Chapter 28

ROSALIND

Maybe my timing is off, but it feels like an entire day has passed since Cesare walked out, leaving me in the dark. My body is crying out for food, my head is pounding, and my throat spasms with the need for liquid.

These symptoms will pass. They always did during captivity training.

There's absolutely no escape with my fingers held taut within metal splints. I'm stuck here until I can convince Cesare I would be a more interesting hostage if left unbound.

Nobody is coming to my rescue. Gunther will continue telling everyone I've been promoted overseas. He doesn't want me spreading the word that the firm is covering up the fact that it deems us expendable.

Britt might know my exact location, but she'll never get past all the guards. Even if she did, there are biometric security measures, and the impossible task of sneaking me out undetected.

No matter how much time passes, or how much I try to keep my mind distracted, my thoughts drift to Miranda. Is she safe? Is she traumatized? Is she alone?

Britt was supposed to go to the train station to pick up a bag from the lockers and escort Miranda to an apartment out of state. I need to find out if Cesare had them followed.

Hunger gnaws my stomach once more, making me sigh. Cesare will arrive when he thinks I'm at my most desperate and he'll expect me to exchange information for sustenance.

He'll be disappointed.

I close my eyes and let my thoughts float into the ether to clear my mind. Just as I'm drifting into a deep state of meditation, the locking mechanism whirs to life, and the heavy metal door creaks open.

My pulse races in anticipation. I keep my eyes closed as heavy footsteps approach, but nothing can stop my senses from filling with the sweet aroma of hot chocolate.

Saliva floods my mouth, anticipating something to soothe my dry throat. I swallow over and over, refusing to succumb to temptation.

"Sorry to have kept you, love," Cesare says, his voice light. "It's been a busy day, and the night was a war zone. I brought you something to eat."

Annoyance prickles my skin. The bastard sounds like he's talking to a pet. I crack open an eye to find him looming over me, holding a tray containing a bowl of fruit, yogurt, a steaming cup of hot chocolate, and a bottle of water.

The flickering lightbulb illuminates the ends of his disheveled hair, which falls loose in cascades of dark waves. My jaw tightens. Such extreme masculine beauty is wasted on the wicked.

"Fuck your food," I rasp, my voice cracked. "What did you do to Miranda?"

His nostrils flare. "Why are you so antagonizing?"

"Because men who interfere with underage girls don't deserve any respect."

"Even if you're completely at their mercy?" he asks, his lip curling.

I look him full in the face. "Let's be real here. You're going to torture me for information, use my body to satisfy every sick fantasy, and eventually let me die. Am I right?"

"Depends on if you're worth keeping alive," he replies.

"You might have trapped my body, but I won't give you what you want."

He flashes his teeth. "And what do you think that is?"

"Information, entertainment, a sense of twisted fulfillment," I reply, my voice dripping with venom. "Whatever I do, the result will be the same. I may as well die without giving you the satisfaction."

"You want to know what I did with little Miranda?" he asks, his voice menacing and low.

Goosebumps prickle across my skin, and every fine hair on my body stands on end. I tighten my stomach, hold my features in a grim mask, and resolve not to show this sick fuck and ounce of my pain.

"Answer me," he growls.

I give him a stiff nod.

"Then I'll lay down some ground rules. You get to speak to her for five minutes. If she asks where you are, tell her I've taken you to the Grimaldi Hotel in New York. You will not send any coded messages to her or your friend."

My jaw drops. I was expecting him to tell me what he did to Miranda, or at least show me the rest of his video clips or security footage. Besides, Britt was supposed to have disposed of Miranda's phone, so she'd be impossible to track.

"How do you have her number?" I ask, my voice tight.

"She and I got on extremely well," he purrs in a tone that makes my stomach lurch.

I grind my molars, trying not to react to the innuendo. He wants me weeping, flinching, cursing out his name. This type of man loves to see a woman crumble.

"Are you going to keep boring me with preamble or let me speak to Miranda?" I ask.

Annoyance flickers over his features, but he regains control, sets the tray down on my stomach, and slips a hand into his pocket.

"After the five-minute conversation is over, you will tell me everything about your firm's plot against my family, or Lucrezia and I will start cutting body parts."

"Fine," I rasp.

He plucks the bottle off the tray and twists open its cap with a crack. Slipping his hand under my head, he lifts it up and brings the bottle to my mouth.

"Drink," he says.

I rear back, but the hand at the base of my skull holds me in place.

"Why?" I ask.

"Little Miranda can't think I'm not keeping you fed and watered," he replies, as if the answer is obvious. "We don't want her worried or upset."

I glance at his features, finding no trace of his usual malice or smirk. If I hadn't witnessed this sadistic fuck firsthand, I would think he was serious about protecting Miranda's innocence.

"Open." He shoves the mouth of the bottle into my closed lips.

With a sigh, I obey and allow him to pour the water onto my tongue. Cool liquid trickles down my throat, soothing the parched membranes. I swallow over and over, feeling it slide down my esophagus and into my empty stomach.

I don't know his intentions or what kind of game he's playing with Miranda. This isn't the first time someone has manipulated me using my little girl, but it will be the last.

Cesare only needs to drop his guard for a second and he's dead.

Once he's satisfied that I've had enough to drink, he pulls back the bottle and sets it back on the tray. His hateful eyes bore into mine, searching my features for signs of weakness.

I glare back, channeling my deepest hatred.

"Ready, pet?" He raises his phone.

"Yes," I reply, my voice clearer.

His eyes leave mine for the few seconds it takes for him to dial, and my heart pounds hard enough to make my ribs throb. The seconds feel like an eternity as I wait for the person on the other end to answer.

My mind runs through a scenario where Cesare's men captured Britt and Miranda and they're being held at a facility. That everything I sacrificed in the fourteen years since I ran away from home has landed us in the same situation I escaped—under the control of a perverted sadist.

"Cesare?" Miranda's voice bursts through the speakerphone, brimming with an unusual excitement.

"Hello, love," he says with a grin. "Your sister has finally recovered from her hangover and wants to say hello."

Miranda's sweet giggle drifts through the speaker, and my chest tightens with a twisted sense of jealousy. I can't remember the last time I made her laugh, or if I ever did. My stomach twists at the thought of this monster bringing her joy when I struggle to even make her smile.

I stare at the phone, not daring to meet Cesare's gaze.

"She's so lame," Miranda says. "Let me speak to her."

"Miri?" I ask, trying to hold back a swell of relief.

If she sounds so carefree, then maybe she isn't hurt? Abuse isn't that simple, though. There were times Matteo made me feel beautiful, special, wanted.

"How's New York?"

"Great," I reply, my voice strained.

"Did you know Britt is holding me captive in a tiny apartment? I'm missing a test while you're on a shopping trip with your amazing new boyfriend."

Her complaints accelerate. She misses her friends, her freedom, and she's missing a week of detention for misdemeanors she won't reveal.

My heart races as she speaks, and I struggle to process her words through a haze of frustration, longing, rage and relief. She has no idea that this supposedly amazing boyfriend of mine has me trapped in the BDSM boudoir from hell.

"Slow down, baby," I say, forcing my voice to stay even. "You're speaking too fast."

"Ugh, don't call me that," she says with a huff.

I dare not reprimand her. Keeping my voice even, I ask, "What happened the night you met Cesare?"

"When he picked me up from the academy?"

"Yes."

"We went to the Phoenix," she replies, her words speeding up with excitement, completely oblivious to my rising panic. "Did you ever see his office? It's got leather seats and an entire wall of security screens. He let me try the DJ booth, and we ordered cocktails, but the waitress spat in them, so we went to his restaurant next door and sang karaoke! Then we had the best burgers ever with meat from Japan and the milkshakes were so?—"

"Miri," I say, my voice rising with restrained hysteria. "Did he hurt you?"

Another pause, and my insides twist at the thought of that monster hurting my little girl. Bile rises to my throat, and I swallow back the mounting dread.

Miranda bursts into a peal of giggles. "It was a prop."

"What?"

"After we watched Saw, we wanted to play a prank. That bear trap thing was a prop."

My stomach lurches. "But did he touch you?"

"Like what?"

"Miri," I say, my voice strained. "What did I tell you about older men?"

"Ew, no!" I can almost hear her wrinkle her nose. "I would never try to hook up with your boyfriend. All he ever talked about was you."

Despite her reassurance, my gaze drifts to Cesare's face, who glares down at me with sick satisfaction. I swallow hard, trying to keep my attention on the phone.

"He's a hundred times better than Leroi."

"You met him?" I ask.

"When you weren't at your apartment, I searched through your tablet and found his address."

Nausea grips me by the throat. Leroi really told his psycho cousin I had a sister.

"Were you wearing your academy uniform?" I ask, already knowing the answer.

"How did you know?" She only hesitates for a beat before continuing. "Leroi's too grumpy and old. I approve of your new man. He's perfect. Can I talk to him now?"

Cesare taps a button on the phone to take it off the speaker, his smile widening as he brings it to his ear. He turns his back on me and walks to the door, deep in conversation with Miranda.

My gaze bores into his broad back, and my mind reels with confusion. She likes him. They had fun together and established some kind of friendship. She doesn't know that beneath that handsome facade is a crazed maniac who enjoys torturing women.

Panic lances through my heart when he places his palm on the biometric reader and disappears behind the door. All the effort I spent protecting her from predators has only brought us under the control of an even greater monster.

Matteo never stuck a gun in my vagina and pulled the trigger, yet Cesare would have done worse if I hadn't escaped.

What the hell is he doing to my daughter?