Chapter 94

CESARE

Pain reverberates across my cranium, and the pulse between my ears pounds hard enough to rattle my skull. My fucked-up state has nothing to do with that brutal kick.

I'm in shock.

Not because I finally understand why Matty Galliano wears thick makeup. Not because the man has no genitals. I'm shocked at the realization that he's the man Rosalind blew up the day she took back her daughter.

Matty Galliano is the stepfather who abused Rosalind.

Matty Galliano is Miranda's father.

Which makes Miranda my little sister.

I'm running on autopilot, my ears ringing with the shattering truth. Matty flounders beneath me, filling my nostrils with the stench of his bowels.

Rough hands grab me off my feet and shove my back against the wall. At the same time, what's left of the orderlies lift Matty off the floor.

My gaze shoots across the hospital room, where a pair of Galliano guards are trying to manhandle Rosalind out of the door.

"Stop," I croak.

They ignore me.

"No," I roar.

One of them glances over my shoulder and sneers, still trying to wrestle Rosalind out of the door. I turn around and lock gazes with Tommy Galliano.

It's been a lifetime since I've seen that demon. His wavy gray hair is slicked back, revealing eyes the same shade as mine. This is the bastard who took Mom away from us and married her, only for her to perish under the blade of a plastic surgeon.

If I don't put a lid on my murderous resentment, Rosalind will go up in flames. I've seen a man burn to death, that's not a fate I want for the woman I love.

"Rosalind belongs to me," I say through clenched teeth. "You want me to join your organization, then I get to keep her."

Tommy turns to the guards, who are halfway out the door. "Manny, Gino. Bring back the girl." He turns back to me with narrowed eyes. "You're leaving your brothers to save this treacherous cunt?"

My nostrils flare. Nobody gets to call Rosalind names and keep their balls, but we're outmatched, outnumbered, outgunned.

Rosalind's gaze burns the side of my face. I never told her the reason Matty Galliano wanted to create a rift between me and my family. Instead, I let her assume all those attacks were because of a turf war.

"That's right," I reply through clenched teeth. "I won't join your family without Rosalind."

I hear her gasp over the sound of grunts and groans and the pounding of my pulse, but I can't meet her gaze. Not while knowing I share blood with the man who abused her as a child and got her pregnant.

Tommy's face stretches into the sinister grin Mom always told me to get under control. Now, I understand why. In this man's features, I see an older version of myself with a face caked in dark makeup which I can only assume hides burn scars.

Matty groans from the hospital bed on the other side of the room. "What happened to my Miriam? What did she do with my little girl?"

My gaze flicks to the creature that I can no longer deny is my father, and I shudder. Miriam must be Miranda.

"Good question," Tommy says, the corner of his eyes crinkling. He swings around to where the guards are holding Rosalind. "Where's my niece?"

Rosalind spits at him.

Tommy lurches toward her and slaps her hard across the face, which earns him a kick that he only narrowly dodges. He turns to me, his eyes dancing with madness. "I can get you better whores. Ones that aren't so belligerent, although I hear she's a tiger in bed."

Something inside me snaps.

"Keep your mouth shut!" I break free from the guards and rush at Tommy, catching him off guard. My hands wrap around his throat. I slam my head into his face before a small army of guards hoist me off my feet.

A fist lands my jaw, making my head snap to the side. Another finds its way to my gut with double the amount of force. I double over, gasping for breath, my eyes watering, my ears ringing with Tommy's manic laugher.

One day, I will cut out that bastard's tongue and stick it up his rectum.

"Tommy, stop antagonizing the kids," Matty groans.

"Look at me, boy," Tommy says, ignoring his brother.

One of the assholes at my back grabs a fistful of my hair and yanks up my head, forcing our gazes to meet.

I'm no fan of comics, but if you lighten the tan makeup to white and smear that filthy mouth with blood, Tommy Galliano would make a perfect Joker.

Jigsaw puzzles click into place somewhere in the recesses of my mind. Mom's coddling, her insistence that I go to medical school, her believing I killed my rabbit, Dr. Brunelli's pseudo psychology... They were afraid I would turn into a maniac like Tommy Galliano.

"Tell me where to find my baby niece, or I'll kill Rosalind," Tommy says, baring unnaturally white teeth.

At her pained whimper. I turn to meet her hazel eyes. Eyes that plead for me to stay quiet. Eyes that are prepared to suffer any amount of humiliation and torment to keep Miranda safe. Eyes that glisten with tears, while her forehead breaks out in sweat.

Tommy prances across the room and holds a gun to Rosalind's temple. "It's an easy enough decision," he says, his manic smile softening to something he probably thinks is benevolent. "Save the mother's life by reuniting a lonely little girl with her daddy."

Who happens to be a pedophile.

I leave that part unspoken because Tommy Galliano is the type of man who would pull the trigger out of spite.

Rosalind's features turn blank. It's the same expression she used to make when I had her on my torture table. Chills run down my spine and the backs of my eyes burn. The only difference between this deranged psychopath and me is age, and that I don't need to hide my face behind layers of makeup.

He turns off the safety with a click.

"Come on, boy," he says, his voice coaxing. "Tell us where to find little Miri."

Blood pounds through my temples. I stare into Rosalind's eyes, noting the subtle shake of her head.

"Kill her and you may as well kill me," I snarl.

Tommy points the gun at my head. "Now."

"No," Matty croaks. "Not my boy. Not my heir."

Tommy throws his head back and releases a crowing laugh, his bent arms flapping like a rooster. This man is completely fucked in the head.

I clench my teeth, imagining him making that fucking noise on my operating table as I slice him open with a number 20 scalpel before making him eat his own entrails.

The door opens and a deep voice says, "Is this a bad time, Mr. Galliano?"

"Come in," Matty says.

"Clear some space for the good doctor," Tommy roars.

The guards step aside, leaving dead bodies still sprawled across the linoleum. A middle-aged man picks his way through the expanding pools of blood and corpses to reach Matteo.

"Someone please draw the privacy curtains?" the doctor asks, his voice urgent. One of the orderly rushes forward, pulling the curtains closed with a loud swish.

Tommy glances around the hospital room, his lips tightening with displeasure. "Clean this shit up."

Over several tense minutes, the orderlies drag out the bodies and one of them returns with a bucket and mop. I stare across the room at Rosalind, whose gaze never leaves mine.

She could never love a man like me with such tainted blood. My father is a pedophile who stabs innocent women, and my uncle is a deranged psychopath who looks capable of worse. The Galliano family is a cesspool of depravity and needs to go up in flames.

The silence continues, broken only by the beeping machinery, until the doctor steps out from behind the curtain.

"What's the verdict?" Tommy asks, his voice tense.

The doctor offers him a bright smile. "I've cleaned Mr. Galliano's wounds and replaced his dressings. He's still on track to make a full recovery."

Tommy scratches his temple with the gun's muzzle. "Get three doses of benzo and give one to my brother."

"Sir?" the doctor's features shutter.

"Benzo," Tommy barks. "Now."

Flinching, the doctor darts past the wall lined with guards and out of the room, letting the door click shut.

"You sure about this, Dad?" asks a large man with features similar to Tommy's. "We're running low?—"

"Don't question me in front of the help," Tommy snaps.

The son bows his head, his shoulders tensing. I glance around the room, noting that all the other faces harden at being referred to as servants. It looks like Tommy and his brother run their organization like a fiefdom with the two of them as the lords of the manner, while we run ours like a family.

More importantly, what is benzo and why does it sound so familiar?

The doctor returns with two vials and disappears around the curtain, presumably to administer the dose to Matteo. Seconds later, there's an audible sigh, and the doctor reemerges with the second dose.

Tommy grunts his approval. "Now inject the bitch."

Alarm kicks me in the chest, and I lurch forward. "No."

The guards grab my arms and shove me back, while the ones restraining Rosalind tighten their grips.

She thrashes, but they're too strong. She kicks out at the approaching doctor, but he side-steps.

"Take her from behind," Tommy drawls, almost sounding bored. "If memory serves, my brother had to do her from behind after she put on all that weight."

His taunting words ignite a rage that burns hotter than a funeral pyre. I thrash within the guards' hold, swearing that one day, I rip off his skin.

As the doctor approaches Rosalind from behind with the syringe, I finally remember where I first heard about Benzo. It's the formula Tommy forced Dr. Cortese and her team to manufacture. The drug he would test on her son, Christian. The one Dr. Cortese said was more addictive than crack.

Fuck.

He's trying to turn Rosalind into an addict.