Chapter 102

CESARE

I step off the yacht with medical supplies and more weapons strapped to my bulletproof vest than Scarface. The sea breeze whips through my hair that's drenched in sweat from nerves and running around.

Now that I've secured Rosalind behind a maze of locks, I can finally focus on saving Miranda.

But first, I need our father.

I jog to the limo and open the back door, finding Matty Galliano lying in the seat opposite his dead henchmen, his chest rising and falling with shallow breaths. The patch of blood from his abdominal wound covers nearly his entire safari jacket and matching pants.

His eyes flutter open. "Cesare," he rasps. "Have you come to finish me off?"

"You're not dying until we rescue my sister." I pull out a group of syringes I filled earlier. There's morphine for the pain, tranexamic acid to control the blood loss, modafinil to make him alert, diazepam to control his anxiety, and our special blend of meth to give him a boost of superhuman strength.

His eyes widen. "But I'm bleeding?—"

"Save your excuses for later," I snarl and inject him with the first syringe.

Matty's eyes roll backward with a groan, but I don't give a shit. This pedo bastard only needs to stay alive long enough to confront Gunther.

After the fifth injection, I lift his carcass off the seat and drag him onto the dimly lit marina. It's deserted this time of the night, with only our steward waiting beside the yacht. My skin crawls at being so close to this piece of shit, but I sling his arm around my shoulder and walk him toward the speedboat.

He glances around, his breaths labored. "The drop off point was a warehouse. Where are we going?"

"Gunther is keeping her miles away from the mainland. Now, stop asking questions."

Matty's feet falter, but I march on with his half-dead weight, not stopping until I've reached the speed boat and thrown his carcass onto its back seat. As he grumbles something incoherent, I slam a life jacket over his head and fasten it around his chest.

He grimaces, his voice hoarse and strained. "Cesare, I'm in no shape to face an assassin."

"Stay put, don't piss on my seats, and stay quiet. The drugs will kick in by the time we arrive."

Ignoring his whimpering, I turn away from him to start the engine. Behind us, the steward unties the ropes securing the boat to the docks, and with a lurch we're accelerating past the yacht and into the pitch-black water.

The engine rumbles in sync with my frantic pulse. I stare out into the void, seeing nothing. The only light comes from the boat's dim headlamps and the moon's silver glow reflecting off the water.

By now, Rosalind should be out of the brig and have broken out of the infirmary. She might be too furious to trust that the vial I left for her containing the benzo antidote, but at least I've gotten a good head start.

I glance over my shoulder for signs of an irate little assassin, but see nothing but the fading lights of the marina. She's probably worked out by now that I've locked every door leading to the exit.

The wind roars in my ears as the speedboat cuts through the waves. I glance at my phone's GPS screen, confirming that Miranda's position remains unchanged. With a swift adjustment of the helm, I steer the boat toward her coordinates.

This could be a trap.

I shut down the intrusive thought. Gunther doesn't want Rosalind back. He handed her over to Dr. Daniel because he wanted her dead. The warehouse is the trap, not the location at sea. Gunther is probably hiding in the middle of Rosalind's phobia because this is the last place she would look.

Movement from the corner of my eye makes me reach for the gun. Matty climbs into the front seat, now powered by the cocktail of drugs.

"I'm not a rapist," he says. "I didn't want to fuck your mother, but Tommaso said a beauty like hers would change my tastes."

My nostrils flare, and it takes every effort not to tear out his throat. "Talk about her again and I'll put a bullet through your skull."

"Well, I didn't rape Rosalind," he adds.

I grind my teeth. "No, you married a single mother so you could groom and abuse her child. That's just another form of rape."

"Like father, like son."

My grip tightens on the helm. Matty's taunts won't bait me into a brawl, not while my sister's safety hangs in the balance.

"That's pathetic, even for you," I snarl. "Every woman I've ever been with has been in their twenties. You murdered a few of them, remember?"

"What else could I do when you were ignoring my calls?" he rasps over the roar of the engine. "And don't act like you're better than me. My spy told me you took an underage girl to the Phoenix, and I bet that was the same one you had on your private jet."

My fist flies out, but I pull the punch before it lands. This asshole is either projecting or desperate for me to put him out of his misery.

"I had my sights on Rosalind for months," I say through clenched teeth. "Unlike you, I like grown women, not little kids."

He chuckles, the sound bitter. "What Rosalind and I had transcended age."

"Is that why she blew you up and turned you into a cockless wonder?" I ask.

The rest of the journey continues in blessed silence. All my thoughts are centered on saving Miranda. Not just for Rosalind, but for my redemption. I used her as a pawn to control Rosalind, but along the way, I found a sweet young girl I would die to protect.

Hell, I would rush to her rescue even if she wasn't my sister. Miranda doesn't deserve to be used as a pawn in someone else's game. My gaze darts to Matty, and I force down a burst of violent resentment. Neither did Tania, Allegra, or Sofia.

We approach a vessel floating in the distance. It's a forty-five-foot-long cruiser with a line of portholes along its hull. My chest tightens. Miranda is huddled inside one of those berths with her arms and legs bound. Only this time, it's not for a prank. The man holding her is more likely to put her to work than set her free.

If I can get Matty to approach the cabin from the back, that will give me the opening I need to sneak up on Miranda's captors from behind. I cut the engine along with the navigation lights. One final glance at the GPS confirms that I've found Miranda's location.

I guide the boat toward my target, adjusting the helm to the current's pull. Sweat beads on my brow, my heart pounds loud enough to alert Gunther, but I stay focused. The salty tang of the sea fills my senses as I draw nearer to the cruiser, and my anticipation mounts with every passing moment.

Only the quiet lap of waves against the hull breaks the silence until I swear there's a flash of light in my rear-view mirror. I glance toward the shore, finding only more of the ocean.

Matty rasps, "Is that the one?"

"Yeah."

"What's the plan, son?"

A shudder runs down my spine, and I grind my teeth. The only reason I acknowledge this monster as my biological father is because that makes Miranda my sister. I don't correct Matty because I don't expect him to survive the night.

"You're going to ask Gunther how much he wants to release Miranda."

"He wants Rosalind, not money," Matty says. "Give me a gun."

I turn the helm and laugh, the sound bitter. "So you can threaten Miranda's life?"

"She's my daughter."

"We both know what you do to your daughters."

He falls silent for several minutes. "Do you mean for me to die?"

Not bothering to dignify such an obvious statement with an answer, I maneuver the boat to the cruiser's stern. It's a platform at water level with steps leading into the vessel's interior. When we're within boarding distance, I pull out my gun.

"Get up and order Gunther to release Miranda."

He turns to look at me, his eyes blazing with a strange mix of terror and betrayal. "Come with me," he says. "Your plan to ambush Gunther won't work. Men can't scale the sides of boats. We're better off overpowering him together."

I turn off the safety with a click. "Take Gunther by surprise, just like you did with all those women you murdered."

"Everything I did was to get closer to you," he says, his voice breaking.

"That bullshit doesn't work on adults. Now, move."

Matty finally rises off the seat, leaving it covered in blood. I probably should have given him more tranexamic acid, but he only needs to last long enough to serve as a distraction.

As soon as he steps onto the cruiser, I steer the helm to starboard, guiding the speedboat into the cruiser's blind spot. My gaze sweeps up the white hull and pauses at a set of metal rails, and I calculate how to scale the vessel's side and catch Gunther by surprise.

This plot is high risk, and Gunther is almost guaranteed to shoot Matty on sight, but I only need a few seconds to create a diversion.

If this doesn't work, Rosalind will surely kick my ass.

I stand at the edge of the speedboat wanting to throw a grappling hook on the cruiser's railing and scale the hull. Swashbuckling bullshit like that will only cause a ruckus and ruin the element of surprise.

The waves lapping against both vessels barely drown out Matty's whimpering.

Contrary to his bullshit, there are plenty of hand and foot holds for me to scale the cruiser's side. "Just like rock climbing," I mutter under my breath, "except with the risk of hypothermia."

I peer into a porthole, finding the cabin inside empty and dark. Gripping the frame around it, I raise my leg to use it to anchor my foot. I stretch out an arm and grab a row of small bolts that allow me to shift my weight upward.

Adrenaline courses through my veins as I ascend the hull, balancing my weight on panels, grooves, and ledges, until I reach a cleat on the side deck.

Matty remains silent like a coward, not wanting to increase his odds of death by attracting the attention of Gunther. If he doesn't want to open negotiations, then I'll force his hand.

I climb up on the deck and crawl on my belly down the side of the cockpit, only rising to peer through its window to find a sliding door leading to a set of steps. At the end of the deck, I catch my first glimpse of the old bastard still clinging to life.

He's wringing his hands, edging to where I anchored the speedboat. Before he can think of escaping, I shoot a flare into the sky.

Bright red light illuminates the ship, accompanied by a loud bang. A rough voice from inside the cabin barks, "Who the hell are you?"

Matty's arms rise to the sky. "Please, don't shoot. I'm Matteo. Matteo Galliano. Your client. My brother, Tommaso, paid the Moirai?—"

"There is no fucking Moirai," the man barks. "Not after some traitorous bitch sold us out to the Montesano family."

"It was Rosalind, right?" Matty gives him an encouraging nod.

I grind my teeth. He should be luring the man outside, not trying to find common ground. In a minute, he'll announce that there's a Montesano sneaking up behind him with a gun.

"What do you know about her?" the man asks.

"She shot me." Matty lowers his arms to gesture at his blood-soaked pants. "You see?"

When the man doesn't answer, he gulps. "She's in a limo being held by four of my men. I came out to negotiate for the release of Miranda."

My eyes narrow at the suggestion that Matty counts me as one of his lackeys, but I hold steady, ready to shoot the man the moment he shows the back of his head.

"You think you can come here and dictate terms?" the man snarls.

Matty shrinks away, making me think Gunther is on the approach. My heart soars when a large figure steps into view. He's wearing a bulletproof jacket and a helmet, so I aim for the back of his neck.

Just as I'm about to pull the trigger, Matty yells, "Cesare, now!"

The man whirls around and fires an automatic gun in my direction. The bullet whizzes over my head, and I shoot back. Matty charges at the man, pushing them both into the cabin and out of view.

"Fuck."

Fury sizzles through my veins. Is this old bastard trying to get the last of his offspring killed? I scramble to my feet, run into the cockpit and through the sliding doors.

At the bottom of the stairs, Matty wrestles the man against the wall, already having ripped off his helmet. He grinds against the other man, their bodies so entangled that I can't get a clean shot, so I fire at them both.

When they both fall limp, my insides tighten with regret. Matty wasn't supposed to die so quickly. I wanted him to save him for the basement.

I step over the bodies and into the cabin, where I find a small figure cowering in the corner. It's Miranda, her eyes wide with terror and tears streaming down her cheeks. My heart clenches at the sight of my innocent little sister.

"Please," she sobs, "Don't hurt me."

I slip my gun into my pocket. "It's me, love."

"Cesare?"

"That's right," I say with a nod. "We found you with the tracker on your earring."

Her bound hands drift toward her ear.

I rush toward her with a pen knife and cut through the zip-ties around her wrists. "Are you hurt?"

She shakes her head. As I work on the ties around her ankles, she asks, "Is Rosa here?"

"She's waiting for us in my yacht."

Miranda scrambles away from me with a panicked yelp, her eyes widening.

I turn to find what she's looking at, only to find Matty standing at the other end of the cabin, holding Gunther's gun.

"Good boy," the old bastard croaks, his sweaty face flushed, his eyes gleaming with naked desire. "Now, I'll take my pretty girl."