Chapter 88

ROSALIND

No man has ever helped me without sinister motives. My biological father died before I was born, and my only stepfather groomed me to become a plaything. The mentor who promised to make me stronger recruited me into an organization that doesn't allow its employees to leave.

Axel, who I thought might be a suitable partner, stabbed me in the back to boost his image and take a sizable bonus for a mission he wasn't qualified to complete.

Cesare is the first man who dropped his mask and showed me the monster behind the man. He's loyal, loving, and trying hard to fix the rift between me and my daughter. Our goals might not be aligned, but he's still making every dream come true. In a few days, I'll be free from the Moirai and I can finish the job I started when I threw a rocket launcher at Matteo.

He stiffens for a second, but he joins in on the kiss, his arms wrapping around my shoulders in a possessive hug. His lips move against mine with an urgency that makes my heart pound.

This morning was exactly what I needed to soothe my grief. From the moment he pulled me out of that nightmare to arranging for Miranda to comfort to me on the loss of my best friend. I love sleeping beside Cesare. I love the way we fight just as much as I love the way we fuck.

Our personalities, backgrounds and situations in life are so different, yet everything about us makes sense. I'm water. He's fire. I'm order. He's chaos. I've felt like a pawn my entire life and he's a mafia prince.

He adores Miranda and doesn't judge me for having a child so young, and Miranda adores him. I'm starting to wonder if I'm going through the final stages of Stockholm syndrome because he's stealing my heart.

When we break apart, his pale eyes are aflame with emotions so intense that my heart flutters. He raises a hand to stroke my cheek, his touch making my skin erupt in tingles. As much as I want to lose myself in him, it's impossible to ignore his red flags.

I glance away, my breath quickening.

This is moving too fast. I'm usually so cautious with men.

"Feeling better, love?" he asks, his voice soft.

"Yeah," I reply, trying not to sound choked up. "Thanks for arranging this."

He pulls me into his chest for a comforting hug, and it takes every effort not to melt in this embrace. That doesn't stop me from resting my head on his shoulder and wrapping my arms around his waist.

It's alright to enjoy his company while I'm still in survival mode. As soon as our bargain is over, so will our relationship.

He cups my cheeks. "Xero has the delivery. Are you still okay with the plan?"

I nod. "I'm not just freeing myself, but all the students about to sign their lives over to an evil organization. Every operative at the graduation will also be set free."

He nods. "You realize the other hostages will die tomorrow?"

My throat thickens. "Yeah. Can I see them?"

Half an hour later, we're back in the basement. Instead of returning to the room with the five crosses, we're in an infirmary where Greta, Branson, and the other two operatives from the assassination attempt are sitting up, strapped to hospital beds.

Thick bands restrain their entire bodies, with their fingers encased in splints. Feeding tubes snake from their noses, along with IV lines delivering fluids into their veins. Catheter bags hang from the side of each cot, making me shudder.

To the left and right of them, the other six other operatives lie unconscious within their beds. I recognize them all, and over the decade I've been at the Moirai, not a single one of them has shown me any respect.

"Rosalind," Greta croaks, her voice pulling me out of my musings. "How are you still alive?"

My brows rise. I almost forgot how they all colluded to throw me under the proverbial tank by telling Cesare I arranged the assassination. Hearing her voice is a reminder of the daily mockery and humiliation I faced when Gunther demoted me, and I became a scapegoat and a cautionary tale for anyone thinking of defying the firm.

Well, I'm no longer the bottom of the barrel and no longer have any reason to cringe. Ignoring her question, I ask, "Why didn't you fight with me when we were all being held at gunpoint?"

Greta glances at Branson, who bows his head.

"Branson?" I ask.

When he doesn't answer, I turn to the other two. "Well?"

"You were already marked for death," Greta spits.

"What does that mean?" I ask, already knowing part of the answer from questioning Dr. Daniel.

"Gunther said you rejected the promotion to join forces with the Montesano family, and it looks like he was right."

My nostrils flare, and I grind my teeth, not bothering to tell them I left HQ because Cesare took Miranda. Most of these people don't have connections outside the firm. Those who did sure as hell wouldn't sacrifice their lives if any of their relatives got abducted.

Recruiters at the Moirai target orphans, kids in foster homes, or those sent away to boarding schools by their families to rot. If I didn't have a child, I would be just as disconnected from the outside world.

"If Gunther doesn't kill you for being a double agent, we will," Branson adds.

"There's something you should know about your precious Gunther," I say through clenched teeth. "Every operative who gets promoted overseas is dead or has been left for dead."

"Bullshit," Greta says.

"Ask yourself how many of these lucky people have ever returned to the USA."

"You and Axel went to Zurich."

"That was a job, not a promotion," I say.

"I speak to my brother every day," Branson says.

"AI."

He flinches. "What?"

"They've recorded every communication we've made over their network since we were in the academy. Our images, voices, and mannerisms, even the way we think, are all stored in computers beneath the tenth floor."

Greta scoffs. "That's pathetic, even for you."

I turn to Branson. "When was the last time you saw your brother face-to-face? Surely, he would have used his vacation time to meet you somewhere?"

Branson's face blanches, his eyes widening. "Is this how the Montesano family got you to defect?"

"You didn't answer my question," I reply, my lips tightening. "But let me answer yours."

Silence stretches out across the infirmary, broken only by the beeping of monitors. I sweep my gaze over the four conscious operatives, my spine stiffening with their reflected disdain.

"I teamed up with the Montesano family the moment you let me fight those guards alone and left me to get beaten and shot. As I lay there in pain, I realized you were never my teammates, just another bunch of people who saw me as disposable."

"So, you're a traitor?" Greta spits, her features twisting with contempt.

"I'm finally putting myself first," I reply. "And when the four of you tried to shift the blame for the assassination onto me, I knew I'd made the right choice."

"You won't get away with this," Branson says. "Gunther will send out a rescue team."

"Gunther didn't give a shit about you until the Montesanos took six more hostages," I say.

He flinches, his lips tightening with rage. "Nothing you say will change my mind. He probably sent those six on a rescue mission, but they got captured."

It's a good thing I only came here to get closure. Even if I wanted to save their lives, they'd still want me dead. I turn on my heel and head toward the door, ignoring Greta's shouts that I'm a traitor.

They already put me in the line of fire twice, and now they've threatened my life. I'd be suicidal to ask Cesare to show them mercy.

Pausing at the door, I spare them a final glance. "Ask Gunther all about it when you see him, because they've finally agreed to call off the hit in exchange for your return."

Branson huffs. "I knew he would."

"Count your days," Greta adds. "You won't last long after I tell everyone you're a turncoat."

Nobody will live long enough to exact their revenge. Leaving that part unsaid, I walk out, ready for tomorrow's mission.

It's going to be trickier than the last time when Cesare handed the Moirai decoys. The location they've given Cesare is above the HQ, so they're going to need all the help they can get to leave the building alive.