Chapter 50

CESARE

I would never harm Rosalind. But all this talk of that blond bastard filling Rosalind with his rancid cock is fucking with my head. His words echo through my mind, creating a vivid image of my naked pet covered in sushi and splayed on a table, being devoured by three male assassins.

I need to calm the fuck down.

Every encounter with Galliano leaves me unsettled. That last one has me unhinged. He all but threatened Miranda. I had to fly her to a different airport and then drive around town to make sure we weren't being followed before I sent her back to school.

Galliano didn't get a good enough look at her, but I couldn't take any chances. Until that asshole is dead, I'll have to meet her in secret.

One thing's for sure. I need to change tactics with my pet. And that starts with focusing my aggression on any bastard who's enjoyed her tight little cunt.

My fingers tighten on the hair tourniquet I wrapped around the root of that blond bastard's cock. These things are rare and usually take hours to cut off circulation and days to erode tissue.

Since I don't have the luxury of time, I position my body to block Rosalind's view and accelerate the process with a strand of cheese wire.

Blondie convulses, presumably because he knows he's about to be separated from his cock. I pull the tourniquet taut around his shaft, letting the cheese wire sink into his flesh.

Stepping back, I keep my gaze fixed on Rosalind, who stares ahead as though unmoved. Of course, she's unaffected. She's a cold-hearted witch who murdered her parents in front of her baby sister.

Warm liquid drips on my fingers, and the room fills with the metallic scent of his blood. I pull tighter, feeling his body shudder violently beneath my grip.

Muffled cries echo off the walls, filling the chamber with the mingled sounds of despair. The other assassins probably expect to be next in line for the removal of body parts. I can't even revel in their fear because all my attention is on Rosalind's glower.

"Look at what you've brought upon your boyfriend," I say. "This is the price for your betrayal."

She breathes hard, seeming affronted at the accusation.

This is taking too long. His cock is still hanging by twisted strands of flesh. Tired of waiting for the tourniquet. I pull out Lucrezia from the back of my pocket and slice her blade through Blondie's shaft.

I hold the appendage high, reveling in the assassins' muffled cries. Rosalind's gaze doesn't waver, and she only sucks in a breath. No shrieks, no tears, no grief.

I advance on her, my fingers tightening around Blondie's shaft. Every instinct screams at me to shake her until her teeth rattle, wring her neck, and squeeze out the information I need, starting with the reason she lied.

Rosalind convinced us we were safe from the Moirai. That's the entire reason my brothers arranged the welcome-back party, only for her to summon her minions to kill Roman.

When I drop the severed appendage on her lap, she doesn't even flinch.

"Ready to talk, pet?" I ask, still out of breath from a burst of adrenaline.

She glares at me, still defiant.

I unravel the rest of the bandages around her head and unbuckle the gag, leaving it to fall onto her lap. She splutters and coughs, breathing hard in sympathy for her fallen man.

"Why are you doing this?" she asks, her voice hoarse.

"Thirsty, pet?"

When she doesn't answer, I walk to the table at the back of the room and pick up a bottle of water. After cracking it open, I return to give her a few sips. My gaze wanders to the saline IV I inserted to keep her hydrated during my out-of-town trip. Dr. Brunelli would have come in a few times to keep her and the others topped up, but her bag is now empty because of the detour.

I stroke her hair as she finishes the water, lean into her and whisper into her ear, "How can something so beautiful be so treacherous?"

"Take me away from here," she whispers back.

I draw back with a frown. "Are you ashamed to be seen with me, pet?"

Her lips tighten, which I take as a yes.

"What's wrong?" I snap. "Still pining for that cockless bastard?"

She jerks her head to the side.

Fuck this.

With a swift kick, I release the lock on the chair's wheel lock and push her and Blondie's severed penis out of the room and into the darkened hallway. The door swings shut, and groans resound from the chamber as the lack of movement encases the other assassins in the dark.

I crouch in front of her chair and gaze into her hazel eyes. Eyes the same shape as Miranda's, but which burn with golden flames.

"Talk to me, pet."

"I didn't know there was another hit," she rasps.

My fingers close in around her bandaged thighs, and I squeeze them so tightly she grimaces.

"You're intelligent, powerful, ruthless. A seducer of men," I murmur, my gaze falling to her lips. "A high-ranking assassin like you manipulates the world around you. You could have escaped, yet you stayed in position to coordinate your subordinates to carry out your mission."

"No," she says.

I dig my fingers into her skin, making her gasp. "Then how did you direct Britt past secret entrances, through the maze of underground hallways, and into the hidden bathroom?"

"I didn't."

"Rosalind."

Her eyes widen at the use of her name. Good.

"Help me help you."

Her brow furrows. "What do you mean?"

"I want to protect you more than anything, but all the facts point to you being the master assassin. I searched you for trackers, yet you found a way to communicate with your underlings."

"Cesare, I'm not?—"

"Give me something, so I can save you!"

She flinches, squeezes her eyes shut, and shudders. Rosalind is a skillful actress. I almost believe she's frightened, frustrated, even frantic. I'm so enthralled with her performance that I'll do anything to make her mine.

With a shuddering sigh, she says, "You have six hostages?—"

"Five," I reply with a smirk. "Your boyfriend shot my brother and just lost his cock. I doubt he'll survive the night."

"You have five hostages," she says, not the least bit disturbed about the impending death of her lover. "Why don't you use that as leverage against the Moirai?"

Loosening my grip on her thighs, I lean back and consider her proposal. It's a smart strategy. But knowing Rosalind, there has to be a catch.

"That's not a bad idea. Now, tell me how you coordinated your escape and the triple hit."

"I didn't," she says with a sigh.

"Give me something else, or I'll kill blondie boy."

"Call Gunther at the Times," she says through clenched teeth. "Tell him everything. He might listen."

"How do I know it isn't a coded message?"

She rears back. "What?"

"You're the mistress of manipulation. How can I trust anything you say?"

Her face tightens, and she swallows hard. She almost looks the picture of innocence, an older version of the girl I want to protect. I shake off that thought and remember the pain of her firing that gun into my bullet-proof undershirt.

"Work with me," I growl. "The stakes are higher. I need something. Anything to keep you alive."

She licks her lips and hesitates, as though conjuring up another lie. "I'm not as powerful as you think," she says, her eyes glistening. "All those people in there outrank me."

I laugh at the blatant bullshit. "How do you explain being the only assassin who never stops trying to escape? Or how you found an escape hatch no one has used for generations?"

"Desperation," she snarls. "And luck. Have you ever thought that I might have a lot to lose?"

"Says the heartless viper who murdered her own parents."

Her eyes widen.

I curl my lip. "Do you think Miranda forgot?"

"When did she?—"

"Some firms have initiation rituals. Did you do that for the Moirai? Kill your mother and father and earn the right to join their ranks?"

Her lips tremble, and tears gather in the corners of her eyes. "She remembers?"

"How the fuck could anyone forget something so heinous?" I snarl. "The poor girl told me on the flight back to Beaumont City."

"Wait. You took her?" Rosalind asks, her eyes widening.

"Yeah, she's back at school with a doctor's note, so she can sit the test you made her miss."

"Oh, god." She bows her head and sobs. "No."

My lip curls. "You can't uproot a child from her family home, then dump her in boarding school, rip her out again, and imprison her in a shitty little apartment."

Her head snaps up, and she glares up at me and wails, "You don't know what you've done."

"Tell me," I say. "Work with me."

She clams up.

Frustration wells in my gut. I thought this change in tactics would make her talkative, but there's a limit to her loquacity.

"Think about Miranda for once. She needs your loyalty, not the Moirai."

I wheel Rosalind away, making a mental note to get in touch with her boss. We might be able to use the hostages to our advantage.

Rosalind's shoulders shake with silent sobs, confirming part of my message is soaking through her thick skull. I'll leave her to stew for a few hours and ask her specific questions about the Moirai.

In the meantime, I'll text Miranda and check that she's settled back to school.