Chapter 16 Regina
Regina
“You’re not coming with me.”
Mauricio’s declaration lands like a slap across the breakfast table, coffee cup freezing halfway to my mouth. I set it down with deliberate precision, meeting his storm-gray eyes with a calm I absolutely don’t feel.
“I’m sorry—did I suddenly become someone who takes orders from you?
” My voice carries that perfect blend of polite confusion and barely concealed rage I’ve perfected over twenty-eight years.
“Because I distinctly remember escaping one controlling man. I’m not interested in replacing him with another. ”
“This isn’t about control.” He leans back in his chair, arms crossed, looking every inch the man who survived fifteen years in prison. “It’s about tactical reality. The meeting with the Rotterdam contacts is high-risk. If something goes wrong—”
“Then having backup would be smart.” I interrupt, standing to clear my plate with movements sharp enough to communicate exactly how I feel about his sudden protective instincts. “Two people covering each other is better than one person walking into potential ambush.”
“Two targets are easier to hit than one.”
“Two shooters have better odds than one.” I spin to face him, plate clattering into the sink harder than necessary. “Stop trying to sideline me with strategic justifications when we both know this is about you deciding I’m too fragile to handle field operations.”
Something dangerous flashes across his features—the look he gets when I’ve hit too close to truth. “That’s not what I’m doing.”
“Isn’t it?” I move back to the table, planting my hands on the surface and leaning forward until we’re inches apart.
“Since we got to this cabin, you’ve been treating me like decorative intelligence.
Useful for information, but not for actual operations.
I gather evidence, you execute plans. I strategize, you take action.
When exactly do I become an active participant instead of just protected cargo? ”
“When you’ve had proper training.” His jaw tightens. “Combat experience. Field work that doesn’t involve climbing down trellises in the middle of the night.”
The dismissal in his tone ignites something volatile in my chest. “You think I don’t have training?”
“I think you have theoretical knowledge.” He stands, matching my aggressive posture. “I think Sabino gave you business education, maybe some self-defense basics. But actual combat? Real tactical situations? That requires experience you don’t have.”
“Assumptions.” I straighten, smile sharp enough to cut. “You’re making assumptions about what I can and can’t do based on what—my appearance? My background as the decorative daughter?”
“I’m making assessments based on what I’ve observed.
” But there’s uncertainty creeping into his voice now, like he’s realizing this conversation isn’t going the direction he planned.
“Regina, I’ve seen you in crisis situations.
You’re smart, resourceful, brave—but that doesn’t translate to combat readiness. ”
“Show me.”
“What?”
“Show me.” I gesture to the open space near the fireplace, adrenaline already flooding my system. “If you’re so certain I’m unprepared for field operations, prove it. Right now. You and me, hand-to-hand. Let’s see exactly how helpless this decorative daughter really is.”
He stares at me like I’ve suggested we set ourselves on fire. “You want to fight me?”
“I want to demonstrate that you’re underestimating me.” I’m already moving furniture, creating space. “Because if we’re going to be partners—real partners, not just you protecting me while I hide—you need to understand what I’m actually capable of.”
“Regina, I outweigh you by at least sixty pounds—”
“And I’ve spent my entire life being trained by a paranoid monster who believed his daughter should be fashioned into a weapon that can handle any threat.
” I turn to face him, hands loose at my sides, centered in a way that comes from years of practice.
“Sabino might be a murderer and a manipulator, but he was thorough. So stop making excuses and show me why you think I’m not ready. ”
For a long moment, we just stare at each other like the two predators. We’re assessing, calculating. Then something shifts in his expression.
“If I hurt you—” he starts.
“You won’t.” The certainty in my voice comes from muscle memory and countless hours in Sabino’s private training facility. “But you might be surprised by what happens instead.”
He moves into the cleared space with that predatory grace I’ve come to recognize, and suddenly the air between us feels charged with something dangerous. Not just the potential for violence, but awareness crackling like electricity.
“Rules?” His voice drops lower, intimate despite the context.
“No permanent damage. No going for eyes or throat.” I mirror his stance, weight balanced, ready. “Everything else is fair game. First person pinned for three seconds loses.”
“You’re sure about this?”
“Stop stalling.” I flash him a smile that’s all teeth. “Unless you’re afraid of being bested by someone you’ve been treating like fragile cargo.”
That does it. His eyes flash with something between amusement and challenge, and suddenly he’s moving—fast, controlled, testing my reflexes with a grab that would immobilize most people.
I’m not most people.
I sidestep, redirecting his momentum with a technique Sabino drilled into me until it became instinct. Mauricio stumbles slightly—not enough to lose balance, but enough to show surprise—and I use the opening to move behind him, fingers finding pressure points that would disable if I pressed harder.
“Huh.” His voice carries approval. “That was—”
I don’t let him finish. Can’t afford to let him think, can’t give him time to adjust his strategy to my actual skill level. I sweep his leg, using his weight against him, and suddenly we’re both going down—controlled fall, but fall nonetheless.
We hit the floor in a tangle of limbs, both scrambling for advantage.
His hand catches my wrist, pinning it, but I twist free using a move that requires flexibility he clearly wasn’t expecting.
My knee finds his solar plexus—not hard enough to actually hurt, just hard enough to communicate capability.
“Christ,” he gasps, and now there’s heat in his eyes that has nothing to do with combat and everything to do with the way our bodies are pressed together on the cabin floor. “Where did you learn that?”
“I told you.” I try to gain leverage, but his other hand catches my hip, thumb pressing against a nerve cluster that makes my leg momentarily weak. “Sabino was thorough in my education.”
“Thorough is an understatement.” He uses my momentary weakness to flip our positions, pinning me beneath him with his weight distributed in ways that should immobilize but somehow just make me more aware of every point of contact. “Though I’m noticing he taught you more offense than defense.”
“Defense is boring.” I arch my hips, trying to buck him off, and feel exactly how this sparring session is affecting him—hardness pressing against my thigh that makes my breath catch. “And you’re distracted.”
“You’re the distraction.” But he doesn’t move, doesn’t use his advantage, just stares down at me with eyes gone dark with something that isn’t entirely about combat anymore. “Regina—”
I don’t let him finish. Can’t afford to let the moment shift from competition to whatever dangerous territory we’re approaching. I use a technique that involves pain compliance—nothing permanent, just enough discomfort to create an opening—and suddenly our positions reverse again.
This time when I pin him, I make it count. Knee between his shoulder blades, hand controlling his wrist at an angle that would hurt if he struggled, body weight distributed in ways that make escape difficult without potentially causing injury.
“Three seconds,” I count aloud, breathing hard. “One. Two. Three.”
I release him immediately, rolling away and standing in one fluid motion that Sabino’s trainers spent months perfecting. Mauricio stays on the floor for a moment longer, chest heaving, expression caught between impressed and aroused in ways that make heat pool low in my belly.
“You pinned me.” He finally sits up, running a hand through silver hair now mussed from our combat. “You actually pinned me.”
“I told you I could defend myself.” I offer him a hand up, trying to ignore how my own pulse is racing from adrenaline and proximity and the way he’s looking at me now—like seeing me for the first time. “Still think I’m too fragile for field operations?”
He takes my hand, but instead of just standing, he uses the leverage to pull me close—suddenly we’re chest to chest, breathing each other’s air, tension crackling between us in ways that have nothing to do with combat training.
“I think,” he says, voice rough with something that sounds like desire and respect braided together, “that I’ve been a complete idiot.”
“Elaborate.” My hands rest against his chest, feeling his heart hammer beneath my palms.
“I’ve been so focused on protecting you that I forgot to actually see you.” His thumb traces my jaw, the gesture achingly gentle after the violence we just shared. “You’re not someone who needs protecting, Regina. You’re someone who needs a partner who trusts your capabilities.”
“And do you?” The question comes out vulnerable despite my best efforts. “Trust me?”
“After watching you take me down using techniques I’ve only seen in military training?” His smile is genuine, warm. “Yeah. I trust you. And I’m sorry I’ve been treating you like you needed wrapping in bubble wrap instead of giving you room to show what you can actually do.”
The apology does something warm to my chest. “So, the Rotterdam meeting?”
“Fuck the Rotterdam meeting. We’ll go straight for Sabino’s private vault to get the ledgers.” No hesitation now, just acceptance. “This changes everything. We’ll plan and execute it together.”
“Good.” I lean closer, lips barely brushing his. “Because watching you try to be all noble and protective was getting old.”
“Was it?” His hands find my hips, pulling me flush against him, and I feel exactly how much our sparring session affected him. “Or were you enjoying making me prove my assumptions wrong?”
“Maybe both.” I close the remaining distance, kissing him with all the adrenaline still flooding my system from combat and victory and finally—finally—being seen as capable instead of fragile.
His response is immediate, hands tightening on my hips, mouth claiming mine with heat that has nothing to do with combat and everything to do with the chemistry we’ve been dancing around since that first coffee shop meeting.
When we finally break apart, I’m breathing hard for entirely different reasons.
“We should probably—” he starts.
“Probably,” I agree, even as my hands slide under his shirt, exploring lean muscle still warm from exertion.
His eyes darken, storm-gray becoming almost black with desire. “Regina—”
“Stop thinking,” I murmur against his mouth. “Just feel.”
I grab his cock through his pants, squeezing hard enough to make him hiss. Then, I make quick work of his belt, unzipping his pants with practiced efficiency that makes his breath catch. He’s hard, already leaking against his stomach when I free him, thick and heavy and demanding.
“Christ,” he breathes as I stroke him once, twice, learning his length and response. Then I’m dropping to my knees on the rug, taking him into my mouth without warning.
“Regina—fuck—” His hands tangle in my hair, not controlling, just holding on as I take him deeper, using every trick I know to drive him wild. My tongue traces the sensitive vein along the underside, my hand follows the movement, while my other hand cups his balls, rolling them gently.
“Look at me.” His voice is rough velvet, and I obey, looking up at him with his cock still in my mouth. The expression on his face—possession and awe and something that looks terrifyingly like adoration—makes my core clench.
I pull back slightly, swirling my tongue around the head before taking him deep again. His hips buck involuntarily, and I relax my throat to accommodate him, swallowing around him until his control finally shatters.
I suck harder, faster, until he tenses with a hoarse cry, spilling down my throat. I swallow every drop, then lick him clean while he trembles from the force of his orgasm.
I lie next to him on the cabin floor, listening to his speeding heartbeat, his body still thrumming with aftershocks. Mauricio’s fingers trace lazy patterns on my hip, and I feel something settle in my chest that’s been unsettled for too long.
“So,” he finally says, voice rough with satisfaction. “We should start adjusting our plan to our new target.”
I laugh despite myself, turning to face him. “I just gave you a mind-blowing blowjob on the floor, and your first thought is tactical planning?”
“My first thought is keeping you alive long enough to get another blowjob.” But he’s smiling, genuine warmth beneath the strategic thinking. “Though I’ll admit, watching you fight has given me ideas for other training scenarios we could explore.”
“Is that your way of asking for a rematch?”
“That’s my way of acknowledging I have a very competent, very dangerous partner.” His thumb brushes across my lower lip. “And maybe admitting that watching you demonstrate those skills was the most arousing thing I’ve seen in fifteen years.”
Heat flares in my belly again, but I force myself to focus. “Work first. Then we can explore exactly how much my combat skills affect you.”
“Deal.” He kisses me once more—soft, claiming, promising things neither of us should probably promise given our circumstances. “Welcome to real partnership, Regina. Try not to make me regret trusting your capabilities.”
“Try not to forget them again,” I counter. “Because I’m done being treated like decorative cargo. From now on, we’re equals in this—strategy, execution, danger, everything.”
“Equals,” he agrees. “Though I reserve the right to still worry about you occasionally.”
“I’ll allow it.” I stand, offering him my hand again. “As long as you trust me to handle myself when it matters.”
He takes my hand, standing with fluid grace that suggests he’s still assessing my capabilities, still recalculating what he thought he knew about my training.
Good.
Let him wonder. Let him respect the fact that Sabino’s daughter learned more than just business strategy and perfect manners.
Let him understand that I’m not just someone worth protecting—I’m someone worth fighting beside.
And together, we’re going to burn down my father’s empire and build something new from the ashes.