Chapter 29

CESARE

I walk into the hallway, leaving Rosalind to stew. She thinks I've corrupted her baby sister. Maybe I went too far, letting the girl watch that gory movie, but I made sure to cover her eyes when the scenes got too graphic.

The little feast I gave her was probably the first time she could eat whatever she wanted, and I made sure the chefs used the best ingredients. Wagyu beef, organic vegetables, and freshly prepared desserts. Only the finest for the little sister of my pet.

Rosalind belongs to me. By extension, so does Miranda. Except I plan to be the protective older sibling she never had. That starts with bringing her back to New Alderney to complete her education.

"Can you talk sense into my sister?"

"What's up?" I ask.

"I wasn't exaggerating when I said Britt left me alone in an apartment."

"Where is it?"

She hesitates. "I can check the map app."

"Do it."

A few seconds later, my phone buzzes and I glance at the screen, finding an address on the border of Delaware and New Jersey. My stomach dips at the prospect of entering Galliano territory, but I shake off the feeling of dread.

"Got it," I say. "Is the door locked?"

"Yeah," she replies.

"How many floors up?"

"Five," she says.

"And no fire escape?"

"No."

"Are you hungry, hurt, or in any immediate harm?"

"I'm fine. Just bored and lonely."

"Alright." I exhale, releasing lungfuls of frustration. "Let me send you some money. Use it to keep yourself entertained. I'll work on locating which apartment unit you're in and get you as soon as I can."

"Thank you," she says, her voice softening with relief.

Her gratitude fills my heart with a mix of warmth and pride. So, this is what it feels like to be a protector. The big brother I never had.

"Don't mention it, love," I say.

After ending the call with Miranda, I forward her a screenshot of an untraceable credit card she can use to buy whatever she wants online. I send Dr. Brunelli a text to forward a letter to the Tourgis Academy, excusing Miranda for her absence.

The door leading from the wine cellar clicks open, and I whirl around. Benito steps in clad in bulletproof armor, a reminder that he was allowed to participate in last night's battle, while I was relegated to triage.

"What did you learn?" he asks.

"I'm about to find out," I answer.

His lips tighten. "What's taking so long? Leroi's little stalker can't be that difficult to crack."

"You forget something, big brother. Everything we saw in that club was an act. Rosalind is a trained assassin pretending to be a simpering submissive."

His features pinch, as though I'm making excuses. "Let me speak with her."

"And say what?" I snap. "Talk, or I'll wrap you in so much red tape you'll be struggling to breathe. Diplomacy won't work with a woman of her caliber, neither will clever threats. She doesn't give a shit."

"And torture?"

"Pain gets her hot. It's like foreplay." The corner of my lips lift into a smirk.

Eyes narrowing, he closes the distance between us and squares his shoulders. "Don't get too attached. Do whatever is necessary to uncover the threat and eliminate her."

"Don't you have a contract to scrutinize or an official to schmooze?" I ask in a low growl. "Stop micromanaging and leave me to do what I do best."

His phone pings with an alert, diverting his attention. "You have until tonight."

He turns on his heel and heads toward the door without another word. My brow pinches. This isn't like Benito. He usually nags until he's made his point.

"You late for an appointment to remove that slide rule from your ass?" I ask.

He doesn't even flinch.

Resisting the urge to taunt him further, I watch my brother leave. I would have gotten some answers already if he hadn't come to interrupt my progress.

The door clicks shut, and I return to the playroom. Rosalind lies on the leather table with her eyes squeezed shut, her features forced into an expression of calm.

But I'm not fooled.

My line of communication with her little sister gives me more leverage over her than the threat of Lucrezia. I stand over her, my fingers tracing the soft skin of her arm.

"You've had five minutes with Miranda. Now, it's time to speak."

"What do you want to know?" she asks.

"When will the assassins strike? Where? How many? Which methods? Tell me everything."

She swallows. "When I returned to HQ, they'd just finished discussing the intel I sent."

My anger surges at the reminder of how she tricked me into knocking back a drug that rendered me unconscious for hours. This wretched little bitch had the whole night and half the morning to detail every weakness in our security.

"Continue," I say.

"I just told you. I wasn't at the meeting."

"Then speculate," I say through clenched teeth.

"It'll be a triple hit, which will require a trio of assassins striking in quick succession. It's too risky a job to allow one person to shoot all three."

I nod. "Any back up?"

"One per assassin."

"Their role? Will they be armed?"

"To help them move in and out of the locations without being detected. They'll come with vehicles, explosives, any kind of tech to aid their escape."

I lean in closer, studying her features for signs of deception, but she's unnervingly stoic. "When will they strike?"

"At the first opening."

"Which is?"

She inhales a deep breath. "Triple hits are difficult. They'll wait for the next time all three of you are together."

I stare down at Rosalind, waiting for her to elaborate. Silence stretches out across the playroom, broken only by the pounding of my pulse.

When Roman was on death row, we looked into multiple ways to get him released. I wanted to fly a helicopter into the prison when he was out for exercise, but Benito and Leroi said it wouldn't work. Alderney State Penitentiary is too well guarded, with high towers manned by marksmen.

All escape scenarios ended with the same result. The authorities storming our stronghold, and Roman spending the rest of his life on the run.

He was innocent, with an iron-clad alibi for the night that woman was murdered, but Frederic Capello had so much dirt on the judge and everyone connected to the case that he buried the truth beneath corruption and lies.

Our only chance of freeing Roman was to attack the threat at its source. First, we needed to take out the officials keeping him behind bars. Next, we needed to kill Frederic Capello, his brothers, his cousins, his lieutenants, his bastard sons. Every motherfucker capable of striking back needed to die.

Roman had to wait a year and a fucking half for the right moment for Leroi to wipe out the entire Capello family. That's why I believe Rosalind when she says a triple hit is difficult. If one of us survives the assassination, we wouldn't stop until everyone involved was dead.

"Tell me about the holes you found in our security," I say.

She looks me dead in the eye. "None."

"Bullshit."

"The perimeter of your estate is surrounded by twelve-foot-tall walls coated in anti-climb paint. Those can still be scaled, and maybe someone could get past the barbed wire and electrified fencing, though I'm sure your guards will notice any glitches in the current."

That's true, but I refuse to give her any recognition. "Continue."

"A five-minute search of the County Clerk's office shows that every plot of land surrounding yours is owned by a real estate company that once belonged to your father."

Frederic Capello embezzled Dad out of his entire portfolio, his casino, and a whole host of other assets Roman is working hard to retrieve.

"And?" I say through clenched teeth.

"Each time the firm sent an analyst to scope out the land, they never returned."

The corners of my lips twitch. Our guards might gossip like a bunch of assholes, but they're competent, mostly loyal, and leave no fucking traces.

"So, how will they get to us?"

"Same way I got to you," she says, her eyes hardening into flint.

Her words cut through the air like throwing stars, each lodging into my chest. Cold seeps into my heart as I piece together her meaning. I'm the weakest link. The trojan fucking cat carrying enemies disguised as quarry within its jaws.

My breath quickens, and culpability wraps its icy fingers around my throat. I should walk away, report everything I've learned back to Benito and Roman, then put a bullet in her skull. Finish this hateful little assassin before she fills my mind with more poison.

Fury pounds through my eardrums, drowning out my self-restraint. Through clenched teeth, I hiss out the words, "What the fuck does that mean?"

"Every system, no matter how well designed, has its weaknesses," she says, her eyes searching my soul. "Your cousin was supposed to be my way in through the Montesano gates. He never so much as introduced me to any of his friends."

She pauses, letting the words trickle through the cracks in my defense, letting my fury simmer to a dangerous boil until my ears ring. My hand finds Lucrezia, and my fingers tighten around her hilt.

Every reprimand my brothers and Gil ever made rises to the surface, to mingle with her taunts. I'm useless. A liability. I caved into her trickery within minutes while Leroi stayed strong for months.

"But you brought me straight into the heart of your estate with the promise of kinky sex," she says, her lip curling. "I didn't even need to inject you with drugs. The promise of a blowjob combined with rudimentary reverse psychology got you swallowing an entire vial of oxypentanol."

Rosalind gazes up at me, her eyes smoldering with defiance. She's daring me to lash out in a fit of rage and make a mistake she'll exploit. To give her an opening so she can escape.

Rosalind thinks I would succumb to her transparent taunting. My blood simmers at her manipulation, and my heart rages at her insinuation that I'm a burden to the family. I grind my teeth, forcing in ragged breaths to maintain my cool.

"Months of letting Leroi fuck me resulted in nothing. He was too much of a professional to drop his guard. You, on the other hand, were so easy to manipulate?—"

My free hand wraps around her throat, making her gasp. The tray I left on her stomach falls to the floor with a clatter, but I pay it no mind.

I tighten my grip, my fingers digging into her soft flesh, wanting to squeeze out all her lies. Wanting to stop her from looking so fucking smug. Rosalind's eyes blaze with a flicker of triumph that confirms my suspicions.

"How can I believe a word you say, when it's all designed to anger me into violence?" I snarl, holding back the force of my fury. "You want me to trip up, and I won't give you the satisfaction."

When her features even out into that cold mask, I know she's hiding her disappointment.

I step back and release my grip around her throat.

"Next time you try to incite me to anger, it won't be you I punish."

Her breath hitches as she catches the implication that I'll hurt Miranda, but I'm past giving a shit. I walk toward the sink for a mop and bucket to clear up the mess.

This is the last time I'll allow Rosalind to slither under my skin.