Chapter 9 Regina
Regina
“Congratulations, figlia mia. You’re going to marry Lorenzo Di Noto.”
The words land like bullets, each syllable finding its mark with surgical precision. I’m standing in Father’s study, but this directive freezes the blood in my veins.
Lorenzo Di Noto. The heir who cornered me at the gala, who looked at me like property he was already calculating how to control.
“Father, I—” My voice cracks before I can stop it.
“His family has to take care of some business, so the wedding will take place in six weeks.” He doesn’t look up from the documents he’s signing. “His family controls the western territories. The alliance will strengthen our position considerably.”
Six weeks. Forty-two days until I become property.
“Father, please.” The desperation leaks through despite years of training. “Lorenzo Di Noto told me educated women make difficult wives. That if you could control me, he could too. He sees me as furniture—”
“Smart man.” Father’s approval makes my stomach turn. “He understands the natural order. You’ll learn your place in his home.”
“I won’t do it.” The refusal escapes before I can think better of it. “Father, I won’t marry him.”
The silence that follows is arctic. Father sets down his pen with deliberate precision, then stands—moving around the desk with predatory grace.
“You won’t?” His voice drops dangerously low. “Since when do you have the authority to refuse anything I decide?”
“Since I’m a person, not a bargaining chip—”
The slap comes so fast I don’t see it coming. My head snaps to the side, cheek exploding with pain, copper flooding my mouth where my teeth cut flesh.
“You have no rights except the ones I grant you.” Father’s face is inches from mine, and for the first time I see the monster underneath. “Everything you are exists because I allow it. Speak to me with that tone again, and I’ll remind you exactly how easily I can take it all away.”
My hand trembles against my burning cheek, fighting tears that would only give him satisfaction.
“The wedding is in six weeks.” He returns to his desk, dismissing me like dismissed staff.
“Rosalia will handle the details. You’ll attend every event, smile for every camera, and play the grateful daughter.
Any deviation, and I’ll ensure Lorenzo receives a full accounting of your. .. rebellious tendencies. Am I clear?”
“Yes, Father.” The words taste like poison.
“Good. Now get out.”
I maintain composure until I’m out of sight. Then I’m running through hallways that suddenly close in, past staff who avert their eyes, up endless stairs.
My bedroom door slams behind me. The panic hits like a freight train—breath coming in gasps that don’t bring oxygen, heart slamming against my ribs, black spots dancing at the edges of my vision.
I slide down the door, knees pulled to chest, trying to remember Dr. Muni’s breathing exercises. But all I can see is Lorenzo Di Noto’s face—cold calculation in his eyes, that cruel smile when he talked about control.
The sob that tears from my throat sounds animal. I press my fist against my mouth, but the panic is a living thing now—consuming everything.
“Regina.”
I look up through tears to find Giordano standing inside my door, gray eyes filled with concern that cracks something in my chest.
“I heard everything.” He closes the door with careful silence, then kneels beside me. “The whole household heard, though they’ll pretend they didn’t.”
“Six weeks, Giordano.” The words come out broken. “Six weeks until—”
“Breathe.” His hand finds mine, steady and warm. “In through your nose, out through your mouth. Come on, piccola, with me.”
The endearment unlocks something. I focus on his breathing, matching my gasps to his rhythm until the panic recedes enough to think.
“I can’t marry him,” I whisper. “He’ll destroy me.”
“I know.” His thumb traces circles on my hand, and something in his expression shifts—resolve hardening beneath concern. “Regina, I need to tell you something I should have told you months ago.”
The seriousness cuts through my panic. “What?”
“I know what you’ve been doing.” Each word lands like a stone.
“The late nights in your father’s office.
The files you’ve been accessing. I know about Mauricio Barone.
About your meetings, the flash drives, the intelligence exchange.
I’ve known you’ve been investigating your father for months, and I’ve been covering for you. ”
Ice floods my veins. “How?”
“Because I’ve been watching Sabino’s digital security for years. I know every system in this house, every camera, every protocol.” A bitter smile crosses his face. “I’ve been waiting for you to find a way out.”
“You knew and didn’t tell Father?”
“Because I care about you.” His hand tightens on mine. “Because watching him treat you like property for twenty-eight years has been slowly killing me. The daughter I never had deserves better than this gilded cage.”
Tears spill down my cheeks. “Why didn’t you say something?”
“Because you needed to make this choice yourself. Telling you I knew would have pushed you away or made you feel obligated to include me.” He shifts to sit beside me. “I wanted you to have agency, even if it meant keeping secrets.”
“Giordano—”
“Let me finish.” He takes a breath. “I’m telling you now because Lorenzo Di Noto changes everything. Six weeks isn’t enough time for whatever you and Barone are planning. You need to accelerate, and you need help. Help I can provide.”
“No.” The refusal is immediate. “I can’t drag you into this. Father would kill you.”
“He’s going to kill pieces of you by marrying you to Di Noto.” Steel enters his voice. “I’d rather risk my life helping you escape than watch you die slowly in a marriage that destroys you.”
“You don’t understand what you’re offering.” I turn to face him fully. “We’re planning to dismantle Father’s entire operation. If it goes wrong, everyone involved dies. Painfully.”
“I understand exactly what I’m offering.” No hesitation. “Regina, I’ve spent eighteen years watching Sabino brutalize people I care about.”
I want to say yes. God, I want to accept his help so badly it physically hurts. But the image of what Father would do if he discovered Giordano’s betrayal freezes the words in my throat.
“I need to think.” I pull away gently, standing on trembling legs. “Let me talk to Mauricio first. Figure out if there’s a way to include you without putting you at risk.”
“There’s no way to do this without risk.” But he stands too, accepting my need for space. “Just promise me you’ll consider it.”
“I promise.” The lie tastes bitter but necessary. I won’t condemn him to Father’s vengeance if our plans fail.
After he leaves, I lock the door and pull out my phone with shaking hands. The encrypted app glows on the screen. I type three words:
Code Red. Now.
His response comes within seconds:
Location?
Safe house. One hour.
I’ll be there.
The hour passes in a blur of covering my bruised cheek with makeup and slipping out through the service entrance I’ve memorized for exactly this purpose.
The safe house is dark when I arrive, but Mauricio’s car is already there. He meets me at the door, and the concern in his storm-gray eyes when he sees my face nearly breaks my remaining composure.
“What happened?” His hand hovers near my cheek. “Regina, what the fuck happened?”
“Father chose my husband.” The words come out flat. “Lorenzo Di Noto. Six weeks until the wedding.”
“Christ.” Color drains from his face. “The heir from the gala? The one who—”
“Who told me educated women make difficult wives? Yes.” I push past him, needing space. “Father announced it tonight. When I tried to refuse, he reminded me exactly how little my opinions matter.”
“He hit you.” Mauricio’s voice drops to something dangerous. “Sabino hit you.”
“It doesn’t matter.” I wave away his concern even though my cheek still throbs. “What matters is that I’m on a countdown now. We have six weeks to either execute our plan or I resign myself to becoming Lorenzo Di Noto’s perfectly controlled wife.”
“Executing the plan in six weeks is—” He runs a hand through his silver hair. “Regina, that might not be enough time.”
“I don’t have time!” The shout surprises us both. “I have forty-two days. So either we accelerate the timeline, or you help me disappear right now and forget about dismantling Father’s empire.”
Mauricio moves to the window, staring out at city lights while his mind races through possibilities.
“If we accelerate,” he finally says, voice measured, “the risks multiply exponentially. Mistakes become more likely. People could die, Regina. Innocent people caught in the crossfire.”
“And if we don’t?” I counter. “I definitely suffer. Is my guaranteed destruction worth protecting hypothetical innocents?”
“That’s not fair.”
“None of this is fair!” My voice cracks. “But it’s the reality. So tell me—can we do this in six weeks, or do I need to find another way out?”
He’s quiet for a long moment, tension rippling through his shoulders.When he finally turns back, he’s wearing the expression that survived fifteen years in prison—resolve carved from stone.
“We can do it in six weeks.” The certainty in his voice steadies something in my chest. “But it means blood instead of precision. Speed instead of caution. Once we light this match, Regina, we burn everything to the ground—no hesitation, no regrets, no turning back.”
“I understand.”
“Do you?” He crosses the space between us, storm-gray eyes searching mine with unsettling intensity.
“Because the moment we accelerate this timeline, you become a target. Sabino will tighten security. He’ll watch every move, monitor every communication.
If he catches even a hint of betrayal before we’re ready—”
“He’ll kill me.” I finish the thought. “I know. But he’s already killing me, Mauricio. Just slower. At least this way, I’m fighting back.”
“What about Giordano?”
The question catches me off guard. “How did you—”
“I’ve been watching security feeds you don’t know about.” His admission is gentle but firm. “I saw him in your room tonight. Heard enough to know he offered to help.”
“You’ve been spying on me?”
“I’ve been protecting my investment.” His correction lacks apology. “You’re a valuable asset, Regina. I’d be stupid not to monitor all variables.”
“Asset.” The word tastes bitter. “Is that all I am to you?”
“You know you’re not. But right now, keeping you alive matters more than validating your feelings. So tell me—what did you tell Giordano?”
“That I’d think about it.” I sink into a chair. “That I needed to talk to you first.”
“It’s not possible.” His statement is blunt. “Including Giordano creates too many exposure points. He’s too close to Sabino, too visible. If we bring him in and things go wrong, your father will know immediately where the betrayal originated.”
“So I just let him think I don’t trust him?”
“You let him think whatever keeps him alive.” Mauricio’s voice softens slightly.
“Regina, I understand loyalty. But sometimes protecting people means pushing them away. I pushed Simeone away for fifteen years. Let him believe I was fine in prison. And you know what? It kept him safe. Sometimes distance is the kindest thing we can offer people we care about.”
The parallel isn’t lost on me. We sit in silence, two people who’ve learned that survival sometimes means isolating those who matter most.
“So what happens now?” I finally ask.
“We get aggressive. We stop waiting for perfect opportunities and start creating them. We take risks we’d normally avoid. And we accept that some things are going to get very messy very quickly.”
“I can handle messy.”
“Can you handle bloody?” His eyes meet mine, serious. “Because that’s what accelerating the timeline means. People will die, Regina. Your father’s people, maybe innocents caught in crossfire. Can you live with that?”
The question should be harder to answer. But I think of Lorenzo Di Noto’s cold calculation, of Father’s hand connecting with my cheek, of twenty-eight years spent being property instead of person.
“Yes,” I say, and mean it. “I can live with that. What I can’t live with is forty-two more days of being a pawn in someone else’s game.”
“Then we start tomorrow.” He closes the laptop with finality. “I’ll contact you with specific instructions. Follow them exactly—no deviations, no improvisation. The margin for error just became razor-thin.”
“Understood.” I stand, preparing to leave, but his voice stops me.
“Regina.” When I turn back, his expression carries something I haven’t seen before—genuine concern mixed with fear. “Once we do this, there’s no going back. We’re about to burn down your entire world.”
“Good.” I meet his gaze steadily. “It was never my world anyway. It was always just a very pretty prison.”
His slight smile holds approval. “Then let’s turn it to ash and see what rises from it.”
I leave before either of us can say something that complicates things further. But as I drive back toward the gilded cage that’s been my home for twenty-eight years, I feel something I haven’t felt in months.
Hope.
Dangerous, reckless, probably foolish hope.
But hope nonetheless.