Chapter 58

ROSALIND

Exhaling my emotions in an outward breath, I try to restore a sense of calm. I am wrung out, drained from hearing my backstory laid bare like the answer to some puzzle. Strangely, I believe Cesare hasn't laid a finger on Miranda, but no groomer makes a move after a few encounters.

Fighting him is futile. Days spent away from the gym and a lack of good nutrition has sapped my strength. Cesare's face doesn't even change color with my hands around his throat. Instead, he stares down at me without his usual sadistic glee, the intensity of his gaze ripping me to shreds.

He's serious. In his twisted mind, he believes he hasn't corrupted my little girl, but this maniac doesn't have a bone in his body that isn't sexual. He's probably also some kind of addict.

I glance around, taking in a bathroom on the left, along with the door to what's probably a walk-in closet. We're no longer in the balcony bedroom I trashed but somewhere within the mansion's first floor.

Blown-up photos hang on the wall depicting extreme close-ups of a woman in various stages of agony. I skip past them to find a window beyond the footboard that overlooks a tall willow tree, and the exit on the right.

"Take me to my daughter," I say, through clenched teeth.

He peels my fingers off his throat and brings them to his lips, his demeanor changing from shitty psychopath to chivalrous savior. Each kiss he presses into my knuckles is a slap in the face.

I don't believe for one second that he gives a shit about Miranda. He's probably gearing up to some kind of mother-daughter kink. Maybe he wants to keep us both as pets.

But what exactly are my options?

I'm too diminished to win a fight, and he's got my little girl back in his clutches. He also has the backing of his brothers and a small army of goons. I might have bested him when I was alone and at my peak, but I'm compromised.

Fear and exhaustion have taken their toll, rendering me physically useless. So I'll play along, keep them far apart, and bide my time until we can escape.

It's the only option left for me to save Miranda.

"Truce, first," he says.

My blood simmers at the sound of his voice, but I push down my mounting anger. "Truce?" I snarl. "Why do you suddenly want to cooperate?"

He winces, as if remembering the time I'd offered up all the information he wanted in exchange for my freedom. Back then, he wasn't interested in negotiations. He onlywanted my unconditional surrender.My unyielding submission.

"I've grown fond of Miranda." He cringes, seeming to realize his words carry innuendo.

My stomach churns at the thought of him feeling anything toward my daughter. I want to scream, to lash out, to inflict all the anguish searing through my veins. I want Cesare to suffer the anguish of being held captive while the person he loves most in the world is at risk. But all I can say to him is, "Why?"

"We have the same age gap between Roman and me. She's like the little sister I always wanted."

Nausea surges at the nostalgia in his tone, but I force my voice to stay level. "What are your terms?"

"Help me take down the Moirai. In return, I'll keep Miranda safe."

"How do I know we won't end up in one of your basements?" I ask.

His jaw clenches, and his lips flatten against his teeth. "I wouldn't hurt her."

"But you would hurt me?" I ask, every word bleeding anger.

"I hurt an assassin who came after my family," he snarls. "You tricked your way into my house, sent security information to the Moirai and masterminded an attempt on Roman's life."

"I didn't?—"

"And while your colleagues or underlings ran around the grounds, using the information you provided them to slip away, you shot me in the chest and allowed Britt to escape."

My heart races as I process the truth in his words. Even I can see his point. Cesare was ready to escort me to the gates before I tricked him into swallowing the oxypentanol. I put his family in danger, and he's doing the same to mine. But that doesn't justify the abduction of an innocent child or make him even remotely trustworthy.

"Help me move Miranda to another boarding school."

"No," he growls, his grip tightening on my wrists. "She stays here."

My heart races, and my ears ring with alarm bells. Flashbacks flicker through the recesses of my mind of Mom trying to send me away to school and Matteo insisting that I stay. I struggle against Cesare's weight, even though I don't have a chance in hell to overpower this monster. I buck my hips, trying to throw him off, but he's a lead weight.

"So you can groom her?" I ask, my voice laced with bitterness.

"So I can keep her safe," he snarls, his malicious eyes boring into mine.

"While you're keeping her safe from the Moirai, who's going to keep her safe from you?"

"You will."

I flinch. "What?"

"If you're so determined to think I'm a predator, then you can stay at my side and scrutinize my every move."

I need to stop this bullshit before he gets suggestive. "You will help me move my daughter to a school out of reach of the Moirai. In exchange, I will tell you everything you need to destroy them."

"Fine." He rises off my hips and sinks beside me on the mattress. "I'll make inquiries."

"Don't bother." I sit up against the headboard, roll the tension off my shoulders, and force back a semblance of composure. "I already did the research. Just give me the money, and I'll take her."

"We'll take Miranda together."

My stomach churns, and I tighten my jaw. Cesare doesn't seem like the type of man to hand a woman a suitcase of cash and expect her to return, and he'd be right. The moment I leave with my little girl, I'm never coming back.

He sits beside me and offers out his hand. "Deal?"

Every instinct screams at me to break his fingers. Fingers that removed my bullet wound. Fingers that brought me to the heights of pleasure and pain. Fingers that slid down my tongue and fed me rice pudding.

Now isn't the time for vengeance or even escape. After Miranda is safe, there'll be plenty of time to act.

But for now, all I can do is take his hand. "Deal."

My gaze drifts from our joined hands to penetrating blue eyes that know all my secrets. He's the only person alive who has seen me cry, has made me beg, and knows what I look like when I climax. When he pulls me into his chest, I lose track of that peculiar thought.

"What are you doing?" I ask, my voice wavering.

"When you make a deal with the devil, you need to seal it with a kiss," he says, his lips descending on mine.

Grinding my teeth, I let him savor this hollow victory. He snakes an arm around my waist and pulls me onto his lap, while he tries to push his tongue between our joined lips.

My fingers find his nipple, and I pinch it with every ounce of strength. He groans, his cock hardening beneath my thighs. Of course, the bastard enjoys receiving pain as much as he enjoys his sadism.

I pull away and wipe the back of my hand over my mouth, trying to rid myself of his taste. "Next time you kiss me, I'll bite off your lip."

"Feisty," he says, his eyes dancing with mirth, his fingers tracing up my bare thighs.

Fury ripples down my spine, and I launch myself off the bed. "Where's Miranda?"

He cocks his head and gazes down at me with a smirk. "You can't see her looking like you've just been fucked."

My brow furrows. I glance down at the shirt to find it gaping open and exposing my breasts. The buttons must have popped during our struggle. "Fine," I say through gritted teeth. "Give me something I can borrow."

After Cesare insists I take a shower with him and change into a pair of his silk pajamas, he finally directs me down the hallway. The sun has risen, drenching the ivory walls in light and casting sharp-edged shadows across the marble floor.

He stops us at a door and knocks, his features softening. There's no doubt that Cesare is fond of my daughter, but I don't believe for one second that a violent psychopath could ever form a friendship with an innocent young girl.

"Hello?" Miranda's sweet voice filters through the door, making my throat thicken. "Who is it?"

"It's me," Cesare says, his grating voice transforming into something gentle, even soothing. "Are you decent?"

It's jarring to witness his duplicity. Is this the mask he shows to his victims to lure them into his trap? Memories of Matteo bubble up to the surface, reminding me of how I once saw him as a father figure.

Heart pounding, I grab Cesare's pajama top. "She doesn't know," I hiss through clenched teeth. "And you're not going to tell her."

He gives me a sharp nod, seeming to understand the importance of keeping quiet.

The door swings open, there she is. Miranda appears, drowning in an identical set of black pajamas. She's so bright-eyed and happy that I forget my worries. My heart swells, crushing the nagging concern that she's wearing Cesare's clothes.

"Rosa!" Miranda pulls my arm and yanks me into a room the size of Cesare's that overlooks the gardens and the pool.

Tears prick at my eyes at the sight of my little girl. I still don't know how long we've spent apart.

Her school backpack lies strewn on the marble floor with a silver dress spilling out along with a pair of heels. Where on earth did she get money for new clothes?

My chest tightens. It's probably the same place she got the phone she snuck into the New Jersey apartment. Cesare.

I force my gaze to the desk, finding an array of pastries, along with a silver pot of what smells like hot chocolate. The brown smudges on the insides of an empty cup confirm my suspicions.

None of that matters, though. She's healthy, happy, but is she hurt? My gaze rakes up and down her slender form, searching for any signs of trauma or injury.

Her cheeks are rosy, with her mouth covered in faint traces of chocolate and crumbs. All I see is the vibrancy of her youth, but then I was ecstatic in the early days with Matteo.

"Are you okay, baby?" I place an arm around her shoulders and pull her in for a hug.

"Don't call me that," she says with a nervous chuckle and slips out from my embrace. Her gaze flickers toward Cesare, who stands in the doorway. "It's embarrassing."

The rejection makes my heart sink to my empty stomach. I iron out my features and dismiss the brush off as teenage sensitivity. It's not like I know what it feels like to be a regular fourteen-year-old.

At her age, I was heavily pregnant and locked in a room with only Mom coming in during the day to bring me food. After the c-section, I only spent a few weeks at my boarding school before Gunther recruited me to the Moirai.

Miranda walks to the other side of the desk, using it as a barrier. She feigns interest in the pastries and selects a chocolate croissant. I used to think she was a prickly child until Cesare told me she remembers the day I shot Mom between the eyes and launched a grenade at Matteo, his brother, and their goons.

"How's your shoulder?" she asks.

I clutch my bullet wound and frown, my gaze darting to Cesare. "It's healing."

"It's not like you to be clumsy, even if you were skiing."

"Skiing," I say with a tight smile, still unable to fathom how Cesare explained my injury. "It just happened so fast. What's all this food?"

"Did you know they have room service?" Miranda says. "I couldn't sleep after all that hot chocolate. Then I stayed up thinking about the man from the airport."

"Miri?" I frown.

She flicks her head toward Cesare. "You know…"

"No, I don't."

"The one who's been hurting all of Cesare's friends."

I suck in a sharp breath, my mind making rapid-fire connections. Cesare blamed Allegra's murder on the Galliano family and he said they were also responsible for Tania's. He told his brother and Gil that Matteo was trying to create discord by choosing women connected to Cesare to make it look like he was killing his exes.

My stomach plummets with the realization that Cesare brought Miranda into the mansion because he is afraid she'd become Matteo's next target.

Because Matteo saw Miranda at the airport.

Fuck.

Did he even recognize his daughter?