Chapter 77

CESARE

If Rosalind thinks I'm going to endure another vegan breakfast, the joke's going to be on her. Leroi's tough love helped us mend a few bridges, and we all had breakfast together this morning as a family.

I walk toward the cafe with a spring in my step, eager to see my little pet. Things between us might have started out badly, but I can tell her distrust of me is softening.

Rosalind could have used the time we spent apart to extract Miranda from her new academy and walk out of my life forever, but she didn't. For all her protests, she can't ignore our spark. She's drawn to me, just as I am to her. Deep down, she wants me to convince her to stay.

It's only a matter of time before my brothers see her as an asset and welcome her into the family.

As I step into the cafe, I'm hit with the scent of freshly brewed coffee. The woman who served us yesterday stands in front of the counter with a mop, but there's no sign of Rosalind.

She pauses to greet me with a pained smile. "Your girlfriend fainted."

My gaze snaps to a door that leads to an inner room, and I wonder if she's lying down, dazed from being exposed to so many chemicals. "Where is she?"

"A doctor caught her before she fell and took her away." The woman's features fall as she completes her sentence, as though she's realized she's describing an abduction.

"Which way?" I growl, my heart slamming against my ribs like it wants to wring her neck.

She points to the right. "He said his medical bag was in his car."

I'm already bolting out of the store and racing down the hallway toward the parking lot. Stores whizz past in a desperate blur. Matty Galliano must have taken her for one of his sick games. The bastard laid low to make me think he was dead, so I could drop my guard.

Sweat breaks out across my brow as I burst through the exit and tear down the stairwell. I can already predict what I'll find. Rosalind, in the back seat of my car, stabbed to death.

Just like Tania. Just like Allegra. Just like he tried to do to Sofia.

Then there'll be a team of homicide detectives ready to arrest me for her murder. Panic spikes as my feet pound down the concrete steps and dread wraps around my neck like a noose.

I can't allow him to hurt Rosalind. She's only just freed herself from the Moirai and hasn't even connected with her daughter.

Shit. What will I tell Miranda?

I slam open the door to the lot's top level, sprint to the Lamborghini, and fling open the passenger-side door. The front and back seats are empty, untouched. My chest loosens with relief, which only lasts until I hear a scream.

Jerking out of the car, I scan the parking lot to find a black van parked thirty feet away beside another exit. Adrenaline kicks me in the gut, and I lurch forward.

It's Galliano.

Racing toward the van, I pull out my gun. Light streams out from between its back doors, broken by the occasional movement. Fury mounts, roaring like a wildfire in my veins. Blood rushes between my ears. If he's laid a finger on my Rosalind, I won't care how many snipers he's got trained on my head.

I try the door. It's jammed. I shoot at the lock, sending its mechanism flying across the concrete floor. With one hard yank, the door opens.

Inside are two gurneys. Rosalind lies naked on the right with an eviscerated corpse on the left. In the middle, a gray-haired bastard who isn't Galliano whirls around with his pants around his ankles. His erect cock bobs, its reddened crown a moving target.

In the split second it takes to aim the gun, my rage revolves around my mental clock face from nine to twelve and then to one.

Time slows. My mind falls silent as I pull the trigger.

The bullet speeds through the van's interior, piercing his shaft and slicing it clean in half. As the top of his cock flies off in an arc of blood, the man crumples to the floor with a shriek.

Time snaps back to normal. Without realizing it, I've freed Rosalind and I'm now strangling the screaming man with a garrote I've fashioned from the corpse's small intestine. His eyes bulge. His mouth opens and closes like a gasping fish. His blood-soaked hands fumble uselessly at his throat.

"Cesare," Rosalind yells through the haze.

"What?"

"Let go of my best friend's guts."

My gaze darts to the naked figure lying eviscerated on the other gurney. It's Britt. I release her intestines and step out of the pool of blood with my palms raised in surrender.

"Sorry," I mutter. "I didn't know."

Rosalind is naked, save for the scraps of fabric still clinging to her limbs. I scan her body, looking for signs of damage, but see no visible injuries. Not that it makes any difference. Sometimes, the worst injuries are on the inside.

"Don't touch him," she growls. "Dr. Daniel is mine."

A noisy gasp pulls my attention back to the old bastard writhing in a puddle of his own blood. He curls in a ball, clutching his hemorrhaging crotch.

Rosalind grabs the man by the hair and drags him off him to the floor and onto his knees.

"You groomed me." She delivers each point with a punch. "Manipulated me into thinking I was special. Stole my innocence."

My brows pull into a frown, and I study the man's bleeding face. This can't be Miranda's father. He's supposed to have died in an explosion.

A flash of light pulls my attention back to the parking lot, where cars stream in from its entrance. I glance back at Rosalind who rains blows on Dr. Daniel with ruthless precision. Her words drip with years of resentment and repressed rage, each syllable a punch to the gut.

At this rate, someone will call the police. Getting arrested isn't a big deal, but I don't need the Moirai knowing that Rosalind is no longer my prisoner. After activating the Lamborghini's central locking, I step into the back of the van and secure the door.

By now, the man is no longer recognizable

Rosalind pummels his face with a defibrillator paddle. "I'm not a cum dumpster. I'm not a toilet. I'm not a table or a plate. I'm not a toy. Not a pet. Not a pawn."

The last two statements make me flinch. Is Dr. Daniel a proxy for other abusive men? Men like me?

Any other time, the sight of a beautiful woman splattered in blood would get my cock straining against my zipper, but there's nothing arousing about Rosalind's trauma. I'm one of the bastards who contributed to it, and she's still my captive.

The man hangs limp within her grasp, his body swaying with the force of her blows, which are losing intensity. I step forward with my palms raised, hoping she understands I don't mean her any harm.

"You're getting tired, love," I say, my words soft. "Let me hold him up for you."

She casts me a weary look, as though considering whether to attack. I don't want to fight. Rosalind may have more agility, speed, and fighting experience than me, but I have more raw strength. Strength is what it takes to subdue her, but I don't want her to get any more hurt.

I hold still, waiting for her to decide whether I'm a threat. Instead of lunging at me, she nods, releasing Dr. Daniel to the expanding pool of blood.

Resisting the urge to snap on a pair of gloves, I pick him off the floor and hold him up with my arms hooked beneath his shoulders. Rosalind continues her rant, punctuating her words with blows.

The impact of each strike reverberates through Dr. Daniel's limp body, but it's her words that make me wince. The man she's describing is me.

I abducted her.

I drugged her.

I restrained her.

I cut through her clothes.

I subjected her to sexual torture.

Hell, I'm worse than Dr. Daniel because I went deeper than just her body. I used Rosalind's daughter as a pawn to manipulate her into obedience. The only reason she's hanging around is to secure her freedom from my family's wrath.

The monster she needs to escape is me.

Rosalind pauses mid-punch, crumples to the floor and convulses. Froth bubbles from her lips, and her eyes roll to the back of her head.

I drop the dying man to the floor and trample over his body.

It looks like she's been drugged.