Chapter 6 Mauricio
Mauricio
“Meet me. - R.P.”
The text message glows on my phone screen like a challenge, two words and initials that could mean opportunity or a trap.
I’ve been out of prison for only three weeks, and already I’m considering walking into what might be an ambush because a woman with green eyes and survival instincts looked at me like I might understand captivity.
Stupid. Reckless. And precisely the kind of decision that got me locked up fifteen years ago. But I’m going anyway.
The address she provides leads to an abandoned church in a neighborhood that gentrification has forgotten—crumbling brick, boarded windows, the kind of place where deals are made in shadows and nobody asks questions.
My hand rests on the gun tucked against my side as I approach, every instinct screaming that this is a setup.
But if Sabino Picarelli wanted me dead, he’d send professionals, not his daughter with cryptic text messages.
Or would he?
The church door gives way with a groan that echoes through the empty space.
Inside, afternoon light filters through broken stained glass, painting the floor in fractured colors that make everything look like a crime scene waiting to happen.
Pews sit in crooked rows, and there’s graffiti on walls that once held prayers.
Regina Picarelli stands near what used to be the altar, and the sight of her steals whatever greeting I’d planned.
She’s traded designer suits for dark jeans and a leather jacket that makes her look less like Sabino’s perfect daughter and more like someone who’s learned to move through dangerous spaces.
Her hair falls loose around her shoulders instead of pulled back in those elaborate styles, and without the armor of expensive clothes and practiced smiles, she’s devastating in ways the surveillance footage never captured.
“You came alone.” Her voice carries across the empty church, steady but laced with tension. “Either you’re very brave or very stupid.”
“I’ve been called both.” I move deeper into the space, cataloging exits and potential threats out of habit. “Though right now, I’m leaning toward stupid.”
“That makes two of us.” She doesn’t move from her position, but I catch how her hand rests near her jacket pocket—armed, then. Smart. “I wasn’t sure you’d come.”
“I wasn’t sure I’d survive if I did.” I stop about ten feet away, close enough to read her expression but far enough to react if this goes sideways. “So let’s skip the pleasantries and get to why I’m risking my neck in an abandoned church.”
“Direct. I appreciate that.”
“Prison teaches you not to waste time on bullshit.” I lean against a pew that probably won’t hold my weight but looks sturdy enough. “You said you thought about my offer. I’m assuming that’s why I’m here instead of you reporting our coffee shop conversation to Daddy?”
“Don’t call him that.” The sharpness in her voice catches me off guard. “He’s not my father. Not really. And I’ve spent twenty-eight years pretending otherwise.”
The admission lands heavy in the empty space between us. I study her face, looking for signs of manipulation or performance, finding only raw honesty that looks painful to voice.
“Explain.”
“I will.” She pushes off from the altar, crossing the space between us with deliberate steps that echo through the empty church. “But first—at the coffee shop, when you said prison taught you to recognize captivity. Was that manipulation, or did you mean it?”
“I meant it.” No point lying when she’s clearly testing me.
“Fifteen years teaches you what survival looks like in all its forms. The physical kind—learning when to fight and when to submit. But also the psychological kind. The way people learn to disappear inside themselves when staying visible is too dangerous.”
“And you think that’s what I’ve been doing?” She stops just out of arm’s reach. “Disappearing?”
“I think you’ve been performing a role so convincingly that even you might have forgotten where the performance ends and the real Regina begins.
” The words come easier than they should, observation bleeding into something that feels uncomfortably like connection.
“I think you’ve spent your entire life being exactly what Sabino Picarelli needed you to be, and somewhere along the way, you started gathering evidence and waiting for an exit. ”
Her breath catches—barely noticeable. “How did you—”
“The fact that you were researching me instead of your father’s usual targets. You weren’t looking for intelligence on an enemy. You were looking for an ally.”
“Maybe I was looking for a weapon.” Her chin lifts with challenge that makes something heat in my chest. “Maybe I wanted to understand the man who spent fifteen years in prison protecting someone he loved, so I could figure out if that same loyalty might be useful.”
“Useful.” I test the word like it might bite. “That’s a cold way to frame this.”
“Would you prefer I pretend this is about anything other than mutual benefit?” She steps closer, and suddenly the space between us feels charged with something dangerous.
“You want information that helps you protect Simeone’s family and dismantle my father’s operations.
I want freedom from a man who’s been grooming me to be a bargaining chip since before I could walk.
That’s not romance, Mauricio. That’s strategy. Besides, it was your idea anyway.”
“Strategy with the daughter of the man threatening my family.” I close the remaining distance between us, watching how her pupils dilate slightly as I move into her space.
“Strategy with a woman who might be playing me better than I’m playing her.
You’re right. It was my idea. But now, I want you to tell me why I should trust anything you’re offering. ”
“You shouldn’t.” The honesty in her voice catches me off guard. “Trust would be stupid. But we don’t need trust for this to work—we just need shared goals and overlapping interests.”
“And what are your interests, Regina?” I let her name roll off my tongue, noting how she reacts to the intimacy of it. “Really. What do you want that’s worth betraying the man who raised you?”
“He didn’t raise me.” Her voice drops, carrying venom I haven’t heard before. “He murdered my parents when I was six months old and kept me as insurance. As proof that he’d eliminated his partners completely. As a future asset he could use to forge alliances.”
The words land like punches, each one revealing layers of trauma that no amount of designer clothes and perfect manners could hide.
“How long have you known?”
“Seven years.” She doesn’t look away, meeting my gaze with defiance and pain braided together. “I found files in his office. Police reports he’d suppressed. Photographs of my real parents—their bodies, what he did to them. Evidence he kept like trophies.”
“Christ.” I run a hand through my hair, processing information that changes everything. “And you’ve been living with him, playing the dutiful daughter, while knowing he murdered the people who actually brought you into this world?”
“What choice did I have?” Fire enters her voice now, burning through whatever composure she’s been maintaining.
“Tell me, Mauricio—if you’d discovered at twenty-one that everything you believed about your life was a lie, that the man you called father was actually your parents’ killer, what would you have done?
Run? He would have found me. Fight? He would have killed me.
So, I did what survivors do. I played my role and waited for an opportunity. ”
“And I’m that opportunity.”
“You’re a variable that changes the equation.” She corrects. “You’re someone with motivation to destroy Sabino Picarelli, skills to actually accomplish it, and—based on your prison record—enough patience to play a long game.”
“You’ve really done your homework.” I can’t help but admire the calculation, even as every instinct warns me this could still be a trap. “What exactly are you offering?”
“Intelligence. Real, actionable intelligence about his operations, his security, his plans.” She pulls a flash drive from her jacket pocket, holding it between us like an offering.
“This contains seven years of carefully gathered evidence—financial records, encrypted communications, details about hits he’s ordered, proof of bribes and blackmail.
Everything I could access without raising suspicion. ”
I stare at the flash drive, at this woman offering to burn down her entire world, and wonder if she understands what she’s actually proposing.
“And in exchange?”
“When the time comes, when you’ve used this information to dismantle his empire, you will help me disappear.” Her green eyes hold mine with desperate intensity. “New identity, new life, somewhere he can never find me. That’s the deal.”
“That’s assuming your information is legitimate.” I don’t take the flash drive yet, testing her. “That you’re not setting me up. That this isn’t some elaborate scheme to infiltrate Simeone’s organization.”
“Then don’t trust me.” She steps back, pocketing the drive with movements sharp with frustration.
“Verify everything. Cross-reference it with intelligence you already have. Hell, assume I’m lying about all of it and proceed accordingly.
But don’t waste my time pretending you’re not interested when we both know you need what I’m offering. ”
“What I need is to know why now.” I close the distance she created, watching her spine straighten as I move into her space again. “Seven years you’ve been gathering evidence. Seven years you’ve been waiting. What changed? Was it our coffee so compelling?”
“Because he’s decided to marry me off.” The words come out raw, stripped of the performance I’ve seen her deploy.
“My days are numbered. I don’t even know how long I have before he announces which man he’s chosen to be my husband.
Which means my window for having any control over my own life is closing. ”