about the VIP treatment, but the Silver Devil doesn’t usually play chauffeur.”

“Maybe I wanted to see with my own eyes that you survived.” His hands tighten on the steering wheel. “Maybe I needed to know that fifteen years didn’t break what made you dangerous.”

“Worried I went soft inside?” I laugh, the sound sharp enough to cut. “Trust me, fratello, prison doesn’t soften you. It just teaches you new ways to be hard.”

“That’s what concerns me.”

I turn to look at him fully, taking in the way his shoulders carry weight that wasn’t there before. “What happened while I was gone, Simeone? Besides the obvious aging and apparent marriage?”

“Where do I start?” He merges onto the highway with the same calculated precision he applies to everything. “The empire’s tripled in size. We control shipping routes from here to Sicily. Legitimate businesses now generate more revenue than the old operations.”

“Impressive. And boring.” I wave away the business talk. “Tell me about the things that actually matter. The wife you married. The life you built while I was counting ceiling tiles.”

His expression shifts into something softer, more vulnerable than I’ve ever seen on his face. “Her name is Loriana. We have a son, Alessandro, and he isseven months old.”

“A son.” The information settles in my chest like lead. “The Silver Devil reproduced. I’m not sure whether to congratulate you or warn the world.”

“She changed everything.” His voice carries a note of wonder that would be nauseating if it weren’t so genuine. “Made me want things I never thought I could have.”

“Such as?”

“Peace. Purpose beyond power. A reason to come home at night that doesn’t involve counting money or planning territorial expansions.” He glances at me. “You’ll meet her soon. She’s... formidable.”

“She’d have to be to handle you.” I settle deeper into the leather seat, watching the world blur past at speeds that feel impossible after years of moving at prison pace. “What else did I miss?”

The silence that follows carries weight, and I know we’ve hit on something significant. Simeone’s jaw works like he’s chewing words he doesn’t want to spit out.

“Flavio,” he finally says, and the name lands between us like a grenade with the pin pulled.

“Your nephew? The spoiled brat you raised as your son?”

“Turns out he’s not my nephew.” The correction is sharp, bitter. “DNA test proved he was never Ulrico’s. Never family. Just some woman’s bastard who played me for over two decades.”

The revelation hits harder than it should. I knew Flavio was trouble—had told Simeone as much before everything went to shit—but this level of deception requires respect, even if it’s grudging.

“Where is he now?”

“Exiled. Seven years, no contact, no claims to the name or organization.” Simeone’s voice hardens with finality. “He threatened Loriana. Kidnapped her. That was his final mistake.”

“You let him live?” I can’t keep the surprise from my voice. “The man I remember would have put a bullet in his head for less.”

“Loriana asked me not to kill him. Said it would change me.” His smile is sharp, self-aware. “Turns out she was right. Mercy was a better punishment than death—watching him walk away with nothing was more satisfying than ending him.”

“Domestication indeed.” I study his profile, noting the peace beneath the power. “She’s made you soft.”

“She’s made me better.” The correction carries conviction. “There’s a difference.”

We drive in comfortable silence for a while, and I process the magnitude of changes that occurred while I was locked away.

Simeone married, had a child, discovered his nephew was a fraud, and built an empire that spans continents.

Meanwhile, I’ve been perfecting the art of surviving in a six-by-eight cell and planning revenge against the people who put me there.

“What about the Moretti job?” I ask finally, addressing the elephant that’s been sitting between us since he pulled up. “The one that sent me inside. Ever figure out who sold us out?”

His expression darkens, and suddenly I’m looking at the man I remember—cold, calculating, dangerous. “I’ve spent fifteen years investigating that question. Had my best people tracking every lead, following every thread.”

“And?”

“Nothing concrete. Whispers, rumors, shadows of possibilities.” His frustration bleeds through every word. “Whoever set us up knew how to cover their tracks.”

“Or they’re too powerful to touch.”

“That too.” He glances at me, and I see guilt written across his features. “Mauricio, I need you to know—”

“Don’t.” I cut him off before he could finish the apology I don’t need. “We both knew the risks. I made my choice to take the fall. You had the organization to run, people depending on you.”

“You sacrificed fifteen years of your life—”

“And you built an empire worth protecting.” I lean forward, making sure he sees the honesty in my eyes. “Stop second-guessing decisions we made when we were young and stupid. The job was always a gamble. We lost that round, but the game isn’t over.”

“Is that why you kept your mouth shut? Because you thought there’d be another round?”

“I kept my mouth shut because that’s what brothers do.” The word tastes strange on my tongue after years of not having anyone worth calling family. “And because I knew that fifteen years inside would either break me or forge me into something stronger.”

“Which one happened?”

“Both.” I smile, and I know it’s not a kind expression. “I broke in ways that does not matter and reformed in ways that does. The question is whether you’re ready for what I’ve become.”

He’s quiet for a moment, processing my words with the same careful consideration he applies to everything. “What do you need from me?”

“Resources. Information. A platform to work from while I figure out my next move.” I tick off items on my fingers. “And introductions to whoever might help me find the people who set us up.”

“Done.” No hesitation, no negotiation. “Whatever you need, it’s yours. You earned it fifteen times over.”

“Careful, fratello. That kind of blank check could be dangerous.”

“You’ve always been dangerous.” His smile is genuine, warm. “That’s why I’ve been counting down the days until you got out just like you have.”

The estate appears on the horizon like something from another world—sprawling grounds, security that would make government facilities jealous, the kind of wealth that whispers rather than shouts.

This is what Simeone built while I was locked away, and despite my best efforts at cynicism, I’m impressed.

“Home sweet fortress,” I observe as we pass through expensive looking gates.

“Security became non-negotiable after Flavio’s stunt.” Simeone parks in a circular drive that could host a small battalion. “Loriana and Alessandro’s safety isn’t something I compromise on.”

“Spoken like a man who’s discovered what actually matters.” I open the door, stepping onto marble that probably cost more per square foot than I made in my entire criminal career before prison. “Lead the way to domestic bliss.”