Chapter 59

CESARE

Rosalind is giving me whiplash.

Less than an hour ago, I walked in on her, thinking she was a cold-hearted bitch who murdered her own parents out of a twisted form of sibling rivalry. Now, I can't stop comparing her to my pet rabbit, who also had her belly ripped open.

A single piece of information has changed everything I know about Rosalind, casting her from the villain to a mother desperate to protect her child.

My heart swells, pushing painfully against my rib cage. Mom was a fully grown woman who couldn't even stay faithful to Dad. Rosalind was just a child when she had Miranda, yet she went to such lengths to ensure her safety, even if it meant becoming an assassin.

Mom cheated on Dad with the Galliano brothers, which was how I was born. The moment he died and Roman got arrested, she left Benito and me for what she probably thought was better prospects.

I can't see Rosalind ever ditching Miranda. She would set fire to the estate and the whole of Beaumont City to save her daughter from getting hurt. Maybe if I wasn't so blinded by her connection to the Moirai, I could have appreciated her sacrifice.

Leaning against the wall, I watch my girls interact. Rosalind tries to give her daughter a hug, but Miranda shrinks away from her touch.

My brows pinch. Miranda finds Rosalind repellent because she thinks she abducted her. In her mind, her older sister killed her parents and then locked her away at a boarding school. From the way Rosalind's shoulders sag, I'm certain she's hurt by the constant rejection.

I drop my gaze to my bare feet and grimace, unable to shake off the regret at the part I played in damaging their relationship.

Rosalind needs to tell Miranda the truth.

Miranda needs to know she has a mother who loves her desperately. A mother who sold her soul to the Moirai and even sacrificed herself at the first sign of danger.

Guilt grips my throat and squeezes tight as I remember Rosalind's attempts to bargain. She wanted help to safeguard Miranda and leave the Moirai. I laughed, not appreciating how betraying her firm would put her daughter in danger.

"Who was he?" Rosalind says, her voice rough.

My head snaps up, and I meet Rosalind's fiery gaze. "Who was who?"

"The man at the airport," she says through gritted teeth. "The man you felt so strongly about that you scaled up the academy wall and stole my sister in the dead of night."

A chill creeps up my spine as I remember her sitting through the part of dinner where I laid out exactly how Matty Galliano was butchering women to make me look like a murder.

"He's…" The words stick in my throat, and I cough, trying to think up a way to soften the blow. "Can we talk about this outside?"

Rosalind's eyes narrow, and she gives me a terse nod. "Fine."

I turn to Miranda and smile. "Get dressed, love. We're going down for breakfast in an hour."

When Miranda beams, it takes every effort not to look at Rosalind's reaction. Everything I know about Miranda tells me she doesn't offer Rosalind many of her genuine smiles.

Dread mounts as we step out into the hallway and walk out of earshot. Galliano's relentless attempts to estrange me from my family are now putting an innocent girl at risk. That bastard needs to die. His brother too.

"Who saw her at the airport?" Rosalind asks.

"Matty Galliano, but only for a second," I mutter.

She curls her fingers into the lapels of my pajama jacket and slams me against the wall. "We're leaving on the first flight out of town."

Indignation rears to the surface, making me flash my teeth, refusing to let Rosalind's behavior go unchecked. She may think being Miranda's mother gives her the upper hand, but she's still my prisoner, still my little plaything.

The only thing holding me back from breaking her spirit is the thought of the sound carrying down the hallway and reaching Miranda.

"Watch your mouth, pet," I snarl. "You're about to get punished."

"Really?" a male voice drawls.

Benito strides out of his room, dressed in a navy pinstripe suit. We must have startled him with our spat because he's forgotten to wear the prescription-free glasses he thinks makes him look respectable.

"It's bad enough that you dredge her up from the basement and bring to the dinner table. Now, you're dressing her in your monogrammed pajamas and allowing her to sass you in our living space?"

My lip curls. "I've just made an important breakthrough on the Moirai."

Benito's gaze flickers toward Rosalind, with a gleam in his eyes that suggests he wants to take over the mission assigned to me and unleash a fresh round of interrogation.

Over my twitching corpse.

He doesn't get to muscle in on my romance with Rosalind or take over my friendship with Miranda. I won't allow him to swoop in, claim the glory, and have Roman congratulate him for taking down the Moirai.

I step between them to block his view.

"Don't you have a casino to run?" I ask. "Or a croupier to stalk?"

His gaze drops to the CM stitched on my pajama pocket. "Unlike you, I don't shit where I eat."

As he turns back to his room, I say to his retreating back. "With that stick up your ass, I'm surprised you even shit."

His shoulders tense, and he pauses in mid-stride. I brace myself for an insult, a barbed comment, or even a withering glower. Instead, he grins.

"What?" I ask.

Benito shakes his head.

"You finally got a girlfriend?"

His smile widens.

"What the hell does that even mean?"

When Benito disappears into his room, I don't bother to follow. This new woman of his is probably either a figment of his imagination or some cam girl he's paying online through a site like FuckPal.

"Well?" Rosalind asks from behind. "Are we going to catch a flight?"

"Yeah," I mutter. "Tell me the name of the school and the city."

In a mere twenty minutes, Rosalind has gotten dressed, called the Brunswick Academy on Helsing Island, and arranged a meeting with its headmaster for tomorrow afternoon.

She's stunning in the burgundy pants suit I liberated from Roman's closet. It doesn't count as stealing if the clothes are brand new with attached labels. Besides, anyone spending enough time with the crazy balcony woman can tell she prefers wearing denim and paint-splattered aprons.

When she swipes one of my hair ties to secure her long, mahogany hair into a tight bun, not leaving a single wispy strand to frame her face, I can't help picturing her as a strict femdom.

"What are you doing for passports?" I ask.

"Britt agreed to leave our ID in a locker at the airport," she replies, her lips tightening. "You didn't have to shoot her so close to the heart."

I place a hand over my sternum. "Neither did you, but you don't hear me sniping about it."

She cuts me a glare sharp enough to slice throats. "I didn't hear a thing."

"If this is about the sensory deprivation, I did what was necessary to break your spirit."

Her lips purse, then her features twist like she's about to say something before thinking better of it. "What happens afterward?"

I cross the room, closing the distance between us and stand so close to her I smell hints of magnolia. My nostrils flare. No matter how many times I bathed her, I can never get rid of that scent.

"After what?" I ask.

"After we've settled Miranda into her new school, what's next?"

I run my thumb over her high cheekbone. "You'll stay by my side and help me destroy the Moirai."

"And when they're dead, you'll let me free?"

The corner of my lip lifts into a smirk. "Trust me, pet. You're going to want to stay."

Her features form a blank mask to conceal what she's calculating. As soon as she's sure Miranda is safe behind the walls of her new academy, she'll disappear without a trace.

But not until after I'm too dead to pose a threat to her daughter.