Chapter 71

ROSALIND

I pace the bedroom, my blood sizzling. How dare that asshole leave me behind in his locked bedroom? I can break the lock, climb out of the window, turn any of the crap he's keeping here into a weapon, but acting against him might jeopardize our plans to destroy the Moirai.

He only locked me in because he thinks he's caged my mind.

Shit.

Bastard knows too much about my weaknesses, which is why he thinks he can trust me not to trash his room or attempt an escape. He's right, of course. I wouldn't do anything to compromise Miranda's safety.

Now is probably a good time to snoop around his room and dig up some dirt on the asshole. If he's careless enough to leave me in his private sanctuary, then he's practically handing me his secrets.

The only difference between this room and his dungeon are the lack of visible toys. I start with his desk, and rummage through the drawers, finding nothing more than pens, notepads, and a key.

On the far left stands a closet-sized cabinet containing crystal glasses and exotic looking bottles, but none of them are liquor. The refrigerator is filled with bottled water and snacks. If I didn't know any better, I would think Cesare was a recovering alcoholic.

The bookshelf beside it holds leather-bound copies of literature by the Marquis de Sade in French. There's also the German edition of Venus in Furs by Leopold Von Sacher-Masoch, along with other classical works of erotica.

I pull out a copy of Story of O and place it on the armchair for future reference. If I'm going to spend the day reading foreign literature, it may as well be something modern.

After finding nothing else of interest, I stroll into the walk-in closet. The walls are black, reflecting his personality, as are the clothes hanging from the open rails.

I stride to a tall cabinet secured by an ebony door to find it locked, which only piques my interest. A moment later, I'm back with the key I found in his desk drawer and slide it into the lock.

The door opens, revealing a four-foot-tall safe on the floor. The space on top of it is a gun rack of automatic weapons along with meticulously labeled boxes of ammunition, but I'm more interested in the shelf above eye level containing leather albums.

My breath quickens. I reach up and pull down the first album. It's heavier than expected and filled with photos of a beautiful blonde woman with cornflower-blue eyes, holding a dark-haired baby. She reminds me a little of Leroi Montesano's newest plaything.

Forcing down a surge of irritation, I turn the pages, finding more pictures of the same woman and boy, chronicling their lives. It's Cesare and his mother, Lucia.

Occasionally, they're joined by other members of the family. I immediately recognize Enzo, the father, and younger versions of Roman, Benito, and their cousins, Jennifer and Leroi.

Cesare and Lucia are always separate from the others as though they're not part of their family but outsiders. I focus more on the photos of the large gatherings, where the pair of them are less relaxed. Cesare's posture is tense, as if he's perpetually on guard, and Lucia's smile is strained.

The last album contains more recent photos of Cesare and his mother on formal occasions like his high school graduation, business launches, and various society weddings. Cesare's smile is always too rigid, and Lucia's eyes are glazed, looking like she's high on drugs.

I replace the album, my mind whirring at the intensity of the mother-son dynamic. The intel I gathered on Lucia Montesano was limited. She remarried within days of her husband's death and then died two years later during routine cosmetic surgery.

Cesare hasn't had any significant relationships. I heard talk of a girlfriend at medical school who also dropped out in their first year, but it didn't seem relevant. Now I wish I'd dug deeper.

The burner phone he gave me buzzes with a text message. I pull it out of my back pocket to find a photo of Miranda, grinning into the camera wearing a pair of diamond stud earrings.

When did she get those?

Another photo pops up on the screen of a wicker hamper filled with chocolate bars and her hand emerges from the corner, giving her bounty a thumbs up.

My jaw drops. "What the hell?"

Then there's a flurry of messages:

Thank U Rosa!

It's followed by a barrage of hearts and smiling face emoji wearing sunglasses.

My shoulders sag. When did Cesare organize these gifts? That amount of junk food will be detrimental to her health, but I can't help but smile at her enthusiasm.

After taking a gun with a few clips, I lock up the cabinet and return to the armchair to exchange messages with Miranda. Thanks to her new stash of chocolate, she's already made friends with the girl next door, who will give her a tour of the school and its grounds.

I chat with Miranda for the rest of her free period, which is something I couldn't do while at the Moirai. When out on the field, I had to focus on the mission. I also couldn't exchange messages with her inside HQ because all communications were monitored.

Fucking Cesare. The moment I start thinking he's still an asshole, he surprises me with something thoughtful. He didn't even try to take credit for the gifts because the notes attached said they were from me. Warmth fills my chest and I continue texting my little girl. It's hard to deny that his presence has brought us closer together.

When Miranda's lessons start, I make a breakfast of some protein bars from the minibar, wash them down with water, and continue my exploration.

Cesare's bathroom has an oval tub that's large enough for two, along with a separate shower with no sign of chains or hooks. By the looks of things, he doesn't bring women into his private space. At least not the ones he likes to torture.

I run myself a bath, making sure to pour lots of lavender oil in the tub, before immersing myself in the warm, soothing water. All the tightness in my muscles melts away, but I don't think that's because of the bath.

Miranda is happy and safe in her new academy. Cesare and I made sure nobody followed us to Helsing Island, and I'm only days away from getting my freedom from the Moirai.

I close my eyes and luxuriate in the bath, letting the water lap against my skin. The space fills with the scent of lavender, adding to my relaxation.

We're a good team. I have the knowledge to take down my employer and Cesare has the resources. We need weapons, manpower, surveillance, and armored trucks, all of which the Montesano family has in abundance.

Some of the tension I've carried since my demotion releases in a long sigh, and I sink further into the warm water. For the first time in years, I can finally envisage a happy future. It's murky because I'm still Cesare's prisoner, but he's the lesser of all the threats hanging over our necks.

About an hour later, the bedroom door unlocks, and he walks into the bathroom. I glance up to find him shirtless, his features held in a scowl.

I sit up. "Something go wrong?"

"Your plan worked perfectly," he mutters. "We got six more hostages."

I wait for him to continue, but he sits at the edge of the tub and runs a hand through his hair.

"Then what's the problem?" I ask.

"Matty Galliano attacked Sofia."

I stiffen, a sharp breath whistling through my teeth as I picture the family's middle-aged housekeeper. "Did she survive?"

He rises, his hands bunching into fists. "She shot him."

My heart pounds, and I hold on to the edge of the tub. "Is he dead?"

"Don't know. She didn't look back."

"Oh."

The bastard is probably still alive because he's a cockroach. He survived the grenade I launched at him the day I took back my daughter. I'm sure he'll survive a bullet.

He punches his palm. "We need to do something about him, now."

I stare at his broad back, my excitement mounting. Gunther kept me on a short leash after I was demoted for wasting company resources. There wasn't enough time to devote to researching the Galliano family or their latest hideouts.

When I was his stepdaughter, Matteo used to split his time between multiple houses, making him difficult to track. If Cesare can help me hunt him down, that will bring me one step closer to securing Miranda's freedom.

"What do you suggest?" I ask.

"I'm going to text him, arrange a meeting, and shoot him between the eyes," Cesare growls.

"That won't work." I rise from the tub.

He whirls around, his eyes narrowing. "How would you know?"

Panic explodes across my chest. The bathroom is suddenly too warm, and the air too thick. Cesare must never know Miranda is the daughter of a man he despises.

Holding my features into a neutral mask, I reply, "High-ranking men like him don't meet enemies without backup, otherwise there would be no need for assassins."

He hesitates, his jaw flexing, as though battling with some kind of decision.

"What?" I ask.

His expression smooths. "How would you like a job with the Montesano family?"

"I'm not leaving one secret society to join another," I mutter, eager for him to return to the subject.

"Help me take out Tommy and Matty Galliano."

My heart skips several beats. The answer is an emphatic yes, but I need to play it cool and leverage this into something advantageous for Miranda and my future.

"I'm already helping you take down the Moirai," I say. "What are you offering in return for the Galliano brothers?"

"Five hundred grand," he replies. "A piece."

I huff a laugh. "You're joking."

"A million."

My pulse quickens, but I paste over my excitement. "That's the going rate for a high-ranking target, but you're asking me to take out the don of New Jersey and his consigliere."

"What do you want, then?" He folds his arms across his chest and glares at me, his chest rising and falling with rapid breaths.

"My freedom," I say, looking him square in the eye. "And two million each."

Cesare falls silent, his jaw working in a slow grind. He's affronted that I suggested leaving, and I can practically see the gears turning in his head.

I would kill the Galliano brothers for free, but even a million dollars would set up a nice college fund for Miranda and buy us a small family home. We don't need anything lavish. I could get a job as a personal trainer or teaching self-defense.

After what feels like an eternity, he gives a single nod. "Deal."

"I'm going to need more than a one-word answer."

He clenches his teeth. "A written contract?"

"Repeat back our deal in your own words."

His cold eyes harden, never wavering from mine, and the veins in his temples pulse. I can only assume it's at the indignity of being asked to recite terms he finds repugnant.

"You will help me kill Tommy and Matty Galliano," he grinds out, each word sounding pained. "In return, I will pay you two million dollars for each and grant you your freedom."

"And Miranda?" I ask.

"Miranda's too," he says through clenched teeth. "Do we have a deal?"

I hold out my hand. "Deal."

His gaze sweeps down my naked body before settling on my proffered hand. "Seal it with a kiss."

I step out of the bath. "Then you're going to kiss a different set of lips."