Chapter 55

ROSALIND

Hours later, I teeter down the marble hallway in a hobble skirt and six-inch heels connected by chains. Even if I wanted to break free from Cesare, I wouldn't get very far because the sick bastard has dressed me up as BDSM barbie.

Of all the humiliating shit I've endured as an assassin, this is possibly the most aggravating, because we're on our way to a family dinner with his brothers and their dates.

Staff side-eye us as we pass them, and nobody comments on my attire. I don't usually give a shit about what others think, but can't one of them at least show a smidgen of concern or even surprise? I'm being held against my will as Cesare's torture slave.

He leans into my side, presses a kiss on my cheek, murmuring in my ear, "I've never seen you look more beautiful."

"Get fucked," I mutter.

"Are you giving me consent to fill your other holes?" he asks, sounding so earnest that I want to gouge out his eye with my stiletto. "Because I can remove the stitches."

"No..." I say through clenched teeth. "Psycho."

When we enter the dining room, the first thing I notice is a replica of The Last Supper, but with everyone dressed like extras from The Godfather. My jaw would drop, but a curly-haired woman in denim is too busy gaping at my appearance.

I recognize her from the pool house. She walked in when Cesare had me tied to that chair. That was a lifetime ago, when the only threat I had hanging over Miranda's head came from the Moirai.

The woman's wide green eyes scan my boned bodice with sheer fabric that probably exposes my nipples under the light of the chandeliers. Jaw dropping, she turns to Roman Montesano as though urging him to say something, but the eldest brother only scowls.

Benito sits beneath the painting between Gil and his blonde date and an empty space. He raises his head from the screen of his phone, mutters something I can't hear through the blood roaring in my ears, then turns his attention back to his device.

Cesare jostles me into the chair beside the curly-haired woman before taking his seat. The backcombed-blonde sitting opposite who's dressed in a 1980s style dress shoots me a withering glare. I meet her gaze. What's her excuse for dressing like an outdated prom queen?

"Look around," Cesare murmurs into my ear. "You're the most alluring woman in the room and you're all mine."

I stiffen, trying to pretend he doesn't exist, but the toy he placed in my pussy roars to life. Cesare announces to the entire table that this is my last supper, which is bullshit because he's having too much fun making me squirm. I tune out the rest of the conversation, trying my hardest not to react. This entire charade is a power play he set up to demonstrate that I'm completely under his control.

The housekeeper slides into the seat opposite mine, presumably as Benito's date. She gives me a pained grimace, seeming to be the only person in the room who both understands my predicament and vaguely gives a shit. That, or she disapproves of Cesare bringing a hostage to the dinner table.

The curly-haired woman looks perpetually confused. It doesn't help that Roman keeps whispering words of reassurance, and the asshole sitting beside me won't stop stroking my neck.

Delicious scents waft from pasta that's shaped like large grains of rice. Cesare eats like it's his last meal, but I stare at my plate.

Cesare leans into me and whispers. "I freed your hands for a purpose, pet. Don't put this good food to waste."

My nostrils flare. I have to remind myself that breaking my fast with heavy food won't just upset my stomach. It will reset the hunger response and put me further under Cesare's thumb.

The toy in my pussy vibrates with more intensity, and I stifle a moan. Biting down on my bottom lip, I force back my arousal, and my eyes roll to the back of my head. Cesare slips a hand on my thigh. "Come on, pet. Let them hear your pleasure."

I'm on the verge of climaxing when a hand slams on the table, making me flinch. Apparently, the blonde threw an insult at Roman's date, and now she's being asked to leave. Her lips tremble, making my own curl.

Can't she see Roman did her a favor? I would give anything to rise off this seat and walk away without consequences. As if reading my mind, Cesare snakes his arm around my waist and brushes his thumb back and forth against the thin fabric over my skin.

The vibrations speed up. Shivers skitter up and down my spine and settle deep inside my core. Clenching my teeth, I curl my fingers into fists. I do not have a humiliation kink. No toy could ever make me come against my will. But the sensory deprivation has gotten me so touch-starved that Cesare's fingers feel like electricity.

As the blonde takes an eternity to leave her seat, Cesare leans into me, his lips grazing the shell of my ear.

"Eat your fucking pasta," I say through clenched teeth.

"I'd rather eat you," he replies.

Benito's head snaps up, and he glares at his younger brother. I can't tell if Cesare is displaying his ownership of me or taunting Benito for not having a date. Either way, he's using me to provoke his brother.

"Can't you just behave like a normal person for once?" I whisper.

"Is that why you're so obsessed with me, pet?"

"I'm not."

"You haven't touched your food or the wine. Anyone would think you were pining."

"Pining for my freedom," I hiss.

When Roman rises from his seat and escorts his date from the room, Benito sets down his phone. He leans forward in his seat, his brows furrowing.

The housekeeper leaves with a murmured excuse about tiramisu, and the dining room falls into a tense silence, broken only by Cesare's heavy breathing.

He peppers kisses down the column of my neck, each press of his lips infusing my skin with sparks. Shifting in my seat, I glance across the table at Gil, who stares at me through dark eyes.

Benito shakes his head. "I'm not surprised you can't get a word out of the assassin, if that's your method of torture."

As if encouraged by his disapproval, Cesare pulls me onto his lap. His arm clamps around my waist while his hand cups my breast. He nibbles my earlobe, making my eyelids droop.

Gil leans forward, his gaze hooded, while Benito's face is a mask of rage.

"What point are you making with this display?" Benito asks.

"Rosalind is mine," Cesare says. "No one interrogates her but me."

Gil shakes his head and sighs.

"What?" Cesare snaps.

He turns to Benito as though asking for permission to speak.

"Where were you last night?" Benito asks.

"Interrogating assassins. Tending to my pet. Why?"

Benito turns to me. "Is that true?"

"Don't speak to him." Cesare pinches my nipple, making me hiss through my teeth.

Benito's features harden. "Was he with you, Rosalind?"

Cesare rolls my nipple, and I let my eyes flutter shut. The darkness is a welcome distraction from Benito's penetrating gaze. Hours ago, Cesare cut me out of my bandages with an urgency that made me think he was another man. I'm beginning to feel like a bone being fought over by two ruthless dogs.

"Why the fuck are you so invested in my comings and goings?" Cesare asks.

"Allegra was found dead in the parking lot behind the bar," Gil says.

Cesare releases my nipple, his body stiffening. My eyes snap open, and I inhale deeply. I recognize that name from the research I did on the Montesano family. Allegra Reggio manages the bar next door to the Phoenix, one of the few legitimate businesses the family held onto after the death of their father.

Ex-employees I questioned mentioned rumors that Allegra and Cesare were buddies who got high together and fucked, but I never once saw them together.

Benito and Gil glare at us as though they think we both committed the murder. Cesare's arms wrap around my waist, his heart pounding hard enough for us both.

"When did she die?" Cesare rasps.

"Sometime after the bar closed," Gil says. "There's footage of her leaving through the back before someone cut the power."

"Her car was in the parking lot the whole night and when she didn't turn up to work the next day, her assistant manager looked inside," Benito adds.

Cesare's breathing turns ragged. "They found her in the car?"

"How would you know that?" Benito leans forward.

I grind my teeth. Guessing the end of a story isn't evidence of having committed a murder.

"It wasn't me who killed her," Cesare says through clenched teeth. "It was Matty Galliano."

My stomach churns at the mention of that monster's nickname, and I fix my gaze on the table. I thought the explosion had blown off enough body parts to render him harmless, but I suppose Matteo is still capable of murdering a woman in cold blood.

"Why would Galliano target Allegra?" Gil asks.

"Same reason he killed Tania," Cesare says.

"And what's that?" Benito asks.

"Same reason he hired those assassins."

Benito's gaze snaps to meet mine. I gulp, hoping he assumes my discomfort is because of Cesare's mention of the Moirai. If there's war brewing between the Montesanos and the Gallianos, no one can ever know my secret. I must protect Miranda.

Benito rubs his chin. "Explain to me in simple terms why you think Matty Galliano, and not Tommy, wants to kill your former lovers?"

"Isn't it obvious?" Cesare shifts on his seat. "He wants to create a rift between us brothers by framing me for murder."

I hold my features in a neutral mask. That explanation makes no sense. Matteo is the more calculating of the Galliano brothers. He wouldn't sneak into Montesano territory and commit murders on the off chance of causing family discord.

Benito is right. Convoluted, harebrained schemes are more Tommaso's style.

"Was he with you last night?" Benito asks.

My lips part. Every survival instinct tells me to cover up for Cesare, but this might be a chance to negotiate my freedom.

"She was asleep," Cesare says.

Gil sighs. "This doesn't look good."

"Why would I murder Allegra?" Cesare growls.

The large man raises both shoulders. "I mean, you killed Ricky Ferraro…"

"Who sold us out to Capello and Galliano," Cesare yells. "And I was giving him CPR when Tania walked in and interrupted."

"Who died the same moment you turned off the security cameras and rushed into the alley when she was sucking off Bruno."

Gil steeples his thick fingers. "Allegra got a new boyfriend last week. Now, she's dead."

"Bullshit," Cesare says.

Silence stretches out for several tense heartbeats as the two men shoot glares at Cesare and me. The air thickens with tension, pushing down on my lungs until I can barely breathe.

Death is no big deal to an assassin, but the thought that Cesare is murdering his ex-girlfriends is unsettling. He's obsessive, possessive, prone to mood swings. He's capable of anything and is also spending an inappropriate amount of time with my little girl.

My insides twist into painful knots. Would Benito stop Cesare from killing women or would he just help cover up his crimes?

Before I can consider the answer, Benito picks up his phone, makes several taps on its screen, and slides it across the table.

Lying on the back seat of a car is a dark-haired woman. Her naked body is covered in puncture wounds and blood. I recognize the knife embedded in her chest. It's the same one Cesare used to cut me out of my jumpsuit.

Lucrezia.

I try to rise off his lap, but his strong arms pin me to his chest. How the hell would Matteo Galliano know Cesare owned the same zombie knife?