Page 1 of Breaking Rosalind
PROLOGUE
ROSALIND
Infiltrate the mansion.
Abduct a four-year-old girl.
Kill anyone in my way. Even if it’s Mom.
The average eighteen-year-old shouldn’t be so proficient in weapons, but nothing about my life has been normal since Mom married a predator. My stepfather is one of the Galliano brothers, a crime family infamous for drug and human trafficking.
I didn’t choose this world, but after years of being the victim, I’m ready to become the villain.
Sunlight beats down on my back like a disapproving parent as I creep around the garden’s perimeter. A tall fence blocks my view of its interior, and the roses climbing on them release floral bursts that mingle with the scent of fear.
At the first sound of Miranda’s soft giggle, my heart pounds hard enough to burst.
She’s close.
Crouching low, I inch my way through a gap in the hedge I made earlier. I keep my footsteps light over the soft grass and hold my breath. No amount of training can stop the leaves from rustling against my bulletproof jacket.
The noise can’t be helped. The mansion’s security system has four blind spots, and only one of them gets me close to Miranda without alerting the guards.
I catch a glimpse of her crouched in front of a pond, her brown hair styled into a cascade of ringlets so stiff they remain still in the breeze. They’ve dressed her in a frilly pink gown with a tutu skirt that barely covers her underwear, paired with rhinestone sandals that shimmer in the sunlight like diamonds.
My nostrils flare, and my hands curl into fists.
This is how they clothe her in between my scheduled visits?
They thought they could banish me to boarding school and do whatever they pleased with Miranda. I’m not the weak, sniveling child they can banish. Thanks to their neglect, I made connections. Got trained. Now, I’m back for Miranda.
“Miri?” I whisper.
She turns her head to the left.
“Behind you,” I say.
Straightening, she turns around. The moment our gazes lock, my heart melts, and my chest fills with warmth. Photos could never capture her sparkling eyes or dimpled cheeks. She’s the most beautiful child in the world.
“Rosa?” she asks.
I give her an eager nod. “That’s right.”
Her deep blue eyes widen. “What are you doing here?”
“Come to me, and I’ll tell you.” I reach out a hand and beckon her into the blind spot.
Miranda glances to the right, where Mom sits on a bench at the edge of the pond, her face buried in a tablet. Hatred sears my veins, and my fingers itch to claw out her eyes. What kind of mental gymnastics must go through her mind each morning when she sees this little girl, or is she still so blinded by all the wealth?
I hold my breath, praying to anyone who will listen thatshe doesn’t look our way.
Moments pass, and Miranda still hasn’t moved. Anxiety coils through my insides like a constrictor and squeezes tight. If I step into the garden and pick her up, I won’t just alert Mom. Every security guard working for my corrupt stepfather will be on us in seconds with guns drawn.
“Hey,” I say, my voice rising with desperation. “I brought you a gift.”
Miranda tilts her head, her rounded features sparking with interest. “What is it?”
I reach into my cargo pocket and pull out a box. “Here. Another unicorn.”