Chapter 73

CESARE

The next morning, after my anger has cooled and after Rosalind hate fucks me until my balls ache for mercy, I'm driving her to one of the armories our family owns across town.

It's a huge warehouse, guarded by some of our most hardened men, where we keep the explosives too volatile to keep beneath the estate. We will need this level of destructive power to penetrate the inner sanctum of the Moirai headquarters.

Rosalind is quiet in the passenger seat, pretending to be busy sending texts to Miranda while her eyes are on the passing buildings. The air is thick with tension and no amount of background music can clear the heavy silence.

Last night changed our dynamic. Both for the better and the worse. Galliano's attack on Sofia got me so worked up emotionally that I agreed to her audacious demand for freedom. Now, she thinks we're equals.

Granted, she's strong, intelligent, highly trained, and lethal, but she will forever be my property. My pet. But I agreed to free her if she killed the Galliano brothers. I'm tempted to make the fatal blow myself and keep Rosalind at my side on a technicality.

The industrial estate comes into sight. It's one of the few with a checkpoint of armed guards around its gates. The buildings behind it stand tall against the sickly yellow sunrise. No one could ever suspect it contains enough weapons to level half the city.

As we approach, the guards exit their checkpoint and ready their weapons. I slow down to lower my window, and they wave me inside.

We park outside a door secured with biometric identification technology, and I step out. Rosalind puts her phone away and follows, her gaze roaming over the building.

Curiosity gnaws at my ego about how our armory compares to the Moirai, but I quell that ridiculous thought. Rosalind has already turned her back on her old firm. It's only a matter of time before she realizes she wants to stay with me.

I open the door and usher her into the cold, sterile space carrying the scent of gunpowder and metal. The lights snap on, illuminating rows upon rows of crates stacked toward the ceiling, each one carefully labeled.

We walk around the boxed guns toward the back of the building where we keep the explosives. Gil once compared the inside of our armory to a Home Depot for militias. It's spacious like a home improvement warehouse, but instead of tools and supplies, it is stocked with weapons of all sizes.

I glance over at Rosalind to gauge her reaction, but she remains stoic. Her gaze scans a carton of grenades and moves onto a box of C-4 explosives with an intensity some might find unnerving. Having a ruthless assassin at my command is exhilarating.

"What do you think?" I ask.

She tilts her head. "There isn't nearly enough to penetrate the Moirai's lower levels, but it's a start."

My jaw drops. "How deep is the building?"

"At least ten stories."

"At least?" I ask.

"I'm not authorized to access the lower levels," she says with a shrug. "Which is why we need more explosive power."

"Leave it with me. I can reach out to other families."

"We need an accelerant," she says.

I raise my brows. "What kind?"

"Mercury nitrovolucite."

"Never heard of it. Is it anything like fulminated mercury?" I think about the TV show where the main character throws a crystal of the compound on the floor to trigger an explosion.

Rosalind makes a see-saw motion with her hand. "It's more stable, which makes it easier to transport. If we can introduce mercury nitrovolucite inside the Moirai HQ before we detonate the bombs, it will increase our chances of destroying even the lowest of levels."

I suck in a deep breath, already picturing how Benito will react to us creating a crater in the middle of Beaumont City. "How much collateral damage are we talking?"

"None." She shakes her head for emphasis. "The building is a mile away from its nearest neighbor. There's no chance of anyone getting hurt."

"Fine. Where do we get your mercury nitrovolucite?"

"Do you have any contacts with full-scale industrial laboratories?"

An hour later, we're pulling into an office building a block away from Beaumont City's largest shopping mall. Underneath it is where Roman relocated the meth lab he and Benito rescued from the Galliano brothers.

We take an elevator down to the third level basement and continue through an empty underground parking lot and through two sets of security doors into the sterile laboratory.

Rosalind's gasp is audible over the low hum of machinery, and my chest inflates with pride.

"Impressive," she says, her gaze sweeping past a row of industrial-sized rotary evaporators and up to the wide exhaust ducts snaking across the high ceiling.

We continue past tall distillation columns and a room filled with drums toward where a group of cooks clad in white hazmat suits gather around a counter, checking the purity of their latest batch.

At the sound of our footsteps, my former chemistry lecturer, Dr. Cortese, turns around and waves us over with a glove-covered hand.

My stomach drops at how much she's aged since she and her team were abducted. Her hair has turned gray. She's still beautiful, but her wrinkles have deepened.

What the hell happened to her while the Gallianos held her captive?

I hide my shock with a smile. "Dr. Cortese."

She breaks away from the group and pulls me into a tight hug. "It's so good to see you, Cesare."

Resting her head on my chest, she sighs as though I'm a close friend. I return the hug, noting that Dr. Cortese never showed me this level of affection during her time at the university or even after I introduced her to Roman.

She draws back with a sad smile and is about to say something when her son, Christian, barges in with a broad grin. "What brings you here? Did you graduate?"

My gaze bounces from my former teacher to my former classmate. It looks like Christian is trying to protect his mom. "No." I force my features not to grimace at the reminder of why I dropped out of medical school. "The family business became more urgent, so I had to leave."

They both nod, not needing any further explanation. If Dad hadn't died and Roman hadn't been arrested, the Galliano brothers wouldn't have infiltrated the lab and abducted our cooks.

Stepping back, I sweep an arm toward Rosalind. "My associate needs a large quantity of mercury nitrovolucite."

Rosalind steps forward. "I've only made it on a small scale and as part of a chemistry class, but I can provide a detailed formula and instructions."

Christian ushers her to a part of the counter where they hunch over a notebook, leaving me behind with Dr. Cortese. I turn to the older woman and ask, "Is there somewhere we can talk?"

With a nod, she walks toward a wall of steel shelving units, where there's a door leading to a dormitory of bunks. She wanted them installed for nights when someone needs to stay behind to monitor a batch or can't make it home because of a late-night experiment.

Before I can step toward her, she turns around to face me, her blue eyes etched with pain. "I know you want answers, Cesare. Everyone does." Her voice is ragged, barely louder than the clink of glass beakers from the other side of the room. "I just... We had to produce meth for them. They were so forceful."

Guilt forms a knot in my chest. I hadn't even considered asking her why she cooked for the Galliano brothers. Two psychopathic maniacs and an army of armed lackeys is no match for a science lecturer and a handful of college students.

"Nobody blames you. You did what you had to do to stay alive," I murmur, trying to ease some of her tension.

Sighing, she bows her head, her shoulders deflating with relief. "Those men were monsters."

My chest burns with curiosity. I never understood why Mom would sleep with the Galliano brothers while she was married to Dad, let alone leave us to marry Tommy. Dad had his faults, but he wasn't a psychopath who murdered women for sport.

"Did you meet them?" I ask.

She shudders. "Tommy was a regular visitor. He used to complain that the meth was weak and forced us to develop a better blend."

"But yours was 99.6% pure," I say.

"He wanted something stronger, with a bigger kick, and punished us when we failed."

My brows pull together in a deep frown. "What happened?"

Her gaze lowers. For several seconds, it looks like she won't answer, then she sits on one of the bunks and stares at her lap. "He hurt Christian and threatened to spray his brains across the lab if we didn't make this miracle drug."

I curl my hands into fists. Tommy Galliano doesn't know the first thing about chemistry. If he did, he'd understand that perfection is impossible to surpass.

"What did you do?"

"We formulated something new," she mutters. "It wasn't meth. It was more chemically similar to cocaine. We called it benzo."

"Benzo," I repeat, already knowing it's an abbreviation of cocaine's chemical name.

"It was highly addictive, with even worse side effects than any other drug. Tommy forced Christian to try every batch to make sure it wasn't poisoned or subpar."

My breath quickens. "Is he alright?"

"We developed another formula on the side to help Christian cope with the addition and side effects. We called it pellucid because it worked like an antidote."

"Is he still addicted?" I ask.

"No, but it's taken a toll on his mental health."

I shake my head, disgusted at how Galliano could exploit a mother's love and use her son as a guinea pig. "Is there anything I can do to help?"

"Roman is paying for therapy," she replies with a soft sigh, "But if you ever get the chance to kill Tommy, I want to spit on his face as he dies."

"Galliano won't get away with this," I say, meaning every word. "And if he's still alive when I've finished with him, I'll let you make the killing blow."

She raises her head to meet my gaze, her eyes hardening with determination. "That bastard deserves to burn in hell for what he did to my boy."

Christian bursts into the room, his eyes shining. "Mom. Rosalind is a treasure trove of amazing formulas."

Dr. Cortese stands, her features softening, and joins her son. I follow after her, my heart sinking.

Galliano used Christian as a pawn in his power games, just as I used Miranda against Rosalind. Is there any difference between me and my paternal uncle, or am I equally monstrous?

Apologizing to Rosalind wouldn't be enough.

She probably wants my blood.