Chapter 45

ROSALIND

I sit up, but my skull ignites with white-hot agony, and I collapse onto my side. That sets off an explosion of pain across my shoulder, which pales compared to the shattering of my illusions. Each jagged fragment slices through my heart like shards of glass.

After four years of intense training and a decade working in the field, I finally understand the truth about the Moirai Group. The time I spent in the academy was just an indoctrination into a death cult.

It's easy to skulk about in the shadows with a gun. Even easier to slip poison in a person's drink or hide in a remote location to detonate bombs. We do this for the promise of power, wealth, and strength, yet all of us joined when we were too young to understand we'd sold our souls.

I thought assassins were the underworld elites.

We're not. We are cowards.

I believed the Moirai Group operated on teamwork, but it's survival of the fittest. The only authentic person there is Britt. Everyone else only cares about themselves, even if it means setting up their colleagues to die.

That's why when Roman Montesano came in earlier, I cooperated with him through nods and silent gestures. Ingratiating myself to him is my only chance of surviving to see Miranda.

He might be the only man capable of saving me from Cesare, who probably wants to make me die slowly for shooting him in the chest.

Someone clears their throat, making me flinch.

"You looking at me?" a man growls.

This is the other reason I'm lying on my side with my eyes shut. The guards are getting bored and are trying to pick fights. After forcing the entire room of hostages to strip, they soon weeded out the Moirai from our little tattoos. The blonde woman from earlier was allowed out with the others, leaving the Montesano lackeys with us assassins.

Someone threads his fingers into my hair and yanks me off the stone floor. "I was talking to you."

Get fucked.

That's what I want to say, but I won't risk getting any more injuries.

"Joe," another voice hisses.

The man holding me releases my hair, and I fall on my side with a painful thud. Someone needs to remind Joe that beating up an injured woman doesn't make him a badass. It just makes him pathetic.

Joe's lumbering footsteps retreat just as another set approaches. This tread is lighter, and the person walks with power, purpose, and poise. My head throbs in sync with my shoulder wound, and I swallow hard.

It's Cesare. He's finally returned for his revenge.

What he asks next makes my breath still.

When nobody replies to his question, he bellows, "Who. Did. This. To. Her?"

My heart tries to break free from my chest and skid across the floor tiles. Cesare must be furious that someone ruined his revenge. He sure as hell doesn't care if I get hurt.

"She tried to escape," a male voice blurts. "She broke through the zip-ties, grabbed a gun and shot Marcello?—"

"So, you smashed in her face?" Cesare growls.

The sound of a gunshot makes me flinch. I crack open an eye to find the scarred man clutching his arm. Cesare turns a slow circle, dressed only in a pair of black pants and a leather apron, waving his pistol.

"Who else touched her?" he yells.

My heart jumps to the back of my throat, pounding harder and harder while my mind scrambles for an explanation. He just shot one of his own men. An employee who was protecting the interests of his family.

What the hell is Cesare doing?

"Answer me," he yells. "Or I'll shoot every motherfucker in this room."

The men all speak at once, each trying to escape punishment by blaming their colleagues. My breath quickens as Cesare points his gun from one to the other, his demeanor becoming increasingly manic.

Now would be an excellent chance to execute escape sequence two-eight-three, which enhances discord among the enemy.

There's no point even entertaining that thought because I'm not loyal to the Moirai. I need to focus on my own survival. My eventual escape.

Another gunshot has my eyes snapping open. A huge man wrestles Cesare from behind, holding his shooting arm toward the ceiling. It's the family's most trusted bodyguard, Gilberto Agostini, also known as Gil.

Gil's muscles bulge through his suit jacket as he grapples with Cesare, but the smaller man's strength is almost inhuman. The pistol fires again, bringing down a rain of plaster.

Flinching, I curl inward, only to aggravate the gunshot on my shoulder.

"Cesare Montesano," yells a shrill voice from the doorway, "What on earth are you doing? You will bring chaos to the family!"

I turn toward the exit, where a black-haired woman walks in, holding a pistol. I don't recognize her face from any of the profiles, but she's dressed like a housekeeper.

Cesare stops fighting Gil, who steps back and releases his shooting arm. I hold my breath, waiting for Cesare to use this opening to attack one of his men, but he slips his gun back into the waistband of his pants.

"Better," the woman says.

I close my eyes again, needing more time to process. Cesare flew into a rage because I got hit, even though I fired on one of his men while trying to escape. Even though I shot him square in the chest.

It can only mean one thing:

He doesn't want anyone to get in the way of his revenge, which is going to be epic. Last time, I tricked him into drinking oxypentanol, and he punished me for days then abducted Miranda when I escaped.

A heavy weight rolls around my empty stomach, making my guts tighten and churn with dread.

What I did to him last night doesn't even compare.

Heartbeats later, Cesare walks to my side and scoops me off the floor. The bullet wound in my shoulder flares, making me hiss through my teeth.

"What is it, pet?" he asks and clutches me to his chest.

"Gunshot," I rasp.

His entire body stiffens, and he turns back to the man clutching his arm.

"Did you shoot my pet?" Cesare says, his voice so dangerously low that all the fine hairs on the back of my neck stand on end.

"Boss." One of the men holds up a palm. "You've got to understand?—"

Gil stands between them with his arms folded over his chest. Next to him is the housekeeper, who adds herself to the human shield.

"Take the girl and leave," Gil says. "Unless you want me to tell Roman that you're siding with an assassin."

Cesare flinches, looking like he might shoot Gil. I still don't understand what the fuck is going on in his twisted mind, but I need to stop this a potential gunfight.

I raise a hand to his shoulder, capturing his attention. "Can we go?"

He gazes down at me, his face a mask of rage. I haven't seen him this angry since he realized I was an assassin. My muscles tighten as I wait for him to lash out, but he stalks out of the room, carrying me out like I'm his quarry.

He walks in silence through a pale hallway of marble floors. Armed men and staff part ways for him, their murmured greetings filled with fear and respect. Nobody seems surprised he's dressed like a BDSM executioner and carrying a semi-conscious woman.

Tremors reverberate through his body, a physical manifestation of his pent-up rage. The hand beneath my thigh tightens in a way that makes me think he's making sure I can't escape.

How the hell do I manage his temper? He's exactly the kind of psycho who would keep me by his side forever by removing body parts.

I'd better talk fast before he threatens to amputate my legs.

When his fingers twist around my hair and yank back my head, I finally look him full in the face. His skin is flushed, with every vein around his temples bulging with the force of his fury.

He glares down at me, his teeth bared, his eyes shining with madness. He's still fuming because the housekeeper and Gil interrupted his violent tirade. In a minute, I'll be locked in a basement dungeon with him and his instruments of torture.

"Cesare?" I whisper, trying to muster up words of reason.

"Don't speak," he growls through gritted teeth. The muscles in his jaw clench tight as he fights to contain a hurricane.

My jaw clicks shut.

I slide a hand up his bare arm, trying to soothe his temper, but that earns me a sharp tug of my hair that fills my scalp with lightning bolts of pain.

"No one gets to hurt you," he says through clenched teeth.

A breath catches as I wait for him to voice the unspoken part of that sentence. His eyes are fixed on mine, the intensity of his gaze leaving every inch of my skin tightening with goosebumps.

The air crackles with electricity, and tension mounts as he breathes through flared nostrils, seeming to build and build. Now that we're alone, the target of that fury will be me.

He steps into a stairwell, letting the door behind him swing shut and muffle the activity from the hallway. A moment later, the light flickers off, encasing us in the dark.

As he descends the steps, he finally completes his sentence, "No one gets to hurt you but me."

Shivers run down my spine as he confirms my worst fears.

I'm about to face the repercussions of the assassination attempt on his brother, as well as my failed attempt to escape.

And there isn't a thing I can do about it while I'm injured.