Chapter 9

ROSALIND

It took hours to scour the grounds, and I have the information the firm needs, but the sun is rising too quickly. Thank fuck the pool house backs onto woodland because that's the only thing standing between me and getting caught.

I lie flat within the undergrowth, my heart pounding loud enough to drown out the woman's screams. Every few minutes, an armed guard lumbers close enough to my hiding place to shoot the back of my head, but they're all focused on the commotion.

My phone's reception up here is spotty at best, and these files are taking an eternity to upload. Gunther keeps sending me texts, requiring more footage, more pictures, more ways to penetrate the Montesano stronghold.

At times like this, I wish I had entered a less nerve-wracking profession, like venom-milking, landmine-removing, or stunts. But without the Moirai's resources or training, I'd never have been able to take back Miranda. She makes the bullshit I endure worthwhile.

I told Gunther I was here with Leroi because I wasn't authorized to approach Cesare, but the OPA isn't infallible. A small percentage of people are resistant to the drug and can wake up after a few hours without the antidote.

Gunther knows that some people who ingest it inhale their own vomit and choke, but that's a risk he's willing to take because it's a natural death.

Eventually, the screaming stops, and the small crowd at the side of the house disperses. Most of the men saunter in the direction of the driveway, where I'm sure there's some other spectacle.

My phone's progress bar has been stuck at 92% for what feels like an hour. I could leave the handset here to continue uploading, but I still haven't paid off the firm for all the equipment I destroyed the time I took Miranda.

"Hurry the fuck up," I whisper to my phone.

Sunlight filters through the thick canopy and warms my back, making me break out into a sweat. It was dark when I put Cesare to bed, and dark when I prowled around the mansion, recording all the doors, windows, and vulnerabilities.

The sun was barely rising when I walked around the grounds, taking in the electrified and barbed wire fencing that top the estate's tall walls. Now all that hard work is about to be ruined because the cellphone towers can't quite reach the summit of Alderney Hill.

I crawl on my belly toward the back of the pool house, hoping the connection there is better. An ultra-rich mafia household should be able to arrange a reliable connection, right?

My phone buzzes with a message from Gunther.

Files received. Permission granted to return to Leroi and administer the antidote.

Finally!

I text back about Cesare:

Do I have permission to proceed with T3?

He replies with:

Permission denied.

I grind my teeth. Killing even one Montesano brother wouldn't just pay off the amount I owe the firm. I'd have enough money to quit the Moirai and get a normal job that allows me to see Miranda every day. We could form a connection, be a real family, and maybe start building better memories.

We could cook together in our own kitchen without the threat of the firm breathing down my neck. Hell, I'd even welcome something as simple as spending weekends lazing around. I want eye contact, conversations, the chance to make her smile.

All of that could be possible with enough money, but Gunther wants to keep me indebted. That way, he can send me out on menial missions and torture me in perpetuity for refusing his sexual advances.

If I leave the firm with an outstanding balance, I won't just die. Gunther might also take Miranda.

At this rate, I'll work for the Moirai Group until the day I expire.

"Asshole."

I crawl through the shrubbery, making my way back to the pool house. The bathroom window I left open is still ajar, and I climb in without a sound.

After stripping off the catsuit, I spread it on the bath and dissolve it with solvent. Then I turn on the shower to wash away the evidence. Once the black liquid disappears down the drain, I climb into the tub and let the hot water soak my hair and skin.

I take one last look around the bathroom before unlocking the door and stepping into the playroom where I left Cesare. He's sprawled on his front, in a different position, but that's not unusual. Targets who are resistant to drugs sometimes move around as they take effect, but oxypentanol always prevails.

"Cesare?"

I slide onto the bed and check his pulse. It's steady. I pull back his eyelid and inspect his pupil. It's small, but that's normal for someone under the effect of a powerful depressant.

A sigh slips from my lips, and I brush the hair off his face. If I'm lucky, Cesare will order me an Uber, and that will be the last I see of him or his cousin.

Last night was the best sex of my life. There's a darkness to Cesare that calls to mine that I can't resist. Leroi was an empty chasm—composed and captivating, but cold. Cesare's eyes are like fire, drawing me in with their intensity until I'm consumed by his flames.

In another life, I might want to pursue a relationship with Cesare. He's exciting and not as jaded as most men, but his days are numbered. Gunther will pass all the intel I gathered on the mansion's security to the team of assassins he favors.

It's only a matter of time before a small squad breaches their defenses and eliminates the Montesano brothers. The next time I see Cesare, it will be as a minuscule percentage of my share of the bounty on an electronic paycheck.

My job is done, and it's time to go.

Leaning over him, I place a kiss on his forehead before reaching into my bag to extract the antidote. His jugular vein pulses beneath my fingertips, and I ready the pre-filled syringe.

Before the needle touches his skin, a hand grabs my wrist.

Cesare glares up at me, his eyes flashing. "Now, what the fuck is a girl like you doing with a syringe full of poison?"