Chapter 95

ROSALIND

Any relief I might feel from the change in subject fades the moment Tommaso orders the doctor to inject me with benzo. I scour my knowledge of drugs but can only dredge up a class of psychoactive drugs people use as sedatives.

It can't be any of the common ones that come under that category like Valium or Xanax because no hospital or mafia organization could run low on something so widely manufactured. I can only assume it's a custom formulation.

"Touch her and I'll kill every single motherfucker in this hospital," Cesare yells.

"This is for your own good, boy," Tommaso mutters.

"Get away from me," I scream, even though it's futile.

I thrash and kick against the iron grip of my captors, but one of them delivers a blow to the side of my head, filling my vision with sparks. As I struggle to regain my senses, a needle slides into my carotid artery with a cold sting, flooding my veins with a numbing coolness that makes the edges of my vision blur.

This feels like Dr. Daniel's drug, only I'm not entirely paralyzed. Euphoria spreads through my senses, drowning out the fury at yet another violation.

Tommaso's vile words echo in my ears as I struggle to remain conscious, his manic laughter slicing through my haze like shards of glass. As the drug takes hold and my body goes limp, a sense of bliss engulfs my despair.

I'm back where I started. Powerless within the grip of a Galliano. And if one of us breaks, they'll claw back the one person I would die to protect.

Tommaso's voice floats into my consciousness. "Take her to the mansion."

"Give her to me or say goodbye to our alliance," Cesare snarls.

Tommaso falls silent for several heartbeats. "Are you sure you want this one, Cesare? She's used-up. By the time my brother got tired of her, she was a no-limits whore."

My reaction is dulled by the drug, but Cesare's roar of anger penetrates my brain fog.

"The next time you insult her, I will tear out your tongue," he yells.

"Call your brothers," Tommaso snaps.

"What?" Cesare asks.

"Tell them you defect, and I'll give you the slut."

The patterns shift in my vision, accompanied by the shuffle of feet. Maybe Cesare is trying to break free from the guard's hold to get to me, but the movements make the air vibrate.

"I'll call them," Cesare hisses.

"On speaker."

My mind is a whirlpool, but I cling onto the words like a lifeline. When the call to Roman goes to voicemail, Tommaso's cackles fill the air with unpleasant shockwaves. Shit. Now, my mind is interpreting sounds into physical touch.

"Emberly left Roman tied to a bondage table. He's probably already filled the dungeon with his piss and shit."

Confusion pulses through my veins in time with my slowing heartbeat. Was that an auditory hallucination or Tommaso's idea of a joke?

My head lolls to the side, and I'm about to drift away when I hear Benito's voice.

"Where have you been?" he grinds out. "Have you seen Roman?"

Whatever Cesare is about to say is cut off as someone on the other side of the room retches. The sound feels like cockroaches skittering across my skin, their skin legs trying to invade my throat. Judging by the cacophony of concerned shouts and stampeding feet, I can only assume that Matteo is reacting badly to all the excitement.

Good. I hope he dies.

"Call the doctor," Tommaso roars.

"What about Cesare, Dad?" asks a voice.

"Take him and Rosalind to the special guest room," Tommaso says.

The men holding my shoulders shove me forward, and I fall into familiar arms.

"I've got you," Cesare murmurs into my ear, his voice carrying no judgment for all the terrible things I endured with Matteo. "No matter what, I'll keep you and Miranda safe."

My heart swells, and my conciseness gives way to an overwhelming sense of bliss. When Cesare scoops me up into his arms and lays my head against his chest, I believe he'll do everything in his power to protect Miranda and me.

I part my lips to tell him to focus on helping Miranda, but my mouth won't form the words.

The sounds of chaos blend together and fade into the background like a thunderstorm. I'm still struggling against the effect of the drug when the phone in the back of my denim skirt buzzes.

"What's that?" says a rough voice.

Large hands paw at my ass, forcing me back to awareness.

Cesare jerks to the side. "Don't touch her."

"Get real," a male voice sneers. "No one wants Uncle Matty's sloppy seconds."

If I had control over my jaw, it would clench. This must be Tommaso's son, Francesco, one of the few people who knew what his uncle was doing, but had the nerve to swear to my mother that I was the liar.

Jerking movements jostle me like a rag doll, even though he's clutching me to his chest. "I told you not to insult Rosalind."

"Got it!"

"Who's calling her?" Tommaso yells from the other side of the room.

"Miranda," says the snide voice.

Cesare stiffens, and my stomach drops. Matteo and Tommaso only know Miranda as Miriam, but it won't take them long to realize the caller is my daughter.

"Put it on speakerphone," Tommaso says, "And everyone shut the fuck up."

My heart sinks as the room falls silent.

"Rosalind, it's Gunther," says a slimy voice that makes my stomach churn.

Cesare tenses, his chest falling still.

"I know you didn't die in the explosion. I also know you're not a Montesano hostage. Dr. Daniel told me they're letting you run around, so I can only assume you're responsible for the crater Roman Montesano made of HQ."

Cesare's pulse quickens, resounding in my ear like a drumroll. How the hell did Gunther survive the attack? He's supposed to be dead, having watched the graduation run somewhere on the lower levels.

"Montesano's antics got me demoted. Thanks to him, I was cast out of the senior management team and sent to handle the losers who failed to graduate. With them all dead, I'm now the highest-ranking member of the Moirai." He releases a gleeful laugh.

"Who the fuck is that?" Tommaso asks.

"An incompetent bastard who needs to die," Cesare mutters.

He's missing the point. Everyone has forgotten the most important thing Gunther hasn't yet mentioned.

Why is he ringing me from my little girl's phone?

"Let me get straight to the point," he snarls. "Deliver your carcass to Warehouse 47 or I will turn Miranda into a Lolita assassin."

I inhale a shallow gasp, and the world goes black.