Chapter 47

CESARE

I lean back in my seat on the Montesano private jet, sipping a congratulatory Shirley Temple. Everything is finally under control. Rosalind should be rousing from sedation to find her fellow assassins pinned to Saint Andrew's crosses, and her wounds will be healing nicely. Best of all, I haven't heard a word from that Galliano scum.

This gives me the time I need to rescue my little princess from her tower.

Miranda stands before me in the private jet, reenacting her rescue, playing all three parts of the people involved.

She swings the imaginary ax at the door. "Stand back, love," she says in a deep voice that's supposed to be mine. "I'm going to set you free."

I chuckle. How can one sister be so much fun while the other is a vicious backstabber?

"Okay," she says in her own voice and skitters back to the sofa.

She switches back to pretending to be me and reaches into the hole I chopped through the door. "You're safe, now, Miranda."

"Did I say that?" I ask with a smirk.

"Are you telling this story, or am I?" She places her hands on her hips.

"Sorry, love." Raising the glass, I gesture at her to continue. "No more interruptions."

Miranda reenacts how some old asshole in the apartment opposite stepped out with a gun and received the butt of my ax in the gut.

I would have swung the blade at his head for pointing a gun at a little girl, but I didn't want to traumatize her with the sight of violence.

She doubles over, mimicking the injured neighbor before falling into a peal of giggles. "You were like something out of a fairy tale."

"Rapunzel?" I ask, my gaze lingering on her long braid.

She tilts her head the way girls do when you've said something silly. "Little Red Riding Hood. You're the wood cutter who freed me from the big bad wolf."

"And this wolf would be the fat bastard?"

"My sister and her stupid friend." Her lips tighten. "Britt called me last night, telling me to destroy my new phone."

A sharp breath hisses through my teeth. Straightening my shoulders, I force my facial muscles to calm. Despite getting shot and my men's attempt to capture the glum bitch, Rosalind's friend managed to escape the distillery.

"Why would she want you to get rid of a handset that hasn't even yet hit the stores?" I ask, feigning innocence.

"Britt says you're dangerous." She flops in the seat next to mine.

I gaze down into gray eyes a little too large for her face. Everything about Miranda is so cute. It's easy to forget she's related to the woman who tried to put a bullet through my heart. I fidget in my seat, my chest tightening with guilt.

Miranda is far too trusting. I'm not the woodcutter in her little fairytale, I'm ten times worse than the wolf.

"There's something I wanted to talk to you about," I say.

"What?" she asks with a dazzling smile.

"You can't run off with strangers, even if they claim to be friends with your sister."

Her brow furrows and she raises a shoulder. "But you're not a stranger. You're Rosalind's new man."

Frustration wells in my gut. How the hell do I keep this girl out of trouble without letting her know she's technically a hostage? Hell, she even forwarded me the exact coordinates of her hideout. Miranda will always be safe with me, but most men aren't so honorable.

"That's not my point," I say. "I could have been anyone."

"But I saw the photo of you and Leroi, so I know you're connected to my sister." She glances around. "Where is she, anyway?"

Strange how she only asks about Rosalind when she wants to change the subject.

"I took her skiing, and she impaled her shoulder on a branch."

"Is she okay?" she asks.

"Just recovering from some minor surgery." I pull out my phone and show her a selfie I took of us while Rosalind was sedated.

"Why is she always asleep in your photos?" she mutters.

"It's the only time I can ever get her to hold still," I reply with a smile. "Other times, she isn't interested in posing with me."

"Is that because you're in the mafia?" Miranda asks.

I flinch. "Where did you hear that?"

"Your brother went viral after a true crime influencer exposed the conspiracy that nearly got him executed. Some of the commenters said he was a mafia kingpin, so I dug deeper."

"And what did you find?" I surreptitiously press the call button to summon the flight attendant.

Miranda rattles off a list of information she gathered online, her voice getting more and more animated. She talks like organized crime is all heists, high jinks and hot car chases, completely unaware that what she's describing is horrifying.

"It sounds like you've been watching too many movies," I mutter.

Before she can ask if any of it is true, the attendant arrives with a tray of drinks.

"Can I get you something?" she asks with a smile.

"Mimosa," Miranda says.

The attendant shoots me a glance.

"And a glass of orange juice," I add.

As soon as the woman returns to place both drinks on the low table, Miranda grabs the champagne flute and takes a sip.

"That's enough for you." I prise the glass from her fingers and down its contents.

"That was mine," she snaps.

"You're not getting drunk on my watch." I set down the flute and hand her the juice. Alcohol isn't really my thing, but I'll snatch a drink from a woman to prove a point.

"Rosa lets me drink all the time," she mutters.

"I doubt that."

"She does."

I reach for my phone. "Let me call her and check."

Miranda launches herself at me and grabs my wrist. "Don't!"

"Thought so," I say with a smirk.

She whacks my arm. "Cesare, what's wrong with you?"

"I take care of what's mine," I say. "And I already see you as a little sister."

Her eyes widen. "Does that mean you're going to propose to Rosa?"

I tilt my head, picturing Rosalind crawling down the aisle with a remote-control toy in her pussy, forcing her to repeat the vows. Warmth fills my chest at the thought of tying her to me in the eyes of the law.

"When the time is right," I say with a nod. "When I'm sure she'll say yes."

"She'll be stupid if she refuses," Miranda says with a huff.

"Rosalind doesn't love me as much as I love her." I say, trying not to smirk. I love torturing my little pet, but if given the chance, she'd cut off my balls and shove them down my throat.

"What's wrong?" she asks.

"Sometimes, I wonder if she even likes me at all."

"Cesare." Her voice breaks.

"It's true," I say with a sigh. "Nothing I do for her is ever good enough."

Miranda pulls me into a tight hug, and something in my chest loosens. No girl or woman has embraced me since the morning Gil walked in to tell us they'd found Dad dead at the club.

Mom held me while I cried, only to turn distant. Days later, Roman got arrested for the murder of a woman he didn't even know, and then Mom abandoned us to marry Tommy Galliano.

That's the trouble with women. They can't be trusted. A man can spend his entire life basking in the warmth of their unconditional love, only to be left in the cold the moment there's a better offer.

I draw back from Miranda's embrace and gaze down into her eyes, they shine with kindness, compassion, and care. It's hard to believe she and Rosalind even share the same blood.

"Rosa is ruthless, but I think her heart's in the right place," she murmurs.

"What do you mean?" I ask, my brows pinching.

She dips her head.

"Miranda?"

Tears land on her jeans, staining the worn denim with glistening spots. My breath catches, and my heart thumps with dread. I lift her chin, making our eyes meet.

"What is it, love?"

"You promise not to tell the cops?" She wipes her face with the backs of her hands.

My stomach tightens. I don't want to believe it's true, but I have to ask, "Did Rosalind hurt you?"

She shakes her head. "Remember when I told you my parents were dead?"

I'll never forget the matter-of-fact way she described her father dying in an explosion and her mother getting shot in the head. Keeping my face in a neutral mask, I nod.

"Rosa came to the house one day when I was little and killed them both."

My jaw drops, even though I shouldn't be shocked. Rosalind is an assassin, and the Moirai recruits them young. I wouldn't be surprised if the last stage of the training was to murder their parents.

"What happened, love?" I ask.

Miranda tells a tale of being abducted as a child by her older sister after witnessing the gruesome deaths of loving parents. I listen, stunned as she explains how Rosalind left her to rot for years in a boarding school, cutting her off from her former life.

I thought my childhood was shitty, but at least I had parents, siblings, and a home. All Miranda had was trauma.

As soon as the wheels touch the ground, I release our seatbelts and reach for Miranda. She jumps into my arms, her tiny frame trembling against mine. I hold on to her tightly, wanting to shield her from the pain of her memories. My heart races with anger and my blood boils with the need to throttle Rosalind for allowing a young child to witness such horror.

"No one will ever hurt you as long as I'm alive," I murmur into her soft hair.

"What if you break up with Rosa?" she asks, her voice trembling.

Even though her question cuts deep, my answer is immediate. "Not even then," I say, meaning every word. "I'll always think of you as a little sister."

We hug for several moments, and I savor this moment of closeness. Eventually, she pulls back and gazes up at me with glistening eyes and a smile.

"Ready to return to the academy?" I ask.

She grimaces. "I'm going to have so much detention."

"Our family physician already wrote you a sick note for the time you missed. He accused the academy of giving you a stomach bug."

"Really?" she asks with a sunny smile.

"If any staff members give you shit for any reason, text me."

"Because you're going to…" She jumps out of her seat and shadow boxes.

"That's right."

Chuckling, I take her hand and we walk through the plane to the exit. When the doors open with a swoosh of warm air, the morning sun floods in, making my eyes sting. I shield them with one hand and blink away the glare to find a black limo waiting on the tarmac.

The door opens, letting out a smirking Matty Galliano.