Chapter 23 Regina
Regina
“I can still smell the gunpowder.”
The words fall into the cabin’s silence like stones into deep water. I sit curled on the couch, wrapped in one of Mauricio’s shirts that smells like cedar and safety, watching dawn break over mountains that don’t care about blood or bullets or the weight of killing your father.
Mauricio doesn’t look up from the coffee he’s making, doesn’t offer platitudes about it getting easier or time healing wounds. He just pours two cups with a steadiness of someone who understands that some actions can’t be undone, only survived.
“It’ll fade,” he says finally, bringing me coffee that’s too strong and exactly what I need.
“The smell. The way his face looked when he realized you actually pulled the trigger. The sound of him hitting the floor.” He settles beside me, close but not crowding.
“What doesn’t fade is the knowledge that you did what needed to be done. ”
“Does that make it easier?” I wrap my hands around the mug, seeking warmth that has nothing to do with temperature. “Knowing it was necessary?”
“No.” His honesty cuts cleaner than comfort would. “But it makes it survivable.”
We sit in silence punctuated only by coffee sips and the distant sound of David’s men patrolling the property. Three days since I shot Sabino. Seventy-two hours since I became a killer. The world should feel different, but instead everything just feels... quiet.
My phone buzzes with another text from Borghese. The detective has been updating us hourly, her messages clinical and efficient:
Crime scene processed. Narrative established: Sabino Picarelli was killed in a shootout during the attempted kidnapping of his daughter, Regina. Self-defense ruling likely. Federal warrants have been executed on the remaining organization members.
Then, an hour later,
Eighteen arrests were made using ledger evidence. RICO charges filed. Eastern territory operations completely dismantled. You’re safe.
And this morning,
Rosalia Picarelli was arrested at the airport with $4.2M in embezzled funds. Facing 15-20 years. She’s not your problem anymore.
I should feel something about Rosalia’s arrest—satisfaction, maybe, or vindication that the woman who saw me as competition is facing consequences. Instead, I feel nothing. She’s just another piece of wreckage from a life I’m trying to leave behind.
“Borghese wants to meet,” I tell Mauricio, showing him the latest message. “Says she needs my statement for the official report, but the self-defense angle is solid. No charges are being filed against me.”
“Because you were defending yourself.” His hand finds mine, thumb tracing circles on my palm. “That’s not a lie, Regina. He would have killed you if you hadn’t acted first.”
“I know.” And I do. Logically, rationally, I understand that Sabino’s death was justified. That he murdered my parents, raised me as property, would have used me until I stopped being useful, and then disposed of me without hesitation.
But logic doesn’t stop me from seeing his face every time I close my eyes. Doesn’t erase the memory of pulling the trigger on the man who taught me to read, who attended my school performances, who played the role of father so convincingly that sometimes I almost believed it was real.
“He wasn’t your father,” Mauricio says quietly, reading my thoughts with the accuracy that should probably unsettle me but instead feels like relief. “He was your captor. The fact that he occasionally showed you kindness doesn’t change what he fundamentally was.”
“A monster.”
“A monster,” he agrees. “Who’s dead now and can’t hurt anyone else.”
My phone buzzes again. This time it’s a longer message from Borghese:
Giordano Caselli entered witness protection this morning.
His testimony secured convictions for eight additional murders and detailed operations spanning two decades.
He asked me to tell you he’s proud of you and hopes you find the happiness you deserve.
You won’t be able to contact him, but he’s safe.
The news hits harder than expected. Giordano—my quiet guardian, the man who protected me when he didn’t have to—disappearing into a new identity while I figure out who I am without Sabino’s shadow defining me.
“He’ll be okay,” Mauricio says, reading the message over my shoulder. “Witness protection is secure, especially with the kind of testimony he provided. And he gets medical care for those injuries, reduced sentencing, a chance at something resembling a normal life.”
“He deserves that.” I blink back tears that feel too complicated to name. “He deserves everything good after years of serving a monster while trying to protect me from the worst of it.”
“He got what he wanted.” Mauricio’s voice softens slightly. “You, free. Sabino, dead. And justice, served. That’s probably worth more to him than any new identity.”
I lean into him, seeking the solid warmth that’s become my anchor in aftermath chaos. His arm wraps around me automatically, pulling me close in a way that feels less like possession and more like partnership.
“What happens now?” I ask the question that’s been circling my mind since Sabino’s body hit the church floor. “Borghese says the legal issues are handled. The organization is dismantled. But what about us?”
“What about us?”
“Do we...” I struggle to articulate thoughts I haven’t fully formed. “Stay together? Go our separate ways now that the job is done? Figure out if what we have is real or just proximity and danger?”
The silence that follows feels weighted with possibility and fear in equal measure. We fell for each other in the middle of a war, built our connection on shared goals of destroying a monster. But what happens when the monster’s dead and the war is over?
“Regina.” Mauricio shifts so we’re face-to-face, his storm-gray eyes serious.
“I didn’t spend weeks planning Sabino’s destruction and risking everything just to walk away from you when it’s finished.
What we have isn’t proximity. It’s not just danger or convenience or a partnership that expires when objectives are met. ”
“Then what is it?”
“It’s you telling me I’m arrogant and then proving you’re smarter than half my contacts combined.
It’s planning financial terrorism before breakfast and looking damn good doing it.
It’s trust built in circumstances where trust should be impossible.
” His hand cups my face, thumb tracing my cheekbone. “It’s real, if you want it to be.”
“I want it to be.” The admission feels like another kind of freedom.
“But I don’t know who I am without him, Mauricio.
Twenty-eight years of being Sabino Picarelli’s daughter—his property, his asset, his carefully groomed bargaining chip—and now I’m just..
. nothing. No family, no organization, no identity beyond ‘the woman who killed her father.”
“You’re Regina.” His correction is gentle but absolute. “Smart, strategic, dangerous when necessary. The woman who survived twenty-eight years in a gilded cage and came out strong enough to destroy the man who built it. That’s who you are. Everything else is just details we figure out together.”
“Together?” Hope threads through the word despite my best efforts at self-protection.
“Together.” He confirms it like a vow. “We leave the country for a while—let the dust settle, let bounties expire, let the media circus around Sabino’s death die down. We go somewhere warm where no one knows our names and we’re just two people figuring out what comes next.”
The image settles in my mind with unexpected clarity: beaches and anonymity, mornings that don’t involve planning someone’s destruction, nights spent exploring connection without the constant threat of violence. A life that’s just... life. Simple. Uncomplicated. Mine.
“Where would we go?”
“Anywhere you want.” He’s already pulling out his phone, showing me a list of locations he’s apparently been researching. “Greece. Croatia. Portugal. Small coastal towns where Americans with cash don’t attract attention and extradition treaties are more suggestion than law.”
I study the options, each one representing a future I never let myself imagine. “What about your obligations to Simeone? The organization?”
“Simeone will survive without me. He doesn’t need me.
” Mauricio’s smile carries affection and certainty.
“He’s got Loriana and Alessandro, an empire that’s running smoothly, and Tiziano to handle operations.
My presence only brings up complicated feelings of guilt.
He doesn’t deserve that, and neither do I.
And honestly, I need distance from this life for a while. ”
“To figure out who you are when you’re not just surviving?” I echo his earlier words back at him.
“Exactly.” He sets the phone aside, giving me his full attention. “Fifteen years in prison, then immediately into planning your father’s destruction. I haven’t had time to just... exist. To figure out what I want beyond revenge and loyalty and keeping people I care about safe.”
“And you want to figure that out with me?”
“I want to figure it out with you.” The certainty in his voice settles something restless in my chest. “If you’ll have me. If you want to spend a long while on some beach drinking wine and pretending we’re normal people with normal problems.”
“We’re never going to be normal people.”
“No,” he agrees, that dangerous smile spreading across his face. “But we can pretend. At least until we get bored and start planning someone else’s destruction for entertainment.”
The laugh that escapes surprises me—genuine amusement breaking through the weight of aftermath. “You think we’d get bored with peace?”
“I think we’d find ways to make peace interesting.” His hand slides into my hair, tilting my face up. “But let’s find out together.”
I kiss him then, tasting coffee and possibility and the future we’re building from the ashes of my father’s empire. When we finally break apart, both breathing hard, I know what my answer is.
“Italy,” I decide. “Our ancestors’ homeland. Somewhere with blue water and absolutely no one who knows what we’ve done.”
“Italy, it is.” He pulls me close again, and I sink into the embrace with relief that feels like coming home. “We’ll leave in a few days. Give Borghese her statement today, tie up the remaining loose ends, then disappear for as long as we need.”
“What about the inheritance?” The question feels obligatory, even though I already know my answer. “Technically, as Sabino’s daughter—”
“There is no inheritance.” Mauricio’s correction is firm. “Federal seizure took everything. The estates, the accounts, the businesses—all of it seized as proceeds of criminal enterprise. You inherit nothing.”
“Good.” And I mean it with surprising vehemence. “I don’t want his blood money. Don’t want to build anything on a foundation of corpses and crimes. Whatever comes next, I want it to be ours—built from scratch, clean.”
“Then that’s what we’ll do.” He kisses my temple, and I feel the promise in the gesture. “Build something clean. Something ours. Something that has nothing to do with empires or revenge or the weight of names we didn’t choose.”
My phone buzzes one more time. Borghese, with her final update:
Case closed. Self-defense ruling confirmed. No charges, though we still need your statement. You’re free, Miss Picarelli. Make the most of it.
I show the message to Mauricio, feeling the words settle like a benediction.
“Free,” I repeat, testing the word. “I’m actually free.”
“You are.” His smile carries understanding of exactly what that means. “So what do you want to do with that freedom?”
I look at him—silver hair catching early light, scar tracing his jaw, storm-gray eyes that have seen too much violence but still look at me with something soft.
The man who helped me destroy my father.
Who gave me the choice, even when the easier path would have been to handle everything himself?
Who’s offering me a future with no strings attached except the ones we weave together.
“I want to leave,” I say finally. “Leave the country, leave the organization, leave everything that connects me to Sabino Picarelli and his empire. I want to wake up somewhere warm where the biggest decision I face is what to have for breakfast. I want to figure out who Regina is when she’s not surviving. ”
“Then that’s what we’ll do.” He stands, pulling me up with him. “Pack light. I’ll take care of the transport.”
“Where are we going exactly?”
“Sicily first.” He’s already moving toward the bedroom, planning our escape. “I’ll rent a small villa under a name that can’t be traced. We stay there for a month, maybe two, just existing. Then we decide what comes next.”
“Just like that?” I follow him, feeling something that might be hope unfurling in my chest. “We just... leave? Start over?”
“Just like that.” He turns back, taking my hands in his. “Unless you’d rather stay here, rebuild in the shadow of everything we destroyed—”
“No.” The answer comes without hesitation. “I want Italy. I want blue water and mornings where no one’s trying to kill us. Want to figure out if what we have survives without danger keeping us together.”
“It will.” His confidence should probably annoy me, but instead it’s comforting. “We’re not held together by danger, Regina. We’re held together by choice. And that doesn’t expire when the threats do.”
I kiss him again, slower this time, tasting promise and future and freedom that’s finally, actually mine.
“Then let’s choose it,” I murmur against his lips. “Let’s choose each other and Italy and whatever comes after. Let’s choose to be more than survivors.”
“Deal.” He grins, and for the first time in three days, I feel something besides weight and exhaustion. “Now pack. We’ve got a flight to catch and a future to figure out.”
I move toward the closet, already mentally cataloging what to bring to a new life built on nothing but choice and possibility. Behind me, Mauricio makes calls—arranging transportation, confirming reservations, handling logistics with efficient precision.
And for the first time since I pulled the trigger on the man who raised me, I feel something other than relief or guilt or exhaustion.
I feel hope.