Chapter 10 Mauricio
Mauricio
“You’re lying to me.”
Regina freezes halfway through pulling documents from her briefcase, green eyes snapping to mine with a mixture of guilt and defiance that confirms every suspicion I’ve been nursing for the past seventy-two hours.
“Excuse me?” Her voice carries that perfect blend of confusion and indignation she’s perfected over twenty-eight years of survival. “I brought you exactly what you asked for—shipping manifests, security protocols, financial transfers—”
“That’s the problem.” I move around the safe house table, watching how her spine straightens as I approach. “You brought me exactly what I asked for. Too exactly. Too perfectly. Like someone who’s being fed information designed to look authentic.”
“You think I’m working with my father?” The hurt that flashes across her face would be convincing if I hadn’t spent three days analyzing every piece of intelligence she’s provided, finding patterns that make my skin crawl.
“I think Sabino Picarelli doesn’t survive this long by being careless.” I stop just outside her personal space, close enough to see her pulse hammering in her throat. “I think he’s testing you. Feeding you information to see what you do with it. And I think you know it.”
The silence that follows is deafening. Regina’s knuckles whiten around the briefcase handle, and I watch her calculate exactly how much truth to reveal versus how much to maintain the comfortable lie we’ve both been living.
“When did you figure it out?” Her voice drops to something raw, stripped of performance.
“When you gave me details that Sabino would only share with his inner circle.” I lean against the table, arms crossed. “Information that specific doesn’t leak—it’s planted. He wanted us to intercept that shipment.”
“Why?” But the way she asks suggests she already knows.
“Because he’s watching to see who you’re working with.
Following the trail of intercepted cargo back to its source.
” I pull out my phone, show her the security footage Tiziano compiled.
“These are surveillance cameras near every location you’ve given us intelligence about.
See the pattern? They’re all positioned to track who responds to the information.
Your father’s been building a map of our organization through you. ”
Her face goes pale beneath expertly applied makeup. “How long have you known?”
“Does it matter?” I can’t keep the edge from my voice. “What matters is that every piece of intelligence you’ve provided has been compromised. Sabino’s been using you as bait, and we’ve been taking it.”
“I didn’t know—” She starts, then stops, jaw tightening. “That’s not true. I suspected. I started noticing the information was too accessible. Files I should have to work to decrypt were suddenly easy to crack. But I convinced myself I was being paranoid.”
“Paranoia keeps people alive in this world.” I close the remaining distance between us, and her breath catches. “Why didn’t you tell me your suspicions?”
“Because I was afraid you’d do exactly this.” Fire enters her eyes, that spark I’ve come to recognize as her refusing to be a victim. “Push me away. Cut me off. Decide I’m too compromised to be useful.”
“You are too compromised—”
“No.” She cuts me off with a hand to my chest, and the contact sends electricity through both of us. “I’m exactly as compromised as I’ve always been. Sabino’s been suspicious since the moment I started accessing his files. Nothing has changed.”
“Everything has changed.” I catch her wrist, not roughly but firmly enough to make my point. “If he’s testing you, it means he’s getting ready to make a move. He’s narrowing down suspects. And when he figures out you’re working with me—”
“He’ll kill me.” She finishes the thought with devastating calm. “I know. But running now doesn’t solve anything. As long as Sabino lives, I’ll never be free. He’ll find me. Track me down. Make an example that ensures no one else gets ideas about betrayal.”
“Then we accelerate the timeline even more—”
“We’re already accelerating!” Her voice rises, frustration and fear bleeding through carefully maintained composure.
“Five weeks until I marry Lorenzo Di Noto, remember? Five weeks until I become someone else’s property.
So, forgive me for not being cautious enough with intelligence gathering when my entire future is counting down in days. ”
The reminder of that wedding—of some entitled bastard treating her like a trophy—ignites something violent in my chest. I release her wrist before I do something stupid like pull her closer.
“You should’ve told me.” The accusation comes out rougher than intended. “The moment you suspected Sabino was testing you, you should’ve contacted me.”
“Why?” Her challenge is sharp. “So, you could tell me what you’re telling me now? That I’m compromised? That working with me put your organization at risk? That maybe I should just disappear and let you handle this without the inconvenient complication of Sabino Picarelli’s daughter?”
“That’s not what I’m saying—”
“Then what are you saying?” She moves closer, and now we’re inches apart, tension crackling between us like a live wire. “Because from where I’m standing, you’re looking for an excuse to push me away. To maintain that careful distance you’ve been so good at preserving.”
“I’m trying to keep you alive.” My hands find her shoulders without permission, steadying or claiming, I’m not entirely sure. “I’m trying to make sure Sabino doesn’t figure out you’ve been betraying him before we’re ready to move.”
“And I’m trying to survive long enough to actually be free.” Her palms rest flat against my chest, and I’m acutely aware she can probably feel how fast my heart is beating. “But you keep treating me like I’m fragile. Like I don’t understand the risks.”
“You’re not fragile—you’re reckless.” The observation comes out harsher than I mean it. “There’s a difference between understanding risks and accepting death as inevitable.”
“Says the man who spent fifteen years in prison protecting someone else.” Her eyes flash with something dangerous. “Don’t lecture me about accepting risk when your entire life has been one calculated gamble after another.”
The accuracy of her read lands like a punch. We’re standing too close now, breathing each other’s air, every point of contact between us charged with electricity that has nothing to do with strategy.
“This is different,” I force out.
“How?” Her voice drops to something intimate, devastating. “How is this different from you protecting Simeone? From you taking the fall so he could build his empire?”
“Because I chose that sacrifice.” My hands tighten on her shoulders. “You didn’t choose any of this. You were born into it. Raised by a monster who murdered your parents. You deserve better than becoming another casualty in a war you never asked to fight.”
“And you deserved better than fifteen years in prison.” Her fingers curl into my shirt.
“But we don’t get what we deserve, Mauricio.
We get what we fight for. And I’m fighting for this—for freedom, for revenge, for the chance to be something other than Sabino Picarelli’s perfectly controlled daughter. ”
“Even if fighting gets you killed?”
“Especially if fighting gets me killed.” Fire burns in her green eyes now, consuming whatever fear she might have. “Because at least then I’ll die as myself instead of living as someone else’s property.”
The conviction in her voice does something uncomfortable to my chest. I recognize that determination—felt it myself during those endless prison years when the only thing keeping me sane was the promise of eventual freedom.
“I can get you out now.” The offer escapes before I can think better of it. “Tonight. New identity, new country, somewhere Sabino’s reach doesn’t extend. You don’t have to stay for the endgame.”
“Yes, I do.” No hesitation. “Because running means Lorenzo Di Noto marries someone else. It means Father continues building his empire. It means Giordano stays trapped in service to a monster. It means my biological parents’ deaths go unavenged. It means nothing changes except my location.”
“You’d be alive—”
“I’d be hiding.” Her correction is firm. “There’s a difference. And I’m done hiding, Mauricio. I’m done performing. I’m done being less than I am so men feel comfortable around me.”
The raw honesty in her admission breaks something in my carefully maintained control. My hand moves to cup her jaw almost without conscious thought, thumb brushing across her cheekbone with devastating gentleness.
“You’re going to get yourself killed.” But my voice has lost its edge, roughened by something that feels dangerously close to actual emotion.
“Probably.” Her eyes search mine, pupils dilated, breath coming faster. “But at least I’ll die trying instead of surviving in a cage.”
“Regina—” Her name comes out like a prayer and a curse combined.
“Don’t.” She rises slightly on her toes, bringing her lips dangerously close to mine. “Don’t tell me again why this is a bad idea. Don’t explain the strategic risks. Don’t treat me like I’m a problem you need to solve.”
“Then what do you want me to do?” The question emerges raw, stripped of the armor I’ve been maintaining.
“I want you to stop pretending you don’t feel this.” Her hand slides up to my neck, fingers threading through my hair. “I want you to stop calculating every risk and just feel something real for once.”
“Feeling things gets people killed.” But even as I say it, I’m pulling her closer, eliminating the remaining distance between us.
“Then let me feel alive before I die.” Her lips brush against mine, barely a whisper of contact. “Please, Mauricio. Just this once, stop being the man who survived prison and be the man who wants me.”
The last thread of my control snaps.