Chapter 20 Regina
Regina
“If you’re wearing a wire, Detective, I’m going to be very disappointed.”
The words leave my mouth before Mauricio can stop me, and I watch Detective Elisabetta Borghese’s eyebrows climb toward her hairline.
She’s exactly what I expected from Father’s rants—sharp-eyed, unflinching, wearing a cheap blazer that somehow makes her look more dangerous than any designer suit ever could.
“No wire.” She spreads her arms, turning slowly in the empty parking garage we chose for this meeting. “Though I appreciate the directness. Your father always said you were smarter than you pretended to be.”
“My father says a lot of things.” I step forward, acutely aware of Mauricio’s presence at my back—solid, protective, his hand probably resting near the gun tucked against his spine. “Most of them are lies designed to manipulate whoever’s listening.”
“Fair assessment.” Borghese’s gaze flicks to Mauricio, assessing him with the kind of professional interest that comes from years of reading dangerous men. “Mr. Barone. The shoulder healing well?”
“Well enough to put a bullet in anyone who threatens her.” His voice carries that rough edge I’m learning means he’s on high alert. “Let’s skip the pleasantries, Detective. You said you have immunity agreements?”
She reaches slowly into her briefcase—telegraphing every movement so Mauricio doesn’t shoot her—and pulls out a folder thick with legal documents.
“Federal immunity for Miss Picarelli, covering any crimes committed under duress or coercion. Witness protection if she needs it, though given Mr. Codella’s resources, that might be redundant. ”
I take the folder with hands that tremble slightly, scanning legal language that I’ve dreamed about for years. It’s real. Actual immunity, signed by people whose names I recognize from news coverage of major prosecutions.
“This is legitimate,” I breathe, looking up at Borghese with something between hope and suspicion. “Why?”
“Because your father murdered my partner.” The words come out flat, emotionless, but I see the grief underneath.
“Nine years ago. Landon was investigating Sabino’s trafficking operations, got too close, and ended up in the river with two bullets in his head.
Officially ruled a mob hit by persons unknown.
I’ve been building this case ever since. ”
The raw honesty steals my response. This isn’t just professional dedication—it’s personal vendetta wrapped in legal procedure.
“I’m sorry for your loss,” I finally manage.
“Don’t be sorry. Help me make sure he pays for it.” Borghese pulls out another folder. “This is my federal case—eight years of evidence, testimony, and financial records. But I’m missing one crucial piece.”
“The ledgers,” Mauricio says.
“The ledgers.” She meets his gaze directly. “With those, I can connect everything. Prove the trafficking, the murders, the bribes. Without them, I have a strong case that could still fall apart with the right legal maneuvering.”
I look at Mauricio, seeing my own hesitation reflected in his storm-gray eyes. We stole those ledgers to destroy Father ourselves, to burn his empire using the intelligence I’ve gathered for years. Handing them to law enforcement feels like giving up control.
But it also feels like finally having legitimate power instead of just desperate revenge.
“We have conditions,” I say, decision crystallizing with startling clarity.
“I’d be disappointed if you didn’t.” Borghese pulls out a notepad, pen poised. “What do you need?”
“Giordano Caselli.” His name catches in my throat. “Father’s enforcer. He helped me escape, and Father’s been torturing him as punishment. When you move against Sabino, I need you to make sure Giordano gets medical attention and immunity, too.”
Borghese’s pen pauses. “Giordano Caselli has killed people, Miss Picarelli. Specifically, he’s killed at least eight people we can prove. Immunity for him is complicated.”
“So is everything about this situation.” I step closer, letting her see exactly how serious I am.
“Giordano has been gathering his own evidence against Father for years. He has information about hits I don’t know about, operations I’ve never seen.
He’s been protecting me since I was ten years old, and if you can’t save him, then maybe your federal case isn’t as strong as you think. ”
The challenge hangs between us, and I watch Borghese calculate—weighing the value of Giordano’s testimony against the crimes he’s committed.
“I can offer him a deal,” she finally says. “Testimony in exchange for reduced sentencing. He’ll do time, but not life. And I’ll make sure he gets medical attention immediately when we raid Sabino’s estate.”
It’s not perfect. But it’s more than I had five minutes ago.
“Deal,” I say, before Mauricio can object. “When do you move?”
“Soon.” Borghese closes her notepad with decisive finality. “I need time to coordinate with federal prosecutors, get warrants signed, and assemble the tactical teams. But once I have those ledgers, I can move fast.”
“There are still twenty-five million worth of bounties on our heads.”
“Which is why you’re going to disappear completely.
” Borghese pulls out yet another folder—this woman came prepared.
“Safe house coordinates, secured by federal marshals who don’t know what case they’re protecting.
You stay there, don’t contact anyone, don’t take any risks. Before you know it, this will be over.”
“Just like that?” Skepticism colors my voice. “We hand over everything we have, hide in a federal safe house, and trust that you’ll actually follow through?”
“No.” Her correction is gentle but firm. “You hand over evidence, hide in a secure location, and watch as I do what I’ve been preparing for eight years to do. You don’t have to trust me completely, Miss Picarelli. You just have to trust that I want Sabino Picarelli destroyed even more than you do.”
This woman isn’t lying—she’s been living for this moment, building this case brick by brick while Father dismissed her as an annoyance he couldn’t quite eliminate.
“The ledgers are in our car,” Mauricio says, making the decision for both of us. “Along with the evidence Regina gathered throughout her own years of snooping around, financial records, encrypted communications, and testimony she’s documented about his crimes.”
“And Dr. Muni’s psychological evaluation,” I add, pulling out my phone. “He’s standing by to provide expert testimony about Father’s systematic abuse and manipulation. Three years of session notes documenting everything.”
Borghese’s expression transforms—predatory satisfaction replacing professional neutrality. “You’ve built half my case for me.”
“I’ve been building it for years,” I correct. “You’re just the first person with actual power to use it properly.”
We walk to our car in tense silence, and I feel the weight of seven years lifting with each step.
The ledgers that felt like my only weapon, the evidence I’ve gathered in stolen moments, the documentation that’s been my secret rebellion—all of it about to become something bigger than just my personal vendetta.
Mauricio pulls the leather-bound ledger from our trunk, along with three flash drives containing everything I’ve compiled. His hand rests on the small of my back as he hands everything to Borghese, and I draw strength from that contact.
“If anything happens to her,” Mauricio says, voice dropping to something dangerous, “immunity agreements won’t save you from me, Detective.”
“Noted.” But Borghese is already flipping through the ledger, eyes widening as she processes exactly what she’s holding. “Christ. This is... Miss Picarelli, do you understand what you’ve given me? This isn’t just evidence—this is a roadmap to dismantling his entire organization.”
“Good.” I meet her gaze directly. “Use it. Make sure when you move against him, there’s nothing left except prison bars and regret.”
“Oh, I intend to.” She closes the ledger with reverence usually reserved for religious texts.
“But I need you both to understand something. When I move against Sabino, and this becomes public, your life will change forever, Miss Picarelli. You’ll be the daughter who destroyed her father.
Some people will see you as a hero. Others will see you as a traitor. That reputation follows you.”
“I’ve been living with reputations I didn’t earn for twenty-eight years.” My hand finds Mauricio’s, fingers lacing through his with a desperate need for connection. “At least this one will be honest.”
Borghese nods slowly, studying us with an expression I can’t quite read. “You two make an interesting pair. The daughter who betrayed her father and the man who spent fifteen years protecting loyalty. What happens after this is over?”
“We figure out who we are when we’re not just surviving,” Mauricio answers honestly. “We build something that isn’t just revenge or rebellion.”
“Then I hope I’m giving you that chance.” Borghese tucks the ledgers and evidence under her arm with the care of someone handling nitroglycerin. “Stay hidden, stay safe, and let me do what I’ve been preparing for eight years to do.”
She’s walking away when I call out, voice cracking with emotion I can’t quite contain. “Detective?”
She turns back, eyebrows raised.
“If it comes to it—” I take a breath, steadying myself. “If the legal approach fails, if Father somehow slips through every charge—I’ll kill him myself. I just wanted you to know that. So you understand what’s at stake.”
The silence that follows is heavy with implications. Borghese should probably arrest me for that admission, should read me my rights and explain how premeditated immunity agreements don’t cover murder.
Instead, she smiles—small, understanding, tinged with something that looks like approval.
“I hope it won’t come to that,” she says quietly. “But if it does? I understand. And I’ll make sure any evidence gets buried where it can’t hurt you.”
Then she’s gone, disappearing into the parking garage shadows with everything I’ve gathered, everything I’ve sacrificed, everything I’ve risked for seven years.
I collapse against the car, adrenaline finally crashing, and Mauricio’s arms wrap around me before I can fully process what just happened.
“We did it,” I whisper against his chest, feeling his heartbeat steady and strong beneath my palm. “We actually did it.”
“We did.” His lips brush against my temple. “But it’s not over yet, Regina. We need to wait until Borghese moves, and every second of that, your father’s going to be hunting us.”
“Let him hunt.” I pull back enough to meet his eyes, seeing my own fierce determination reflected in storm-gray depths. “We’re not running anymore. We’re just waiting for the hammer to fall.”
“Poetic.” But he’s smiling, that dangerous expression that makes heat pool low in my belly. “Though I’d prefer if the hammer fell on Sabino instead of us.”
“That’s the plan.” I rise on my toes, pressing a kiss to his jaw. “Now let’s get to that federal safe house before someone collects on our bounties.”
“We’re not going to the federal house.”
“Oh?” I raise my brows.
“I might be working with the feds, but I don’t trust them,” he tells me. “The cabin hasn’t been compromised. We’re going back.”
I stare at him for a long moment, then burst out laughing. The sound is slightly hysterical, slightly unhinged, but it feels right—like releasing pressure that’s been building for twenty-eight years.
“You’re incredible,” I tell him, shaking my head. “I hand over all our evidence, make a deal with federal authorities, and your first instinct is to reject their protection plan in favor of your own.”
“Our own,” he corrects, pulling me close again. “Our cabin. Our security. Our backup plans. I’ve survived this long by trusting myself, not government officials who can be bought or threatened.”
I take his hand and squeeze. “I trust you.”