Chapter 48

CESARE

How the fuck did that bastard know I took the jet? I didn't tell anyone I was leaving town. Someone at the airport must be Galliano's spy.

He strides toward us, his grin broadening as he takes in the sight of Miranda.

Fury kicks me in the gut. That scaly bastard murdered Tania because he thought we were connected. I won't let him get his claws on Miranda.

Stepping in front of her, I guide her back toward the attendant. "Wait inside."

"Why?" she asks. "I thought you were taking me back to the academy."

"Now," I bark.

With a muffled yelp, she disappears back into the plane. I turn to the attendant, my teeth flashing. "Did you tell anyone I was on the jet?"

Her eyes widen. "No, Mr. Montesano."

"Take the girl into the bedroom and keep her out of sight until I return. Fuck this up, and I'll carve out your liver. Is that understood?"

Terror crosses her features, but she manages to nod. I make a note to extract her organs if I find out she's the one who called Galliano.

The grinning bastard approaches the jet's steps, raising his gloved hands like he's Marcel Fucking Marceau begging for the chance to mime being shot down in a rain of bullets. As I reach for my weapon, the doors of the limo open, letting out four armed men, each training a gun at my chest.

I lower my hands. Matty Galliano might want me to cross over to his side voluntarily, but he and his brother aren't known for their patience. I've lost count of the number of times I've hung up on him, left his texts unread, or told him to fuck himself, yet he keeps coming back.

"Cesare," he says, his voice bursting with pride. "I'm so happy to see you in the sun."

My skin crawls, and I resist the urge to shudder. If I'm the big bad wolf, then Matty Galliano and his brother, Tommy, are snakes. The man slithering toward the steps wears a python-skin pea coat, complete with raised scales. It's buttoned up, revealing only the white turtleneck that rides up to his chin.

I glare down into his artificially colored face, wondering what the quartet of armed men think of their boss's thick makeup.

"You've grown up to be so handsome," Galliano adds, his voice choked.

My lip curls. "If creepy compliments are your love language, is it any surprise I keep ignoring your calls?"

He gazes up at me like I'm the eighth wonder of the world. It's the same expression Miranda makes when she's fangirling, only not as cute. I can take adulation from women. In fact, I welcome it, but not from this decrepit old man.

"Family is more important to me than life itself, and I…" He inhales a shuddering breath. "Don't shut me out, Cesare. You're the only child I have left."

I grind my teeth, resisting the urge to snap back. It takes every ounce of self-control to hold back from filling this creature with bullets.

"Did you get my message?" he asks.

"The dead girl in the alley?"

"She spat in your drink." His voice grates on my last nerve. "I had to teach her some respect."

An incredulous laugh builds up in my gut. This man is a compulsive liar and a comedian. "You chose her because we fucked, and you killed her to create a rift between me and my bothers."

He raises a finger and smirks, "Half-brothers."

"If what you told me is correct, they're now my only siblings."

When his smile fades, I know my jab has pierced his heart. It's been nearly three weeks since Leroi killed Galliano's kids, and he's desperate to find a replacement.

He reached out several times when they were alive, but never to this extent. Bastard is turning into a stalker.

"Will you consider my offer?" he asks.

"After you sent the Moirai to kill us?" I spit.

He flinches as though slapped. "Not you," he says, his voice breaking. "Never you. The assassins were only supposed to take out Benito and Roman."

Anger simmers in my gut like liquid bubbling in a still. I want to charge down the steps and tighten that turtleneck around his throat. I want to squeeze the life out of him until his eyes bulge out of his painted skull. I want to stomp that face until all that's left of him is gore.

If I got close, his men would barrel me into that limo, and I'd never see the light of day again. Annoyance kicks me in the balls. Since when did I become the fucking damsel?

"The shooter confessed to having three targets, not two," I say.

His features darken. "I'm going to have words with my brother."

I scoff. "Looks like Tommy wants all three Montesano brothers dead."

His nostrils flare, but he remains silent. Tommy Galliano was right to commission the triple hit. There's no way in hell I would ever turn away from my family. We may not have the same father, but we share loyalty, history, and blood.

"Leave it with me, son," Matty says and shuffles toward the limousine.

My fingers twitch to shoot him in the spine, but I force back the urge to start a gunfight and focus on his retreat.

I glare at the leather pants, which lead down to a pair of green cowboy boots, unable to tell if his awkward movements are because of a skin condition or because he's wearing the hide of at least three different animals.

Meanwhile, his goons continue to train their guns on me, and my breath stills as the driver skitters out and holds open the door. At this moment, I can almost understand why Rosalind killed her own parents. If her father was anything like this despicable creature, I would also blow him to pieces.

Galliano is about to reach the door when he pauses. "Who was that pretty little girl?"

My fury reaches a boiling point. I hiss through my teeth, trying to force back the explosion. Reacting would only make Miranda a target. A target of a psychopath determined to do anything to create a rift between my brothers and me, including murdering innocent women.

Holding my silence, I school my features into a mask of boredom.

"My men and I are having one of our special parties on Friday," he says, his eyes twinkling. "It's an intimate gathering of like-minded gents who enjoy sushi off the bodies of young women. After dinner, they serve as our dessert."

My jaw clenches.

He nods toward the plane. "How old is she? Thirteen, fourteen? She's exactly my type."

Blood pounds through my ears, and they begin to ring. I can't tell if he's goading me or if he genuinely thinks I would be interested in someone as young as Miranda. Either way, I can't let anything slip.

"Call off the Moirai," I say.

He flashes me a familiar-looking grin. It's the too-wide smile everyone says makes me look like a psychopath. Seeing it on Matty Galliano makes me think they have a point.

"Come to the party and I'll think about it," he says before scooting into the limo.

Breathing hard, I wait at the top of the stairs for his car to disappear behind a hangar. He may not have said it out loud, but he just threatened an innocent girl.

I turn back into the plane, where the pilot stands outside the cockpit, clutching a wheeled suitcase.

"Take me to Braye Airport," I snarl.

He rears back before regaining his composure. "But sir, we're not clear for departure. We've got to refuel."

"Then refuel and get us out of here."

The pilot gulps before giving me a curt nod and disappearing into the cockpit, leaving me alone with my seething rage.

Moving to another airport reduces the chance of being followed by Galliano. It also gives me time to think. He only caught a glimpse of Miranda. He won't know her face, her name, or where she lives. Hopefully, he'll think I'm a sick bastard like him, who treats young girls as disposable.

Once I've carried out my next phase of revenge on Rosalind, I'll return Miranda to her school with a stern warning not to leave its grounds until the Galliano brothers are dead.