Chapter 93

ROSALIND

My heart pounds as I saunter down the stark hallway dressed in fishnets, a denim miniskirt and halter-neck top. I'm a little overdressed compared to the women who usually visit Matteo's hospital room, but it's the most effective way to conceal weapons.

The calm I usually feel on missions is gone, replaced by a slow-burning rage that's been simmering since the moment I discovered Matteo and his brother had survived the explosion.

"Hello, sweetheart," the burly guard at Matteo's door rumbles. He's a bald mammoth of a man whose bulk could flatten a whale. "I haven't seen you around."

I flick my gaze up and down the muscles bulging out of his suit. "Maybe that's because you haven't looked hard enough."

He snickers. "Well, I'm looking now."

Wiggling my shoulders, I shoot him a flirty smile. "You gonna get hard for me later?"

He grins, his eyes dancing. "I reckon I might."

"I'll be back at Bella's Ranch in a couple of hours. Ask for Flora."

His grin fades, only for his features morph into contempt. I don't have the mental bandwidth to wonder if that's because he expected a hooker to invite him back to her home for a freebie. "He's waiting for you inside. You got an hour."

"Thanks, sugar." I step through the door, greeted by a cacophony of beeping machines, which are muffled by the roaring of my blood.

Being in Matteo's presence is like standing on the edge of a ravine, crumbling under the sheer weight of my banked emotions. A howling wind pushes at my back, forcing me toward a watery abyss. If I don't keep a tight rein on my emotions, I'll drown.

Matteo's hospital room is more like a luxury suite with its white walls and marble linoleum floor. Vibrant floral bouquets provide bursts of color, barely concealing the scent of antiseptic. Blue armchairs arranged around a low table occupy the first few feet of the space, and a television plays a mindless sitcom with an echoing laugh track.

The only blemish on this pristine interior is the vermin sleeping in a bed against a backdrop of floor-to-ceiling windows that overlook a garden courtyard.

Matteo looks frail and small propped on a pair of pillows beneath a blue blanket. Burn scars cover his face and down his neck, reminding me of my failed attempt to send him back to hell.

The man isn't just a parasite and a predator, he's a prehistoric cockroach.

Walking toward him, I reach into the cleavage of my top and pull out a paracord, discarding the promise I made to Cesare to save him the killing blow.

Matteo means more to me than just a business rival. He's the man who robbed me of my childhood, the monster who haunts my nightmares.

My heart pounds loud enough to awaken his frail carcass, even though our positions have now reversed. I'm the predator. He's the cornered, weakened prey. Adrenaline courses through my veins, making my fingers tremble. I finally have the chance to slay my demon.

Stirring, Matteo opens his eyes and then squints as though trying to place my face. There's a moment of recognition when his features fall slack with shock before twisting into a grotesque mask of hatred.

"Rosalind," he snarls, bearing a mouthful of white dentures. "Are you here to kill me?"

Footsteps thunder toward me before I can answer. I whirl around, barely blocking the fist of one of the orderlies who sold me information. His fist connects with my arm, sending shooting pain down to my still-healing bullet wound.

"You know her, boss?" he shouts.

Matteo grimaces. "She's been on my kill list for a decade."

A second man swings a nightstick at my head, forcing me to duck. I kick out, hard and fast, my boot catching him in the knee. He stumbles forward with a pained grunt, trying to regain his balance. It's too late. I wrap the paracord around his neck and pull tight, using the momentum to throw him into the wall.

"What the fuck are you all doing? Get her," Matteo snarls.

Strong arms grab me from behind. I stamp down on my attacker's foot, but his grip tightens. He lifts me off my feet.

"How do you like this, bitch?" the man restraining me says, already sounding out of breath.

I kick out at the first orderly, but the second lands a blow into my temple. Stars explode across my vision, turning the edges of my vision black.

Oh, shit.

It's three against one.

Four if you count Matteo pointing a pistol at me from the bed.

Before I can formulate a plan, the guard from earlier crashes through the door and lands on his back. The man holding me adjusts his grip into a chokehold, while another orderly pulls out his gun.

Cesare storms inside with a gun, only for his face to fall the moment he sees the orderly point his weapon at my head.

Matteo chuckles. "Cesare, my boy. I knew you would come for me if I laid a trap."

My throat tightens as I'm forced to watch Cesare take in the full extent of my miscalculation. Those asshole orderlies selling us the information were working for Galliano all along.

Seconds later, a trio of guards burst through the door, each pointing a gun at Cesare's back and blocking our escape.

This is more than just a trap. It's an ambush.

Matteo crawls out of bed, baring his brilliant white teeth. "And you even brought me a gift. The little bitch who threw a grenade at me and my men, killing four of them and leaving me covered in third-degree burns."

He rips off his gown, revealing an incision held together with sutures and covered in transparent film dressing. Surrounding it is a network of deep, textured scars, remnants of past burns that crisscross his chest, abdomen, and upper thighs.

Any triumph I might have felt from causing him so much pain disappears under a weight of crushing dread. Cesare is about to discover the identity of Miranda's father.

"I was good to you, Rosalind, yet you threw my kindness into my face," Matteo says, his voice breaking. "Every day, I look at the mess you made of my body and think of the ways I want you to die."

Alarm rings in my ears, loud enough to block out the rest of Matteo's hateful words. This is more than just an ambush.

One glance at Cesare's shocked features says he's worked out that Matteo is my former stepfather.Cesare's chest heaves as though the air is devoid of oxygen. He stares at me, his eyes wide, his features slack with betrayal.

"Rosalind," he rasps. "Is it true?"

Matteo points his gun at Cesare. "Don't tell me the manipulative bitch got to you, too?" He cackles. "You inherited your taste for treacherous brunettes from me, son."

Son?

My breath hitches.

It's only a figure of speech. They're technically step-uncle and nephew.

Cesare lurches forward. "Let go of her."

One of the trio of guards drives the butt of a pistol into the back of his head. Before Cesare's knees hit the linoleum, Matteo fires a bullet between the guard's eyes.

The huge man crumples to the floor, his colossal bulk crashing atop Cesare. My blood turns to ice as a cold realization hits me in the gut.

"I told you all to keep your fucking hands off my son," Matteo roars, and my jaw drops.

Cesare crawls out from beneath the fallen guard. His eyes are dazed, but blazing with fury. I look beyond his attractive features, remembering how much of an outsider I once felt when he was with my daughter and finally understanding why.

Cesare is Matteo's son.They're brother and sister.

Bile rises from my throat as everything slots into place. Cesare's mercurial temperament reminds me so much of Tommaso's, as does his proclivity for violence. Then that eerie calmness he gets when he's pushed beyond his limits is all Matteo.

My lips part with a question, but I refuse to give Matteo the satisfaction of knowing I'm in shock. Instead, I slip a hand into the seam of my skirt and extract a stiletto dagger.

Matteo tears the electrodes off his chest and shuffles toward Cesare. A knot forms in my stomach as the monster of my past comes closer, but I steel myself to keep my gaze steady.

"Are you hurt, son?"

Shudders run down my spine, and I gag within the orderly's chokehold.

"I am not your son!" Cesare rises to his knees, his face a mask of disgust, and launches a punch straight into Matteo's gut.

Matteo doubles over with a strangled roar. The other guards lurch forward, but Cesare is quicker. He grabs the dead man's semi-automatic and shoots the pair by the door, then takes aim at the other two orderlies.

The one still holding me by the neck hoists me up like a shield, but I drive my dagger into his arm. He screams, loosening the grip around my throat.

I drop to my feet, whirl around, and plunge the knife into his chest. He collapses to the floor, his eyes wide, his mouth opening and closing like a fish.

"Catch!" Cesare is about to toss me a gun, but Matteo tackles Cesare to the floor.

The door slams open, and someone shoots up in the ceiling, raining plaster on our heads."What the fuck?"

It's Tommaso Galliano, flanked by two guards, and he's furious.

He rushes forward and delivers a kick to the back of Cesare's skull. "Get off my brother before I explode your head like a watermelon."

As his guards rush forward to separate the father and son, Tommaso turns his gaze to me. Recognition flashes in his eyes, and his lips curl with contempt.

"Call the doctor and put my brother back into bed," he says to a small crowd of men at the door.

"And Montesano?" asks a guard.

"Keep him subdued."

"What should we do with the whore?" asks another.

"Take her out to Bella's Ranch and keep her there until my brother is well enough to enjoy watching her burn."